Intermezzo (and it’s a long one):
I have changed this post in my head about 7 times already. I first set off with an idea on a writing spree, when I wrote Act II, this Intermezzo, Act III and an epilogue all in one sitting. But since putting this on paper (or, to be more precise, on a Google docs file), I read some other stuff and thought about some other stuff, and I am still not sure I am done with this post. Maybe this will be forever under construction, a forever conflict, in the same way I am realising that I might never be able to fully deal with the “monster” I created. Wait, a monster? Yes, but let me rewind a bit. I was going all the way back to the beginning of the original post I wrote, but I want to start someone else. I want to start on my back.
A few days back, I had a bad case of sciatica. It’s something I’ve been experiencing recently and it’s almost at a point where it’s recurrent. This time, I spent a lot of time on the floor, so I decided to take a picture of it and post it to instagram - Bear Hinksch’s instagram. By the way, from now on I will refer to Bear Hinksch as BH, be warned. Anyway, I added a caption indicating I had back issues, and I got mixed reactions for it. About half the people showed empathy, the other half made comments about how hot I looked. Then, a few days later, I was having a particularly high anxiety day, to a point where I couldn’t stay seated on my table at work and I had to walk around. Which might be normal for others, but it’s never been so bad for me before.
So I posted again something on instagram, this time a clip of Mel Brooks singing High Anxiety (great movie, btw!) and asked people to tell me something to help distract me. Again, mixed actions: half the people said nice things, half made comments about how hot I am, how much they want to fuck me etc. And before you come at me with “oh, I am sorry for the poor hot boy playing the world’s smallest violin about his hotness”, it got me thinking about how big BH has become, and how he makes the world perceive me. And if it would only be a perception, I could probably manage it. The issue is when it comes into the real world, and affects my real life. Which brings me to the original beginning of this post.
The other day someone wrote me, out of the blue, someone I haven't spoken to in a while. It started with them telling me that they were going through a tough time because they had recently broken up with their partner. I thought it was a bit unusual, because we never really talked much, but it felt nice that they reached out to me, of all people, in such a difficult moment. The feeling didn't last long, though. A bit more chatting and it became clear that they were looking for a hookup. Not for a friend, a shoulder, a hug. They wanted a body, someone to help them rebound. But it’s not the first time, far from it in fact. Here's another example: I once became friends with someone I admired for a long time, someone I also had a crush on. It was really cool to finally get to know them, and I wanted that friendship to grow. The sex was alright, but that didn't matter that much to me, definitely not as much as the friendship. I wanted something bigger, and sex was only a part of it. If we stopped having sex, I would still want to be friends with them. Then this guy started dating someone, and just like that, he was gone. Disappeared. I tried to keep in touch, I told him I'd love to meet his partner, and I would be ok with our sexual bit to go away now that he was building something with someone else. But that wasn't enough. I wasn't enough for a friendship without the sexual aspect.
There are many more examples I can pull out of the bag, but I don't want this to turn into a whiny autobiography. Instead, I want to do what I do best: analyse it and try to get something out of it. Still being whiny. Here, in the og post, I went back to a previous post where I wrote about the death of BH here, and argued that he didn’t really die. That’s a bit pointless, to be honest. The whole thing could be summed up in one simple sentence: I didn’t kill BH, I just became tolerant to the drug I created to soothe my deeper issues. It goes back to the OCD cycle, like everything does in my life, but I got to a point where the compulsions didn’t work anymore. For a while, because after some time, BH is back and in action like before. This time though, I am out of the cycle. Or at least I’m trying to be.
A few days ago I was reading about a porn actor who passed away recently, and how it was speculated that this actor, like many others, committed suicide. And then a long discussion ensued about how common it is for people in the sex working industry to have mental health issues and to attempt against their own lives, and how the objectification of these people contribute to that. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I can relate to this, but there is an aspect of this that is somewhat similar to what I go through with BH. I created this alter ego to help me deal with my issues with masculinity, which come from different sources, one of them being my father and our relationship growing up. But more on that later.
Because, on a deeper level, BH is an expression of the masculinity which doesn’t come easily to me. I do post pictures on his instagram wearing dresses and make up, and that’s probably because even in my deepest masculine state I cannot escape my femininity. But BH is a representation of the boy I always wanted to be. He’s the jock I craved all these years. It’s so simple, yet so clever: I wanted so much to be like them that I created a version of myself like them. And here’s where it gets interesting: My version of the jock is not a bully. My version is not against femininity, is not intolerant, not to be feared. BH is the projection of the jock I always looked for in others, but in the way that I hoped they would be when I got to know them. In the way I would be if I would have been that man. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside. Looks rough, but has a beautiful heart. My version is nothing but the way I wish the world would see me externally, without changing my internal values.
It might have been a flawless great plan if I could be him forever, but I can’t. I can only be him sometimes, and it has a price. Bringing him out costs me social energy. Costs me internal conflict. And it costs me when he makes me feel objectified. That’s why I mentioned more than once that I wanted to kill him. And here I think about another book, one I read years ago: the solitaire mystery. It’s a great way to be introduced to philosophy without being flooded with theories and concepts, especially in the aspects of a creation questioning its creator and its purpose. That moment of maturity, when the being becomes self aware, and starts addressing more profound themes such as existence, autonomy and the responsibility of the creator. All things BH started to question me about.
