Shame on you

The Velvet Rage: Overcoming Growing Up Gay in A Straight Man’s World

The Velvet Rage: Overcoming The Pain of Growing Up Gay In A Striaght Man's World


My AA sponsor suggested I read The Velvet Rage: Overcoming the Pain Of Growing Up Gay in A Straight Man’s World, by Alan Downs, PhD while I was still able to go to AA meetings. I no longer go to meetings due to inability to get to the gay meetings, which are further away.

Anyway, I loved the book the minute I started reading because I could identify with everything this guy is writing and hope there is a cure for me hate of gays.

The Velvet Rage: Preface to the 2012 Edition, page ix

The author is reminiscing about good ol’ days, the men he has loved/lusted and the friends lost to AIDS through drugs/alcohol, remarking “I am alive,” as that is sufficient enough for him.

This is what I’ve wanted my whole life, yet it has escaped me my whole life also. Admittedly, I my default state is not one of gratitude…problem 1.

The Velvet Rage: Preface to the 2012 Edition, page x

I glance backward and feel the tide of life and memory rushing forward, I am torn between gratitude for what was given and longing for what was lost.

I tend to focus on longing for what was never had.

“we are uniquely identifiable in our ways—there is no mistaking gay culture when you see it.”

I interpret “gay culture” as West Hollywood, which is easily identifiable to me. However, without gaydar, I can’t tell another homosexual just by looking at one…unless he is a drag queen or obviously flamboyant, and even then I can be wrong. My ideal man is masculine, straight-appearing, making it doubly hard for me to identify an ideal mate.

The Velvet Rage: Preface to the 2012 Edition, page xi

“When you love a man, it fundamentally changes you-and we have all be shaped by our love of men; the heavy caress of his hand, the brush of the hair on his forearm, and the powerful kiss that at once dominates and deconstructs our defenses.. These things enliven our days an fuel our dreams.”

Wow! I have the added complication of taking that fuel and creating a conflagration because of my sex addition.

“It is the concept of shame, in fact, that has enlightened so many of their lives. Prior to reading the book, they felt they had long ago been done with the ravages of shame over their sexual orientation. Some actually have no memory of feeling shame over being gay-they marched out of the closet at a young age and never looked back. It is here, at this point, that a truly life-changing insight emerges. Most of us have not felt the emotion or shame for many years-since we first came to terms with being gay. For the majority of gay men who are out of the closet, shame is no longer felt. What was once a feeling  has become something deeper and more sinister in our psyches-it is a deeply and rigidly held belief in our own unworthiness for love.”


“We were taught by the experience of shame during those tender and formative years of adolescence that there was something about us that was flawed, in essence unlovable, and that we must go about the business of making ourselves lovable if we were to survive.

The only people in my mind that taught me the experience of shame were school children who made fun of me for being fat and gay, when I didn’t even know what gay was, nor realized that was what I was. Well, they succeeded, because at 54+ I don’t believe I am lovable; only difference today is that I have given up ever being loved [the way I want to be loved.]

“We were hungry for love, and our very existence depended upon it…Whether life is worth living depends on whether there is love in life…The lesson of the early, crippling shame was imprinted on our lives. If you are to be loved, you must hide the truth about yourself and work at being lovable.”

 Guilty! Feeling unfulfilled, I chose drugs, knowing that I could make people laugh, equating laughter with love, confusing love with lust, and never ending up with anyone, provoking hate from within towards all. 

The Velvet Rage: Preface to the 2012 Edition, page xi

“Very few of us feel the shame, but almost all of us struggle with the private belief that “if you really knew the whole , unvarnished truth about me, you would know that I am unloveable. It is this belief that pushes us, even dominates us with its tyranny of existential anger. In our own way, young and old alike, we set about the business of “earning” love, and escaping the pain of believing we are unlovable. It is this damned quest that pushes us to the highest of highs, and simultaneously brings u to the brink. This is both the creator of the fabulous gay man and his destroyer

Me destroyed. When I have received attention from another man, I am walking on clouds; the minute it’s gone, you’d think I had been deflated.

“Gay shame is not embarrassment over being gay; is the belief that being gay is a mere symptom of your own mortally flawed psyche. You can treat the homophobic symptom, but the underlying disease persists until acknowledged and treated.”

Huh? Maybe my psychologist can explain this to me. I have been wanting to address my gay shame/hate with him. What is my homophobic symptom and underlying disease?

The Velvet Rage: Preface to the 2012 Edition, page xv

“…the lives of nearly all destructive perpetrators are intertwined with, and in many cases motivated by , rageful reactions to personal shame. The devastating effects of shame are ubiquitous, and the message of self-acceptance is universally craved by a world that has i large part been taught that you aren’t young, thin, holy, rich, or successful enough.”


