Birthday Candles on the Funeral Pyre

To anyone who's known me, and wondered why I'm always so tight-lipped and mysterious - even going back to my childhood - it's 100% a symptom of my anxiety. I'm terrified of being judged, even for the stupidest little things. But the older I get, the more I'm getting tired of hiding. It seems to me that with every candle that gets added to your birthday cake, that's one less fuck to give - in my case, about upsetting the people who don't appreciate who I am and what I represent. What's the point of even living, if you never get the chance to be yourself, and let people get to know the real you?

I'm not saying that's an excuse to be an asshole, or a criminal, but that's never been my personality anyway. I'm just tired of walking on my tippy toes around conservatives and conformists who don't like the way I dress, who are insecure of their own sexuality, who are afraid of the human body in a way that is patently sexist, and who want to legislate away my access to health care, my prospects for a fulfilling (if not lucrative) career in the erotic arts, and my ability to pursue the activities that bring me happiness.

The longer I live, the more likely it's going to be that I'll piss off the wrong person, and experience harassment, be violently attacked (I don't know why conservatives are so intimidated by liberals, because my fear is literally that a conservative will pull out a gun and shoot me), or run afoul of a power-drunk fascist with a badge. Not because I'm a villain or I want to hurt anyone. But because I'm different. And people don't understand that. Maybe they would understand better if I expressed myself more. But that's really hard to do when it feels like doing so puts an enormous target on your chest. So much for freedom of speech.

I know it's the nature of anxiety to exaggerate one's fears, and I wonder sometimes if I have a habit of externalizing my own limitations - because it's easier to blame someone else for holding you back than to break through the blockage in your own mind. The truth is, I'm more afraid of self-criticism (on Bojack Horseman, I related to "Stupid Piece of Shit" more than the depression and the alcoholism) than I am of any low IQ, middle school-educated, gun-toting, Trump-flag waving, ape in human clothing.

Maybe I'm just getting bored of this lifestyle of hiding all the time, and want to shake things up, come what may. But I can tell you that the more radicalized the conservative segment of our culture becomes, the more emboldened it makes me, and the less willing I am to capitulate to their fragile sensibilities in order to avoid making waves. The louder you spew hatred, the more I want to shove the thing you hate in your face, no matter the danger to myself. The time for diplomacy is over. You can kill me, but you'll never change who I am. There exists a line that, when crossed, disenfranchised minorities will be willing to lay down even their lives for justice. And dangerous though that may be, it could be argued that keeping them pacified in their disenfranchisement is the more insidious alternative.

All of this was covered in Stellan Skarsgård's speech in Andor. I've also likened it in the past to the character of the donkey in Animal Farm. He's intelligent. He just wants to lead a simple life on the farm. As far as he's concerned, the new boss is same as the old boss. Until the animals let the pigs load up the horses for the glue factory, thinking they're just going to the hospital - because they literally can't read the writing on the wall (or the side of the truck). And the donkey loses it - he just can't keep silent any longer. It's why all wise men fear the anger of a patient man. And I'm starting to get angry. With each step I take toward my own grave, I have a little bit less to lose. And there's still so, so much to be gained.