The Start of the Numb Years (Jim)
The Beginning of the Numb Years 12/11/2005
I had stopped writing because I no longer knew what I wanted to say, or where to go with this. I had known which memories I wanted to recall but not to where they would lead me and why. I still stand on a wall of sorts, I think, but not a sexual one now. Germany was not about sexual integrity and integration, though that was its first result, but rather the beginning of a huge second reassessment of my relationship with others. It also showed me there was beauty out there again, and reignited my hope for it and thus my connection with life. Those were the grains of sand that shifted my whole balance and began my way back to others.
The sheer agony of my mid-life crisis was that I was so sealed off from all that is life giving. I was alone and neutralized in every way. The beauty I saw as out there, though alien to me, registered with something within and long dormant.
The first reassessment of my relationship with others began the dark, numb years after college. At that time I knew God and beauty was out there for I had experienced it recently but I saw these as threats to my very survival, and as something I had to absolutely abstain from. I was also quite aware, that if God would not care for me, that I had to make my peace with authority figures, represented primarily by my father. I needed the world to survive. I must fit in.
So for the first year after college, I returned to Rockwell International fiberglass plant to pay bills and decide what I wanted to do for a living. I hated the work but felt that was good as it would keep me focused on the issue of what else to do for a living. I was allowed to move freely around the plant as long as I beat the highest output quota on any machine I worked on that day. I still had some rebel in me though, and would, about once a week, flip the line off, as I observed management running the Mexicans right into the oven. I was so horrified by the greed and ambition of management and by how workers were such sheep. It was a feeling similar to the one I felt watching the movie “Serbia”, now out at the movies, from the book “See No Evil”. Business was unpalatable and priesthood untenable. How could I live in such a world?
My father and I hadn’t spoken hardly a word since he’d come up to my room and said one of us must leave, in my early teens. Within, I had agreed to a truce with him, at that time, a very cold war, where we simply ignored the others existence. To me he was dead. The rage and pure hatred had simply spread though to all authority figures, which I knew would land me in jail if I didn’t get a handle on it. So as I came home every night and tried to find something to admire in my father, I’d feel like I was negotiating with Satan himself. The fact remained though, that I needed him.
My father didn’t meet me half way. He required total submission and surrender. So each night I’d run up the white flag as I approached him. He’d sit on the couch reading the paper, while my mother sat in a chair across from him, bored stiff, and I sat, in the silence, in a third chair. I’d talk to the paper for as long as I could, then go on my way. As the year wore on, sooner and sooner I could get him to lower the paper and talk with me. After two years we had a friendship and I could tolerate authority figures.
At the start of the second year after college, I had hated the factory long enough to decide on computer programming as a viable career. I knew architecture was my first choice, but I didn’t want to do the schooling for it. So the plan was to go to the community college and take only computer classes for a year, while working at the college bookstore.
I’d drool over the soccer team as they came in for books, but none the less, I began to date Pat, a girl cashier in the cafeteria. To be sexual with her was a deliberate experiment. She was my last attempt to be straight, and the only girl I’ve ever had sex with. She was a total tom-boy, except for her bed-room, both of which I loved about her. You could mistake her for a boy. The bedroom though was so feminine and soft, piled high with lace, ruffles and feathers, all pink, and full of stuffed animals. I was taken in by her. I imagined her vagina as a thousand fingers on my penis, stroking it. We had sex everyday, everywhere. I loved her so.
She was always afraid she’d lose me to some other woman, truth is I only noticed their boy-friends. And I felt so dirty, substituting one of them in for Pat, in my imagination, as I’d cum. I fit in with her. We were so happy with each other, but I didn’t know, if I married her, if I could be faithful. As I explained I must go, she stopped breathing, turning purple. I slapped her hard.
No! I wouldn’t go to St. Louis to work, at 60 miles away, it was too near. Chicago, at 300 miles from home, was just the distance I sought. I fled to Chicago, knowing I had ruined her life, so selfishly raped her innocence, for an experiment.