I kept him around all this time because I needed him, and what made me need him was the belief that I can't be good enough on my own. Just me is not good enough, something else is needed for me to succeed. Me, alone, cannot be loved, accepted, seen. People won’t be able to see how great I am if I don’t offer them something other than just myself. I had the perception that I needed a golden coating, something to add value to me. Something that will grab people’s attention, so they will decide to spend time on me and discover how great it is to invest in me. But that leads to a new question: why does this coating need to be masculinity? What was the thought process, in my mind and in my heart, behind the decision that being more masculine would make me “better” in the eyes of the world?
I probably will never know for sure, but I have some theories. One of them goes back to the Anthology, part II: “To those around me, I was lucky enough to be born male, so I should be grateful for that and not start some idiotic nonsense about not wanting to be a man (their opinion, not mine). They couldn’t understand why someone who, in their view, won the gender jackpot would want to just give that up, move to the other side, even for a little bit at a time.” This created the sense of inferiority I started associating with femininity. And I believe it still reflects in other aspects of my life today, like how I find it hard to be vulnerable around people, how I tend to be more dominant when I am having sex, or even how difficult it is for me to bottom. But in other aspects as well, outside of the bedroom.
I never saw myself as a woman, and I think I never will. But I understood, from a very young age - and probably even before realising that I liked boys - that femininity was a part of me. Together with that I was made to understand, throughout this discovery, that this was “wrong” and it should be repressed, pushed down, hidden. This was only reinforced by growing up being told that I was wrong to be me, I was not good enough the way I was created, and that I had to be something different to be accepted, loved, cared for. That the people I cared about would only love me if I hid away, deep inside, who I truly was, and put on a mask every day, from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed. And as much as we love to blame it on our parents, my grandparents were the same way (from both sides), my friends from school, my teachers. The world I was born into was against me from the start, and when I finally got strong enough to fight back, the damage had already been done.
BH only echoes this. Most people online only get to know BH, they don’t go deeper than the surface, for many different reasons. So naturally they want the things BH can offer: body, sex, flirting. They love him for that. Without necessarily wanting any of the more profound aspects of me. That takes me back to the belief that I need to be him to be loved, accepted, cared for. That I am only as good as how long I am able to sustain him in other people’s eyes. That me, the way I naturally am, is not enough. Ultimately, I am repeating the same pattern I have been following since I was a kid. Only for a different audience now.
Which is probably why there's a famous saying about never meeting your heroes. Heroes are not real. BH is not real. He's just one of the many characters I play throughout my career, or in this case, my life. And I definitely don't want to end up being typecast. So the change starts in me. Which is why, right now, I am trying to learn that BH (or any other kind of mask I use) should not be the measure of my worth. Doing so would be like going back to using German grammar to explain Portuguese past tenses. Or, in a better metaphor, how much people fancy James Bond cannot be used to measure whether Sean Connery is nice, interesting, friendly. And I don’t think he’d enjoy being expected to come get the paper in an Aston Martin every time, no matter how much that would please the news agent. I’m sure it gets old, even for the world’s most famous spy.
Here I need to do the devil’s advocate though, and mention that, especially on BH’s social media platforms, his image (which is my image to an extent) has been built around that persona, not about myself. It has been built around a fantasy. People don’t go to Disney expecting to see Mickey Mouse having a pint and a fag on a corner. At least not the majority of people. They go there for the magic, to get immersed in a world that they want to believe, even if it’s only for a few hours. In my eagerness to be validated as Bernardo, I should try not to forget that some people don’t want Bernardo, and maybe never will. And that, again, shouldn’t be a way to measure Bernardo’s worth.
Does that mean BH needs to die? I have spoken about my instinct for metaphorical murder here, in this very blog. And this is exactly the kind of plot that BH would have in one of his films. On the other hand, Bernardo, the actor behind the character, is a big believer in diplomacy. In solving things with dialogue. But also, just like in the island where Frode ended up when his ship capsized, if BH is getting out of hand, that’s only because of the way Bernardo created and handled him. BH is Bernardo’s responsibility, so killing BH would be the easy way out (hello, Low Roar!) There would be no learning from it. So no, I don’t think BH needs to die. In fact, his death would be detrimental, it would cause more harm than good. It would be the classical avoidance I always run to, when I can’t face my OCD. BH is part of me, and he will always be. We just need to find balance. I need to learn to deal with the “monster” I created.
Because there will be situations where I don’t need to show people the real Bernardo, situations where Bernardo’s valuable time is not worth spending, and BH will be there for me. He’ll take that bullet. But BH doesn’t always need to be the first line of contact. Sometimes Bernardo can be the one who will come to the door, when the doorbell rings. Maybe the person ringing will be disappointed, but that’s not on me. And I need to understand that it’s ok. In fact, better than ok. It’s better to already steer clear of the people who don't like the real me, if I decide to show them the real me. At the end of the day, in the long run, I’m the one who I want them to be around. And frankly, if someone I care about thinks the coating is better than what’s underneath, we are probably not compatible anyway. No matter how hot they look or how great they seem to be. Better nip that on the bud, before it grows into another monster I cannot tame.
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