July 25, 1982 (Day Seven), Part 1
Apr. 22nd, 2026 10:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ahunter3= July 25, 1982 (Day Seven) =
A less apologetic Dr. Barnes shows up at our unit’s morning meeting. “Derek, it is good to see your face here among us this morning. Derek has come to some important conclusions about us here at Elk Meadow, has decided he’s in the right place after all. I think we’ve all seen how someone can come to recognize important truths that may not have been apparent to them when they first arrived. So let’s all go forward with a fresh start attitude.”
I guess that’s better than being sneered at in derision or being informed that I’m intellectualizing.
“Our Mark Raybourne tells me that you don’t care if other people don’t see you as a real man”, Barnes continues. “That’s actually a healthy attitude.” He glances around the room, gathering everyone’s focused attention.
Lowers his voice. It’s still resonant.
“For all of us, sooner or later we have to look into the mirror and deal with the person whose opinions matter: ourself! And I think Derek here has been trying to tell us that — that it’s not your opinion of him that counts, and it’s not mine, or the opinion of anyone here at Elk Meadow that counts...”
Barnes crouches down slightly, resting his hands on his knees, narrowing the focus back to me, conjuring with his posture. “A real man has to live up to his own standards. He has to put down the excuses and the avoidance strategies and face up to his mistakes and his errors of judgment, and examine any patterns of self-destruction he might be stuck in. A real man can’t be satisfied with being less than what he can be, what he was born to be, and you’re right, Derek, it’s his own opinion of himself that a man has to live with.”
Barnes straightens up and opens his hands, palms upward. Benign kind fatherly face in place, waiting.
“I agree with you”, I tell him, “about being honest with yourself and living up to your own standards. But what I was talking with Mark about the other day is that I’m not into all that ‘be a man’ stuff, the standards I have for myself aren’t centered around masculinity. I do have standards and goals for myself, and sometimes I don’t meet them and have to work on myself or, you know, try to deal somehow with my faults and defenses, but I don’t aspire to a lot of the things that were pushed at me all my life in the name of proving I’m a man, and frankly I’m tired of that stuff. And I do get to talk back about it.”
“Well now, one thing I think you should examine, since you’re being honest with yourself as much as possible, is whether you’re using that as an excuse...”
Barnes steps back slightly and holds up one open palm, a stop sign. I don’t think I was reacting visibly, but it’s possible that I did and don’t realize it.
“I’m not saying that you are”, Barnes continues, “but what if you’re using that as a way to set your aspirations in a fashion that doesn’t leave you open to failure? Just consider that. I mean, anyone could redefine their failures and disappointments as their goals. Hey look, everybody, I always wanted to be an unemployed homeless guy with a drug habit, I’m a rolling stone, I’m a tumbleweed and I’m free, never wanted to pay income tax and live behind a picket fence. See how that works?”
“Well, I don’t think I conjured this attitude up to excuse what some people regard as my failures. I was a university student a couple years ago and doing fine in all my courses, but I also started keeping a scrapbook in my dorm room. I wrote ‘Militant Heterosexual Sissy’ on the first page, and the more I took those ideas seriously, the happier I felt about myself. I was never like the other boys and I never wanted to be. It’s not that I didn’t think I was as good as other boys. When I was a kid, I always used to think I was better than them. I mean...the girls were definitely better than the boys, and here’s me joining: I’m with the girls, and we’re better. I’m a sissy, just like some girls are tomboys. And I always have been, and it’s not a problem. At least in and of itself. But to your other point, yes, I think I have other things to work on, ways in which I don’t measure up to what I want of myself, and that’s why I’m here”.
“Well, I suggest you...let’s see, how did you put it the other day? Treat that as your premise but consider the possibility that I might be on to something here. That’s all I’m asking.”
* * *
So Barnes wants to talk about gender.
I do want to have this conversation that he’s pushing, but I’m still struggling to put it all into words that express all of what I want to say. And although I can argue my side, I’d really prefer not to have this conversation adversarially.
I didn’t go through my elementary and high school years thinking that the lack of acceptance and the mean-spirited hostility were all due to me being more like one of the girls than a boy is supposed to be. It looks that way to me now, but that’s a retroactive interpretation.