The Velvet Rage: Preface to the 2012 Edition, page xvi

“…shame blocks people everywhere from experiencing the joy and contentment that lays just beyond those dark walls that imprison the human spirit.”

I believe this.

“While understanding the origins of shame-based wounds is important, this alone is not sufficient to bring needed change into our lives. Change comes by choice and practice, not from insight about our past.”

I concur.

Venice Family Clinic

Doctor Despina Kayichian

She is my kidney specialist at Venice Family Clinic. I had an 08:00 appointment today. I was there on time. I checked in . I had my vitals taken. I was placed in an examination room, where I continued to crochet on Please, Mr. Postman Blanket.

When I stood up to take a break from sitting for so long, I checked my phone and discovered it was 08:46!

On my way out, I stopped at my case worker’s desk to explain that I am tired of being treated like a specimen, that I was taking back control of my health care. As such, I will not tolerate unprofessionalism; lack of common decency, courtesy; disrespect. I will continue to go from doctor to doctor until I find one that provides the kind of care I desire.

A counselor with huge ears, butted in. I asked “Who are you?” She expressed a desire to speak with me – convert me! I wasn’t having it, repeated my reasons, and left.

As mother and I drove away, my phone rang and it was Venice Family Clinic. I answered and it turned out to be Dr. Kayichian. I related to her my thinking from last might that I am viewing our relationship, as such: A relationship! From that perspective, I am breaking up with her, pointing out that she would hardly tolerate the behavior she has been showing me.

Cesar Millan: Achieving Balance & Harmony…

…if you can afford it…apparently!

Wow! I just wrote Cesar Millan regarding Mojo and his new trick of releasing his bladder/bowels on my floor. As a puppy, he would bark and I would wake and let him out. Now, it is not even a matter of me sleeping. Yesterday, after dinner, he peed on my floor. I have my own medical issues to deal with and my room constantly smells like urine. I have tried pouring water on the pee, to dilute it before it sets. The big question is: why doesn’t Mojo notify me he has to go out anymore?

What sparked my outreach to the television celebrity was MY behavior. I have escalated from verbal correction to physical correction on his head. I just loose it! I am also aware that my depression is anger-based and feeling pushed to my limit I am unable to regulate my anger anymore. I DON’T WANT TO ABUSE MY DOG! I did mention that I am homeless and collecting SSI.

This is the automated response to my email sent through Cesar’s website:

QuoteWe review every message we receive – but due to the high volume of email we receive, we cannot guarantee an individual response to every message. Thank you for understanding.

If you have asked for help with dog behavior, dog training or an emergency dog issue, you will not receive a reply.

Please contact the International Association of Canine Professionals for assistance in locating a dog professional in your area.”

What the fuck!?

  1. You are an animal behavioralist!
  2. You are based twenty minutes from me!

NO LONGER A FAN: just like every other celebrity. It’s all about the money!

Cesar Millan

Checkin’ in…

Having cut off communication with my healthcare providers, I feel more in control, rejuvenated, not depressed. I think I need a break from all the bureaucracy, unprofessionalism and lack of common courtesy the health care industry is in bountiful supply.

Seriously, think about it as a relationship…would you have a relationship with someone that did not have any respect for you? I think not! And if you did, WAKE UP HUMAN!

The Bottom Line: It’s MY health! I care. If the health care industry cared they would not aggravate this ill person more.

DaNell Daymon and The Greater Works Gospel Choir

DaNell Daymon & Greater Works Gospel Choir

I just saw their semi-final performance on America’s Got Talent and I this is the closest I have come to have a complete breakdown and just crying my eyes out, which is probably what I need most.

DaNell shared his desperation; I can identify with that. What I can’t identify with is my reason for being created, here. He says that one must/just believe in yourself. My immediate reaction is that I don’t think I was taught that growing up. I know I was always told how smart I was, how handsome I was, how intelligent I was…I never believed it because my life experiences never matched or made sense to me. If I was so handsome, why did I never have/secure a companion? If I was so smart, why was I not able to earn as much money as my colleagues – in reality, I never have been motivated by money.

Anyway, I would love to see the choir perform in their own show in Vegas. It might be worth the $s to go; I would be crying during the whole performance, loving it! Their performances move me.


93°F In Culver City

93°F In Culver City

I awoke this morning to do some work before an 8:30 a.m. appointment.

I was called in at 8:34 a.m. for vitals at Venice Family Clinic.

I had a very thorough examination by my doctor, albeit beginning late at  8:50 a.m.

