What Is One of The Necessary Roles Of Journalism? To Promote Decency (Whilst HOPEFULLY Making You Think)

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Hoarding is an extreme form of obsessing over oneself / one's inner thoughts.  It's a deep-seated bondage relative to one's psyche that manifests itself via chronic, compulsive consumption (purchase & stockpiling) of goods.  Oftentimes, for a hoarder, the cable television channel QVC or the URL, Craigslist / eBay, is on par with Internet porn for a Samson guy.

Hoarding is exploiting one's individual rights (related to consuming) within epidemic proportions.  It is being the ultimate PERSONAL advocate to such a degree that no one else's "well-being" is of concern except your own.

Nonetheless...

The greatest gift to the hoarder is the difficulty therein in hiding their problem (especially when the corpse of a loved one is unearthed within the hoarded goods). 

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Immediately following our wedding, 26-years ago, Angie and I moved into our first home (an upstairs 2-bedroom apartment in Ridgeland).  We ended up leasing that flat for four years, and throughout the majority of that time, a hoarder lived beneath us.  I know this because of how apparent it was looking from the outside in.

Though I didn't consider myself a snoop, it was easy getting a clear view inside whilst circumnavigating to the back of our building (in order to empty our cat's litterbox).  I vividly recall how shocked I was the first time I glanced into her windows, particularly relative to her kitchen.  (Keep in mind that her flat's floor plan was identical to our own.)

Our neighbor's hoarding became so problematic that we (upstairs) began experiencing an ant invasion (they found their way into our staples within our small pantry).  Soon thereafter, I approached our downstairs neighbor.  With her being single (with one elementary age daughter), I didn't care to rat on her to management.  As a result (I'm assuming), the ant problem did subside, yet in no way did her overall living conditions improve (based on my continued indiscriminate / concerned observations).

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Chronic porn use is exploiting one's individual online rights (related to consuming) within epidemic proportions.  It is being the ultimate PERSONAL advocate to such a degree that no one else's "well-being" is of concern except your own.

The greatest curse to the chronic porn user is the definitive vacuum by which they exist within. 

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My first hope regarding finding support as a same-sex attracted Christian man was via reading online blogs (2007-).  These were blogs written by men who looked to be walking the same road I was attempting / had been attempting to navigate.  I knew there'd be no formal support available from my church (I'd looked hard) or within the community (here in Mississippi) at large, and that the professional journalism community (religious or secular) certainly wouldn't touch a story like my own with a ten-foot pole.  

These blog writings that had been published online were like a breath of fresh air within a vacuum.  And many of these men talked too of their struggle with chronic gay porn consumption (which I very much could relate to) now that the Internet was on the scene!

This is why I write here and encourage others to do the same.  Consider it an ode to that first gasp of resuscitating oxygen.

My hope is men can find hope before their inward obsessiveness results in the collateral damage that so often is the inevitable.  Perhaps this blog (journal) will in some way offer support as those aforementioned ones did for me - all those years ago.

Decency:  conformity to the recognized standard of propriety, good taste & modesty, etc. 

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Nondescript Samson Guy

The greatest gift I've yet to receive in Samson Society was given to me by Silas (1.0).  

Before I make that reveal though, I need to indulge in letting you know that I too had a Silas (0.0).  I don't mention him much here, but that friendship was pivotal in me embracing (quickly warming up to) relational accountability (Robspeak) as it's formally made available within Samson Society.

Silas (0.0) is dubbed as such because neither of us were privy to Samson Society during / throughout our close friendship (late '10 - early '12).  Yet, we certainly - altruistically - experienced the benefits of a cross-pollination "Silas" relationship in spades.  Therein, my brain was "wired for support" from that point forward, queued up beautifully for my eventual plunge into Mr. Nate Larkin's masterwork.

Silas (0.0) and I were very similar blokes relative to our overall outlook / disposition, and I believe this is what quickly solidified our relationship / trust in each other.  Too, one of the most curious similarities had to do with what I'll call our masculinity quotients.  For neither of us had much at all of that integral manly trait sans each / either of us taking risks (of any shape or form).