I had stopped writing because I no longer knew what I wanted to say, or where to go with this. I had known which memories I wanted to recall but not to where they would lead me and why. I still stand on a wall of sorts, I think, but not a sexual one now. Germany was not about sexual integrity and integration, though that was its first result, but rather the beginning of a huge second reassessment of my relationship with others. It also showed me there was beauty out there again, and reignited my hope for it and thus my connection with life. Those were the grains of sand that shifted my whole balance and began my way back to others.
The sheer agony of my mid-life crisis was that I was so sealed off from all that is life giving. I was alone and neutralized in every way. The beauty I saw as out there, though alien to me, registered with something within and long dormant.
The first reassessment of my relationship with others began the dark, numb years after college. At that time I knew God and beauty was out there for I had experienced it recently but I saw these as threats to my very survival, and as something I had to absolutely abstain from. I was also quite aware, that if God would not care for me, that I had to make my peace with authority figures, represented primarily by my father. I needed the world to survive. I must fit in.
So for the first year after college, I returned to Rockwell International fiberglass plant to pay bills and decide what I wanted to do for a living. I hated the work but felt that was good as it would keep me focused on the issue of what else to do for a living. I was allowed to move freely around the plant as long as I beat the highest output quota on any machine I worked on that day. I still had some rebel in me though, and would, about once a week, flip the line off, as I observed management running the Mexicans right into the oven. I was so horrified by the greed and ambition of management and by how workers were such sheep. It was a feeling similar to the one I felt watching the movie “Serbia”, now out at the movies, from the book “See No Evil”. Business was unpalatable and priesthood untenable. How could I live in such a world?
My father and I hadn’t spoken hardly a word since he’d come up to my room and said one of us must leave, in my early teens. Within, I had agreed to a truce with him, at that time, a very cold war, where we simply ignored the others existence. To me he was dead. The rage and pure hatred had simply spread though to all authority figures, which I knew would land me in jail if I didn’t get a handle on it. So as I came home every night and tried to find something to admire in my father, I’d feel like I was negotiating with Satan himself. The fact remained though, that I needed him.
My father didn’t meet me half way. He required total submission and surrender. So each night I’d run up the white flag as I approached him. He’d sit on the couch reading the paper, while my mother sat in a chair across from him, bored stiff, and I sat, in the silence, in a third chair. I’d talk to the paper for as long as I could, then go on my way. As the year wore on, sooner and sooner I could get him to lower the paper and talk with me. After two years we had a friendship and I could tolerate authority figures.
At the start of the second year after college, I had hated the factory long enough to decide on computer programming as a viable career. I knew architecture was my first choice, but I didn’t want to do the schooling for it. So the plan was to go to the community college and take only computer classes for a year, while working at the college bookstore.
I’d drool over the soccer team as they came in for books, but none the less, I began to date Pat, a girl cashier in the cafeteria. To be sexual with her was a deliberate experiment. She was my last attempt to be straight, and the only girl I’ve ever had sex with. She was a total tom-boy, except for her bed-room, both of which I loved about her. You could mistake her for a boy. The bedroom though was so feminine and soft, piled high with lace, ruffles and feathers, all pink, and full of stuffed animals. I was taken in by her. I imagined her vagina as a thousand fingers on my penis, stroking it. We had sex everyday, everywhere. I loved her so.
She was always afraid she’d lose me to some other woman, truth is I only noticed their boy-friends. And I felt so dirty, substituting one of them in for Pat, in my imagination, as I’d cum. I fit in with her. We were so happy with each other, but I didn’t know, if I married her, if I could be faithful. As I explained I must go, she stopped breathing, turning purple. I slapped her hard.
No! I wouldn’t go to St. Louis to work, at 60 miles away, it was too near. Chicago, at 300 miles from home, was just the distance I sought. I fled to Chicago, knowing I had ruined her life, so selfishly raped her innocence, for an experiment.
posted by LifeWriter at 10:40 PM
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