It’s a theory; it seems to make sense of my life, and it fits the facts as I know or remember them, but my mind saying it fits the facts, that’s also an interpretation, isn’t it?
Under the right circumstances, I could talk about this with people, including the possibility that I’ve latched onto this theory because it lets me feel like I’m making sense of things, but that it isn’t necessarily right, the most valid interpretation. And including the possibility that I’ve latched onto it because it absolves me of being some kind of horrid unlikeable selfish disgusting person whose hideous personality and creepiness and atrocious social skills are the real reason almost nobody liked me when I was growing up, and everyone picked on me and called me names and so on.
Under the right circumstances, I could talk about all that, but it seems unlikely to happen in here. Which is quite sad.
But everyone in this place who pokes into other people’s motivations and rationales for things is in the habit of making their pokes as if from a position of absolute certainty. Telling the other that this is how it is and if you don’t agree you’re in denial.
So that provokes my own protective sense that my uncertainty is more of a technicality than a worried fearful state of not knowing. Because it does seem to fit the facts and explain things, it’s the model of reality from which I operate, and I have as much confidence in mine as you folks have in yours, dammit, and I probably have better reason for the confidence.
Back before I had this understanding of myself, I was a long way from confident. And it showed, and that combination of being different and uncertain really set me up for a lot of hostility and ridicule. Now I have this clear vision, this explanation, and I come across as quite confident, perhaps pushing into outright arrogance. Arrogance would be worrisome, I mean if I became unwilling to consider any possibility that I might be wrong or that I needed to examine my behavior or my beliefs. I don’t want that to happen. When you stop questioning what you believe, you stop learning things.
But, anyway, sure, I get defensive. I’m pretty sure I can lay that defensiveness down. I can be open to questioning it all. Or I could be.
But in this place, that feels too much like it would be unilateral disarmament or something.
* * *
I am meandering down the hall with the notion of seeing who else is hanging out in the cafeteria area. Barnes’ redheaded assistant Irma is coming my direction and calls out, “Hey...you, hold on a minute.” So I do. She strides towards me to such close range that I back up a step.
“I know you think you’re a fucking smartass”, she snarls. “You ever think for one moment that maybe we got something good here and you’re messing it up? I seen lots of people get their shit together in here, and I don’t know what your thing is, but you’re ruining things up for everybody. You ever think of that?” She’s authoritatively crisp and a bit scary, glowering at me in revulsion. The inside out of her gameshow-host morning-meeting persona, but she’s still an effective people pusher. Her mouth twitches. Scowling, waiting for a reaction.
I shuffle backwards and to the side and lean against the wall, but I look directly back at her. “You really believe in this place, huh? I can see both good and bad things happening in here, but there’s a kind of ‘one size fits all’ attitude I don’t care for, and it’s too pushy and coercive in here. You can’t help people against their will, you know.”
Irma glares at me. “A lot of people don’t know what’s good for them.”
I glare back. “And you think you do? What if we don’t agree?”
“I know you think you’re charming and clever, but you’re just a disgusting pervert. How can you stand yourself? Go look in a mirror. You’re a thing, you belong in a toilet and someone should’ve flushed you a long time ago!”
Irma impales me with her eyes, mimics throwing up, and then stomps off down the hall.
————
I'm seeking feedback on my book Within the Box right here, one chapter at a time.
I'm hoping people will read it and comment on it as I go. I'm hoping that if they like it, they'll spread the word.
When I get to the end, I'll start over with the first chapter, by which point I'll no doubt have made changes.
Meanwhile, I'll keep querying lit agents, because why not? But this way I'm not postponing the experience of having readers.
—————
My first book, GenderQueer: A Story From a Different Closet, is published by Sunstone Press. It is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble in paperback, hardback, and ebook, and as ebook only from Apple, Kobo, and directly from Sunstone Press themselves.
My second book, That Guy in Our Women's Studies Class, has also now been published by Sunstone Press. It's a sequel to GenderQueer. It is available on Amazon and on Barnes & Noble in paperback and ebook, and as ebook only from Apple, Kobo, and directly from Sunstone Press themselves.
Links to published reviews and comments are listed on my Home Page, for both published books.
———————
This DreamWidth blog is echoed on Substack and LiveJournal. Please friend/link me from any of those environments on which you have an account.