But enough about Silas (0.0).

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Silas (1.0) was a rockstar.  And so was Silas (2.0) and even, at present (3.0).  

In comparison to Rob, these men were kind enough to reach downward relationally to befriend me, but it was Silas (1.0) who demonstrated this firstly.  Hence, this was such a gift.  

I am a nondescript guy.  Nondescript means invisible, for the most part.  Yet, I'm not treated as such within Samson Society.  And this truth has been most apparent relative to my Silases.  For they have been and are men whom I look up to / aspire to be like.  

Why is that important?  

It provides me with the opportunity to see myself through their eyeballs.  Even if it's an occasional glimpse when I'm indirectly affirmed or outright complimented.  

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Earlier this week, I reached out to another Samson rockstar (a friend but not a Silas - to Rob - of any ilk) regarding a newly formed virtual Samson meeting ("Brain Changers") he's facilitating on Sunday afternoons / evenings.

This guy had been kind enough to - again, like his cohorts - reach downward and take the time to relay his story to me (at the tail end of last year).  

As I was working out last night, I felt a bit of a spiritual pang regarding moving in the direction of that newly formed meeting.  That pang intensified earlier this morning whilst remembering my choosing, years ago, to walk alongside a similar (local) Samson rockstar relative to supporting his newly formed (face-to-face) Samson Society meeting.  And what a year of fun that was!

Both of these (face-to-face & newly formed virtual) Samson Society meetings are even on the same night / same time (almost)!

Perhaps through this change / commitment, I'll have the opportunity to see Rob with even more clarity.  As such, variety truly is the spice of life.

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Sucking Babies Into Sinks = Slicing Into Rob's Last Nerve

The first time I heard an involved in Christian men's ministry guy admit (to an audience) having impregnated a girlfriend, only then to have her abort his child, became for Rob - numero uno - revolting reveal.

And I believe it has much to do with me being a bastard child myself (who thankfully wasn't aborted).  

But these fornication / mother aborting reveals aren't few and far between (within Christian men's ministry).  Abortion happens.  Often.  And deep-seated regret ensues.  As such, I tend to just get more and more disgusted / outraged with it.  For I consider the practice of abortion to be shockingly barbaric.  

Hence, I've come to realize this is one thing I absolutely DO NOT agree should be shared outside of a professional counseling session (where secrecy is "guaranteed").  I just don't want to be exposed to that level of darkness.

And I realize, for some of you, befriending repentant pedophiles is in and of itself the ultimate revulsion.  I get / respect that.  Nonetheless, from my point of view, murdering children from inside a mother's womb in no way equates. 

All that being said, I can't control what Samson guys (or any guy) choose to reveal about themselves or their stories.  Hence, I at times find myself between a rock and a hard place with a knee jerk reaction that proportionally offends (Rob the asshole).  

Abortion is pervasive yet polarizing.  I just don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do with that portion of a guy's story whilst buckling under the emotional weight of said reveal.

In closing, I feel singled out by this.  And this also disturbs me that much further.  I wonder if there're others out there who feel this topic should only be shared with pastors / counselors / therapists.

Let me be clear:  I'm abhorrent to the notion of divulging abortions to anyone but someone who's specifically trained to receive it, therefore if this is either directly or indirectly tied to your story, please don't share it with Rob.  I'm not your man.  We can dialogue about anything else that you feel so moved to share.  Just not that.

"Toxic Desires" - JR Everhart

I can remember thinking to myself, not long after coming out of my first divorce in my early 30’s, that if I could just find a woman that would fulfill all my lustful desires, I’d be happy and never struggle with porn again.  My advice in hindsight:  Be careful what you internally rationalize.  In the end, I wasn't successful in finding just one woman like that, I found dozens of women in that regard - all throughout my 30’s!

Let me explain. 