I had been experiencing a shortness of breath and pain in the middle of my chest since I switched from duloxetine(?) to viibrid(?) – which I learned today would not improve my impotence. The doc felt that the impotence was due to diabetes. Of course, being a government recipient, an Rx for viagra is out of the question. Strike 1 *

OMG! I just thought of something funny 😀

The doctor orders an EKG. Based on the EKG, she suggests I go to the emergency room for suspicious coronary event. I hesitate, but under threat of calling the paramedics – which would not be all bad, if you get my meaning – I comply and mother drives me to Marina del Rey Hospital.

Strike 2 was the third patient in triage: I find it the rudest and such a lack of boundaries when another patient is playing audio at a volume as to invade the person sitting right next you. By this time I had not eaten, nor had a stroke or heart attack, so I was getting uncomfortable, impatient and irritable. Fortunately, mom brought me something to eat. Finally, the Dr, Kay(?) came in and suggested overnight hospitalization for good measure due to enlarged heart. Additionally, due to my government coverage I would have to be transferred to another hospital. Fine. Let me get the hell out of here and get my ass over there because I can get over there faster than it takes you to even inform me of what’s going on, inflammation of my legs and feet very apparent.

Oh, and by the way, how fucking pretentious are you that you have a scribe who is violating my health care privacy by actually viewing me. If she can afford $20 lunches – overheard – why can’t she afford a dictaphone and learn to use it?

I get to Southern California Hospital, Culver City. I am super calm, but direct because I feel that half my day has already been wasted going from one medical institution to another. I relate what has already transpired and inquire politely if she has any idea how long it would take to get admitted. She turns to Dr. Bitch – I can see and actually hear through the six inch bulletproof shield, which, thankfully for them is there and that I am one fucking angry pacifist – relays my story and without even looking at the documentation I had brought, says “I am busy right now.”  <The Truth**> The admissions clerk – I think it’s the same lady I complained about before – turns to me and says she can’t be definite. Thank you, have a nice day.

I decide to take the bus to the dispensary my psychologist had referred to me. As I am walking to the bus, I have another stroke…

It just occurs to me, that I am pretty sure that I justifying my desire to just go the fuck home already – if I am going to fucking die, I’d rather die at home than in some incompetent, unprofessional hospital.

…Dr. Bitch didn’t even look at my paperwork and I had expressly stated that this was a matter of a coronary issue. At the time, I became incensed. I march back to the hospital and ask the name of the doctor? nurse? tech? who’s name I will include in a strongly worded letter to Southern California Hospital, Culver City. The admissions clerk turns to the girl and informs her “That guy would like to speak to you,” which is a fucking lie; I only asked her name; I did not specify why. A guy steps in – green shirt with horizontal blue stripes, trying to assist – or nosey? This is when she says “I am busy.”

Fuming, I walk across the street – again with shortness of breath and chest pain. After Lobo, Patient Relations, whom I had been talking to on the phone while the three stooges were trying to get Dr. Bitch’s name, had told me he would look into it and get back to me.

Look into  what? Bring your fucking ass down her so I can’t point the culprits out! Just WHOM are you going to look into without a name or identification. And that’s exactly what I did when he finally came down from his air-conditioned office to find out why I was in the building. And I will point out, it was no minor feat wiht Reese(sp?), the security guard, choosing to argue over Lobo’s gender – I had thought I had been speaking to a woman. – translate that Spanish IV! 😀

I am tired and high and forgetting, let me wind this shit up!

When we get back to the emergency room, the window is shut. There is no way to ID anyone. Okay, that’s the way you want to play it. Give me Tony Desai (sp?), supposedly the top dog. Left message on voice mail.

On the bus, still fuming, call Tony back and leave another voice mail, this time using derogatory terms when referring to Dr. Bitch and demanding a list of all employees working in the emergency room @ 1:25 pm on September 1, 2017, which I will forward to my lawyer, and threatening this ain’t over.

Tell me the truth!

Am I wrong?

I’ll admit, I should not have used derogatory terms in my last voice mail, but considering my measured temperament – compared to how early I would have erupted previously – I may have been a little arrogant to expect IMMEDIATE attention, but I did not argue, I left willingly, no fuss.


I need another joint.

Good night!

I just know I’m forgetting somethign. 😀

* …o was it Stroke 1?
* As I write this, I can’t remember what specific action by her incensed me, but if you’re still reading, you’ll see just what kind of Dr. she is.

Capitalism Isn't Working Another World Is Possible

Why I Detest Capitalism

Of course, it started in the home, though I had no idea of what capitalism was at the time. The earliest indication would’ve been my mother’s compulsive shopping, which now encompasses every closet in the house, four! Even today she’s the first to claim she has been cured through anonymous programs, and justifies this cure by shopping at yard sales for things she has no room/need for in her life.

