The Rooftop’s Edge

The other day I was telling my therapist about how it feels like to be attracted to *******.

“It’s like someone pushed me down a flight of stairs and I’m falling perpetually with no end in sight,” I said to him over Zoom yes, I’m a little dramatic gaysian b***** ****, I know, I know.

We processed my crush on this person for 50 minutes.

I’m Aging!

One of the weirdest parts of my life over the past year has been when people call me professor. Or when my therapy clients call me Dr. (insert my last name). I suspect some of this stems from general adjustment to something new; before, people in my professional life called me Thomas, now, sometimes they don’t. It’s different! At the same time, in reflecting upon my reluctance to embrace the “professor” or “Dr.” title, I sense the presence of underlying existential crises, too.

I think part of my slight existential dread comes from how up until this point in my life, I had always been in training.

Besties

Last week my mental health took a sharp nosedive. Amidst my distress, I practiced the DBT skill distress tolerance skill pros and cons. I thought about the pros of killing myself, the cons of killing myself, the pros of not skilling myself, and the cons of not killing myself (for those reading, please rest assured I have no intention of killing myself and I am in a very stable place now mentally!) When I reflected on the pros of killing myself, I only came up with one – not having to feel pain anymore. When I brainstormed the cons of killing myself, I listed out many, though most revolved around one theme: my relationships.

In the throes of my man-induced despair, I thought about how I couldn’t kill myself because of how much it would devastate my friends, students, and clients.

Somehow

My mental health has declined over the past few days. One of my best friends is staying with me in Philly for a little while which has been wonderful, though my raw psychological distress has also gone up because of the situation I mentioned in my last post. My passive suicidal ideation has increased and I’m throwing every DBT skill at the wall to keep myself alive. I don’t share this to cause concern from anyone reading – I’m genuinely doing okay (not okay, but in an okay way), coping effectively, and started seeing a new therapist (who honestly seems great so far??) and at the same time it has been rough out here.

One particularly distressing thing about this most recent situation I’ve found myself in is that I literally cannot do anything about it.

Hot Girls Not Colonized

About six years ago, I thought I met the most perfect man ever. We both identified as queer men of color, shared similar social justice values, and both enjoyed reading and writing. I convinced myself that he was the best man I would ever meet in my entire life (I wish this were an exaggeration, but it isn’t.) Now, I laugh to myself and with my friends about how obsessed I felt over him. He clearly didn’t have the emotional intelligence I would want in a romantic partner or a friend, yet 23-year-old me overlooked that in favor of basking in delusional fantasies about me and him frolicking in a field of queer literary racial justice flowers I know it’s hard to imagine what queer literary racial justice flowers would look like, just roll with it.

At one point, he had told me that even though he had broken up with his boyfriends, he did not feel ready to talk to me. I remember feeling so dysregulated by this; my emotions came in hot and in overwhelming waves. I told my therapist at the time that I wanted to stop eating at least for a little while so I could feel better, so I could regain some control over the situation. Over time, with her support and with the love of my friends and myself, I learned how to feel more okay with a lack of control in my life, and I moved on from this emotionally messy unavailable man.

Flash forward to today, and I think I’ve met the perfect person.

I Miss the Days

Over the past couple of days, I have felt weighed down by my adult routine: prepare my lecture for work, buy groceries for the next few days at ShopRite, login to my apartment’s online portal to pay my rent. It’s odd because I’ve always wanted to get to this stage of my life, the part with autonomy and stability, not to mention work and relationships that are filled with meaning. Yet I can’t help but feel a pang of some unspecified sad emotion.

I think at times I miss the old days.

Mid

For the past couple of weeks I’ve felt frustrated with myself and my work. I’m teaching two classes and they’re going alright but not as great as I want. I’ve submitted four papers since January though my research to-do list still goes on and on. I’ve acquired so many interesting-seeming books from my local library yet they sit on my desk unopened because of how little time I have to read.

When I reflect on this frustration, I suppose I want excellence.

Taking a Breath

Growing up I didn’t have my own room. That didn’t bother me much, though the lack of privacy meant that my mother could come down to the basement where I spent most of my time and barrage me with insults at any point. She screamed and yelled about anything, ranging from me receiving less than a perfect grade, to the way I talked, how I walked, if I looked at her a certain way, how I held my hand out to receive a certificate at a high school awards ceremony, and more. Residing in my childhood home felt like living on a landmine that could go off at any moment, triggered by something as small as spilling a drop of Gatorade on the ground or shoveling snow off my dad’s car with form that displeased my mother.

I think that trauma contributes to what makes me feel so grateful to have my own apartment.

Thomas’s Top Ten 2023 Reads

Hello friends foes and folks I don’t know! This year I read 178 books. Through moving to a new city for the second year in a row, starting a new job, contending with new mediocre men I’ve gone on dates with, and navigating new ups and downs in life, I have found solace, comfort, and connection in books. Interestingly this is the first year that my entire top ten consists of fiction. There just weren’t too many interesting nonfiction books to me this year and the ones I did read didn’t evoke as much emotion as the fiction I read. However, I already have several nonfiction releases I’m looking forward to reading in 2024 so we’ll see how that goes. As always I’ve included links to my full Goodreads reviews of each book and you can see all of my previous years’ lists at this page.

Normiecore

Over the past six months, I have been exposed to more married people with kids than in any previous era of my life. I suspect it’s because I work in fairly conventional settings (e.g., academia, a private practice), and because as I approach 30, more people want marriage and kids at this age than before.

For the most part, I feel happy and/or indifferent toward people who want marriage and kids even though I don’t want that.