————————
Index of all Blog Posts
A less apologetic Dr. Barnes shows up at our unit’s morning meeting. “Derek, it is good to see your face here among us this morning. Derek has come to some important conclusions about us here at Elk Meadow, has decided he’s in the right place after all. I think we’ve all seen how someone can come to recognize important truths that may not have been apparent to them when they first arrived. So let’s all go forward with a fresh start attitude.”
I guess that’s better than being sneered at in derision or being informed that I’m intellectualizing.
“Our Mark Raybourne tells me that you don’t care if other people don’t see you as a real man”, Barnes continues. “That’s actually a healthy attitude.” He glances around the room, gathering everyone’s focused attention.
Lowers his voice. It’s still resonant.
“For all of us, sooner or later we have to look into the mirror and deal with the person whose opinions matter: ourself! And I think Derek here has been trying to tell us that — that it’s not your opinion of him that counts, and it’s not mine, or the opinion of anyone here at Elk Meadow that counts...”
Barnes crouches down slightly, resting his hands on his knees, narrowing the focus back to me, conjuring with his posture. “A real man has to live up to his own standards. He has to put down the excuses and the avoidance strategies and face up to his mistakes and his errors of judgment, and examine any patterns of self-destruction he might be stuck in. A real man can’t be satisfied with being less than what he can be, what he was born to be, and you’re right, Derek, it’s his own opinion of himself that a man has to live with.”
Barnes straightens up and opens his hands, palms upward. Benign kind fatherly face in place, waiting.
“I agree with you”, I tell him, “about being honest with yourself and living up to your own standards. But what I was talking with Mark about the other day is that I’m not into all that ‘be a man’ stuff, the standards I have for myself aren’t centered around masculinity. I do have standards and goals for myself, and sometimes I don’t meet them and have to work on myself or, you know, try to deal somehow with my faults and defenses, but I don’t aspire to a lot of the things that were pushed at me all my life in the name of proving I’m a man, and frankly I’m tired of that stuff. And I do get to talk back about it.”
“Well now, one thing I think you should examine, since you’re being honest with yourself as much as possible, is whether you’re using that as an excuse...”
Barnes steps back slightly and holds up one open palm, a stop sign. I don’t think I was reacting visibly, but it’s possible that I did and don’t realize it.
“I’m not saying that you are”, Barnes continues, “but what if you’re using that as a way to set your aspirations in a fashion that doesn’t leave you open to failure? Just consider that. I mean, anyone could redefine their failures and disappointments as their goals. Hey look, everybody, I always wanted to be an unemployed homeless guy with a drug habit, I’m a rolling stone, I’m a tumbleweed and I’m free, never wanted to pay income tax and live behind a picket fence. See how that works?”
“Well, I don’t think I conjured this attitude up to excuse what some people regard as my failures. I was a university student a couple years ago and doing fine in all my courses, but I also started keeping a scrapbook in my dorm room. I wrote ‘Militant Heterosexual Sissy’ on the first page, and the more I took those ideas seriously, the happier I felt about myself. I was never like the other boys and I never wanted to be. It’s not that I didn’t think I was as good as other boys. When I was a kid, I always used to think I was better than them. I mean...the girls were definitely better than the boys, and here’s me joining: I’m with the girls, and we’re better. I’m a sissy, just like some girls are tomboys. And I always have been, and it’s not a problem. At least in and of itself. But to your other point, yes, I think I have other things to work on, ways in which I don’t measure up to what I want of myself, and that’s why I’m here”.
“Well, I suggest you...let’s see, how did you put it the other day? Treat that as your premise but consider the possibility that I might be on to something here. That’s all I’m asking.”
* * *
So Barnes wants to talk about gender.
I do want to have this conversation that he’s pushing, but I’m still struggling to put it all into words that express all of what I want to say. And although I can argue my side, I’d really prefer not to have this conversation adversarially.
I didn’t go through my elementary and high school years thinking that the lack of acceptance and the mean-spirited hostility were all due to me being more like one of the girls than a boy is supposed to be. It looks that way to me now, but that’s a retroactive interpretation.
It’s a theory; it seems to make sense of my life, and it fits the facts as I know or remember them, but my mind saying it fits the facts, that’s also an interpretation, isn’t it?
