Intersections of Identity and Pride: Part 1 Identity Is Fluid

At the end of May, I finally stayed somewhere with HBO and was able to watch the comedy "Our Flag Means Death." As I have been reading lots of fanfiction and watching many great conversations with the cast, I have been thinking about how we all contain multitudes, multitudes of identities, and our relationships with those identities can be fluid. (For example in my poem below Blackbeard, Ed, and The Kraken are all different identities of the same character)

"Our Flag Means Death" Poem (Version 3)

By Dreaming Ace

We all contain multitudes

The show “Our Flag Means Death”

Featuring Queer Disabled and Neurodivergent Pirates 

Who also have a ship full of Mental Health struggles

Reminding us that we all contain multitudes

Multitudes of selves, of identities

We all contain Blackbeards

Blackbeards that represent us feeling burned out

Feeling stuck in lives filled with day to days that seem 

To endlessly repeat, over and over, over and over again

But yet not knowing who else we can/could be 

We all contain Eds

Eds that represent who we once were

And to whom we might return someday

Our more vulnerable, evolving selves

Our more “gentle, gentle” selves

We all contain Krakens

Krakens that represent us in crisis, overwhelm

Feeling like we want to destroy absolutely everything

Krakens containing our more harmful impulses

Harmful to others, Harmful to ourselves

We all contain Stedes

Stedes that represent when our lives become untenable

When to thrive, to be our best selves, to yet even stay alive

We have to escape our current lives, current situations by

Running off to be our true selves, to be a gentleman pirate

We all contain Izzys

Izzys that represent us loving too much, holding too tight

Represent pining to return to something, to relationship dynamics

That shall never be again, sacrificing toes for unacknowledged/

Unrequited love means you are deep into an ocean of trauma

We all contain The Crew

A motley assortment of found family

Sometimes which makes us wonder WTF?

WTF is happening right now?

But who in the end remind us we are still Unicorns

Who am I? A question I ask myself

Who is this queer neurodivergent poet with messy mental health?

I am Blackbeard, Ed, The Kraken, Stede, Izzy and The Crew too

I contain multitudes and thankfully my parasocial support network

Is always there to support all of me, all of those multitudes

We all contain multitudes

The show “Our Flag Means Death”

Featuring Queer Disabled and Neurodivergent Pirates

Who also have a ship full of Mental Health struggles

Reminding us that we all contain multitudes

Multitudes of selves, of identities

Even if we never actually become pirates, we all contain multitudes of versions of ourselves over the many seasons of our lives. It can be fascinating to explore who we have been, who we currently are, and who we might want to be in the future. 

This month I am going to explore my relationship to being ace, aro, neurodivergent, and disabled. Some of those are core fundamental identities, some are what might be called placeholder identities, and some are more situational identities. 

I started my May blog series, The Power of Sharing Mental Health Stories, by sharing a Wentworth Miller post, and this month I am starting this blog series by sharing another of his recent posts, which was the inspiration for some deeper reflection.

There is a video online of a woman making dumplings, careful rows of delicious-looking bites. As she works, she speaks of teaching her daughters the culinary techniques she learned from her mother... who learned from her mother... This person seemed (to me) to cherish their place on a continuum of tradition/customs/rituals stretching back centuries, framing and informing a deep, deeply detailed sense of self. Bedrock on which to stand.

Identity can be a gift...

There is a video online of someone selling themselves as a "proud (fill in the blank)." This person seemed (to me) less person than persona, a performer unaware of the performance. As if they'd bought the hat/tee/tote, memorized the lingo/choreo and you imagined, if you spent an hour in their company, every word would be about their experience as a "proud (fill in the blank)." Like watching a parade in a cul-de-sac... On the march, going nowhere.

Identity can be a trap...

Or a closet full of coats, collecting dust. "Michael." "Leonard." "Celebrity." "Mental Health Something-or-other." (Much of this is seasonal wear, as it turns out.) Here's "Princeton," a scratchy tweed in the wrong size. Handsome tho.

At the back, a row of hand-me-downs looking worse for wear. "Wentworth." My best-rehearsed and most convincing (?) role, written/directed/produced by a man in authority who told me where to stand/what to say/how to say it. A long line of suits-cum-straitjackets, pits stained and pockets stuffed with sh-t lessons and values I spent decades voiding out...

I considered changing it once (that name), even downloaded legal docs. But every alt. felt similarly forced and ill-fitting, like pouring a lake into a shot glass, switching out one costume for another. "Coleman Silk" for "Captain Cold."

The truth is when I'm by myself and most myself, I don't have a name. I just am.

Before venturing out into the world I pull one of these coats from the rack, shuffle into it - tight in the shoulders, elbows shot - because we're expected to answer to something.