As for me, I have been identified as spoiled. I am the oldest, so it makes sense, and as I sit here and type this post fifty-four years old, I have to admit that I am spoiled. I don’t like it and after fifty-four years have somehow come to despise wealth and celebrity. Millions of dollars as a salary is exorbitant; people with wealth are afforded opportunities: the perfect example would be Chris Brown; found guilty of FELONY assault and given a second chance by – albeit stupid – society; me FELON who could not secure employment for over 13 years!

Anyway, my contempt for capitalism increased with age, as I saw how it corrupts everything it touches. I live in Los Angeles County and collect Supplemental Security Income due to medical complications which preclude me from working. At $895/mo, I can’t even afford housing and remain , technically, homeless. And get this, I have been paying $200/mo for 10 years (approximately $31K over 13 years) to in a garage next door to my parents, who are also my landlords. Today, their preparation of the house in front really got to me and I viewed it as the tenants paying $3000/mo get favored just because they pay more. My garage could use some improvements, but once again, being poor equals no matter.

Even today, my mother is the first to be asking for money all the time. I know I owe her, I know where she lives, I even give financial updates, yet I feel harassed over money all the time. I pray for the day I am done paying her back and in the meantime, I take nothing from them. This combined with my guilty conscience from being a drug addict for so long, have taught me to hard on myself and to live and ascetic life. I know from personal experience that when I had the least, I was the happiest. I try to live in the vein and pray every day for Wall Street to crumble to the ground, along with the one percent.


My Shame

This is my secret shame for 54 years…No Penis!

My Penis

Apparently, due to obesity, which has been my companion for 54 years. Seriously, it looks like a vagina with testicles! Doesn’t matter much cause I can barely reach it to pleasure even myself, as much as anyone else. So no matter what I am male? Female? Hermaphrodite? it doesn’t even matter now.

Because of this non-existent penis, I have always been ashamed of my own body, preferring to have sex only in the dark, remaining clothed while I serviced other men/boys. And to make matters worse, I can’t even get an erection anymore – due to diabetes? High blood pressure? Low blood pressure? Weight? I am trying to find out now through my doctor(s).

So more history on how I got so fucked up in the head…

As a school youth, I avoided showering after gym to avoid unnecessary ridicule; I was already being called “gay” and “faggot.” When I started having sex, it was mostly anonymous as a result of being high/drunk – on the beach, cruising; guys I picked up in the bar for one night stands, etc. – so there was not much concern back then, plus I had the advantage of once being aroused, able to get an erection. The detriment I carried forward was the anonymity and the addiction.

I was fortunate once, to encounter Charlie, who taught me there were people that enjoyed big guys and taught me to appreciate and probably even love myself for a short time. Once Charlie and I separated, I returned to what I knew, two-fold.

Today, unable to get an erection, I can’t even act out sexually, when the pressure gets too much, as it must involve drugs. I know because I tried at great risk to myself. I hired a prostitute, who supplied crystal meth and GHB. While he went out to secure a second guy, I was on the phone with a fourth guy. Guy four came while guy two was gone, but I could not go through with it. WTF!? Guy two returned solo, which was probably best, but still the night cost me about $500 and I still was unsatisfied.

I am honest and open about my thoughts and actions with my psychologist and psychiatrist, who have taught me one thing that has really rocked my world. When I introduced the idea that I feel female/male it was suggested that my male persona/half allowed my female persona/half to be abused sexually…Hunger/Fury. Even during my last escapade, I was oblivious to what I was doing and feel that it was grace that prevented me from going further.

Once I get the erection thing solved, I plan on advertising my fat old self to chasers who will appreciate a big guy.

US News

All I Need To Know About Charlottesville

…defined in one image.

MY Truth

MY Opinion

  • sad to see humanity reduced to savagery
  • confused regarding correlation between collateral damage and hero

I was going to post this on my personal social media account, but had second thoughts and thought it better to post here.


No one comments here!

laughter applause laughter applause laughter applause crickets crickets crickets

Nothing Is Ever Simple

Nothing Is Ever Simple…

…in my family.

Mom just asked me to move a couch into the rental property, in the car, on the way home from the nursing appointment.

My immediate reply is “no” because I am sore all over my shoulders and back.

Then I start building up my arsenal of additional excuses not to help: poor old dad, parents are comfortable enough to hire people to do physical labor; I am not moving in; I am not making anything from this venture.

I am not making up excuses, I am being honest. Seems harsh, but I believe direct honesty is much more efficient.

So far there have been no repercussions, but I know better. One day it will come back to bite me. I can hear it now…”I don’t know why he is the way he is, we give him rides to all his doctor’s appointments and he can’t help us move a couch!” Actually, this serves as an excellent reminder to find out about patient transportation from my healthcare network.