Under the right circumstances, I could talk about this with people, including the possibility that I’ve latched onto this theory because it lets me feel like I’m making sense of things, but that it isn’t necessarily right, the most valid interpretation. And including the possibility that I’ve latched onto it because it absolves me of being some kind of horrid unlikeable selfish disgusting person whose hideous personality and creepiness and atrocious social skills are the real reason almost nobody liked me when I was growing up, and everyone picked on me and called me names and so on.
Under the right circumstances, I could talk about all that, but it seems unlikely to happen in here. Which is quite sad.
But everyone in this place who pokes into other people’s motivations and rationales for things is in the habit of making their pokes as if from a position of absolute certainty. Telling the other that this is how it is and if you don’t agree you’re in denial.
So that provokes my own protective sense that my uncertainty is more of a technicality than a worried fearful state of not knowing. Because it does seem to fit the facts and explain things, it’s the model of reality from which I operate, and I have as much confidence in mine as you folks have in yours, dammit, and I probably have better reason for the confidence.
Back before I had this understanding of myself, I was a long way from confident. And it showed, and that combination of being different and uncertain really set me up for a lot of hostility and ridicule. Now I have this clear vision, this explanation, and I come across as quite confident, perhaps pushing into outright arrogance. Arrogance would be worrisome, I mean if I became unwilling to consider any possibility that I might be wrong or that I needed to examine my behavior or my beliefs. I don’t want that to happen. When you stop questioning what you believe, you stop learning things.
But, anyway, sure, I get defensive. I’m pretty sure I can lay that defensiveness down. I can be open to questioning it all. Or I could be.
But in this place, that feels too much like it would be unilateral disarmament or something.
* * *
I am meandering down the hall with the notion of seeing who else is hanging out in the cafeteria area. Barnes’ redheaded assistant Irma is coming my direction and calls out, “Hey...you, hold on a minute.” So I do. She strides towards me to such close range that I back up a step.
“I know you think you’re a fucking smartass”, she snarls. “You ever think for one moment that maybe we got something good here and you’re messing it up? I seen lots of people get their shit together in here, and I don’t know what your thing is, but you’re ruining things up for everybody. You ever think of that?” She’s authoritatively crisp and a bit scary, glowering at me in revulsion. The inside out of her gameshow-host morning-meeting persona, but she’s still an effective people pusher. Her mouth twitches. Scowling, waiting for a reaction.
I shuffle backwards and to the side and lean against the wall, but I look directly back at her. “You really believe in this place, huh? I can see both good and bad things happening in here, but there’s a kind of ‘one size fits all’ attitude I don’t care for, and it’s too pushy and coercive in here. You can’t help people against their will, you know.”
Irma glares at me. “A lot of people don’t know what’s good for them.”
I glare back. “And you think you do? What if we don’t agree?”
“I know you think you’re charming and clever, but you’re just a disgusting pervert. How can you stand yourself? Go look in a mirror. You’re a thing, you belong in a toilet and someone should’ve flushed you a long time ago!”
Irma impales me with her eyes, mimics throwing up, and then stomps off down the hall.
————
I'm seeking feedback on my book Within the Box right here, one chapter at a time.
I'm hoping people will read it and comment on it as I go. I'm hoping that if they like it, they'll spread the word.
When I get to the end, I'll start over with the first chapter, by which point I'll no doubt have made changes.
Meanwhile, I'll keep querying lit agents, because why not? But this way I'm not postponing the experience of having readers.
—————
My first book, GenderQueer: A Story From a Different Closet, is published by Sunstone Press. It is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble in paperback, hardback, and ebook, and as ebook only from Apple, Kobo, and directly from Sunstone Press themselves.
My second book, That Guy in Our Women's Studies Class, has also now been published by Sunstone Press. It's a sequel to GenderQueer. It is available on Amazon and on Barnes & Noble in paperback and ebook, and as ebook only from Apple, Kobo, and directly from Sunstone Press themselves.
Links to published reviews and comments are listed on my Home Page, for both published books.
———————
This DreamWidth blog is echoed on Substack and LiveJournal. Please friend/link me from any of those environments on which you have an account.
————————
Index of all Blog Posts