I was playing in a very successful rock band during those years (enough said), and as a result, had no issue finding women that would do anything I asked them to do, anywhere I ask them to do it.  It was a sexual dream come true!  As a result, whilst looking back, I ask of my younger self:  How could I not be 110% satisfied and free of any desire to be unfaithful or look at porn?  I’m not going to lie.  There was a ton of fun in it all for a season.  But when the dust settled, and I had climbed every sexual mountain top I could imagine, I was left empty and alone.  Complete satisfaction still seemed just one step away, but every time I’d take that additional step, I'd still feel as if didn’t no-holds-barred scratch the itch of desire for such a time as that.

Out of this grew my self-loathing in tandem with the dark carnival of chaos that was / is sexual addiction.  

In the end, nothing COMPLETELY satisfied! 

Outside of my sex life, I was becoming bitter and poisoning to be around.  When you treat yourself like a soulless animal that's only driven by your carnal nature, it turns you into a soulless animal.  You become instinctual and as a result, subconsciously drag everyone around you into the same pit of unhappiness that has now become your life.  I will never forget having my eyes opened to all this and how it took me even deeper into despair. 

Lust is never satisfied.  It’s a simple fact.  For it burns inside of a man’s heart at a thermal nuclear level.  The only thing that's ever quenched those flames within in my life has been the cool waters of God's Grace and mercy.  I realize now that no matter how much sex I have in my life, I will never be satisfied.  Based on my experience, once you come to terms with this, you can start unraveling the personal chaos and insanity that you find yourself within.  I had to learn to live - in the face of my flesh - constantly crying out for satisfaction whilst refusing to be triggered.  I’m still sorting through all that within my life but I’m miles ahead of where I was ten years ago when I started this uncomfortable journey.  It’s about progress, not perfection.  And I do have much measurable progress to rest within.  And I’m thankful for that even in the face of my failures.  

In closing, Jesus still invites me to sit and converse with him, and I’ve become settled to the fact that this wrestling against toxic desire is only temporary.  As such, thanks be to God, it is a suffering that's as close to hell as I will ever experience.  And for that I’m eternally thankful.  To God be all glory, honor, and praise!

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Me Being At Peace As A Mississippian & My Pity For Our Misfits / Outcasts

I've been dubbed "Mississippi Rob" since I chose to join "Make Thursdays Great Again" back in December of '21.  I like the moniker, but mainly due to how it's grounded me instantly within this hopelessness-saturated corner of the USA.  

Silas 2.0 had small town Mississippi deeply entrenched in his persona.  The best takeaway I received from him was in regard to sort of a vernacular kinship.  A kinship which definitely declared that I too was just as deeply rooted, and there was nothing to be ashamed of therein.

I've been ruminating a lot recently on one of my high school friends and her family, all of which have long since vacated the Magnolia State for more hope-filled pastures.  Beatrice and her clan had settled here from the west coast back in the late '70s / early '80s.  Her father was an attorney who'd began his career in the Navy.  With his brother (Beatrice's uncle) well established within the Jackson Metro, therein lay the motivation to plant themselves here (in order for him to practice law).

I befriended Beatrice and her best friend, Hoppy, out of need but also (unbeknownst to me at the time) pity.  For neither of them had a chance in hell of thriving in Mississippi (& this extended too to Beatrice's entire family).

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Years ago, I urged our neighborhood homeowners' association board to contract with a local property management company.  Upon doing so, the management company's assigned rep (to our 'hood) became fast friends with Rob.  I vividly recall her telling me how she one day witnessed (unexpectedly) her next door neighbor packing up a moving truck in their driveway.  After inquiring as to what was going on, they gleefully announced to her that "they'd had enough of Mississippi" and that "she could keep it!"

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On a similar note, once or twice a year we run into my oldest daughter's college roommate's folks whilst on campus (where she and their daughter are students).  The last time this occurred, the dad (who's close to my age), slyly let me know that he was "counting down the months" relative to his retirement.  A retirement that he "will gladly be taking outside of the state lines of Mississippi".  From there, he concluded by telling me that I "can keep - all I want of - Mississippi".

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Circling back to my high school friend, Beatrice, and her clan, the tip off for me (as a teen) that they weren't "from here" came in the form of flooring material (of all things).  The house they lived in was sprawling (for the '80s), and both the kitchen and breakfast room were tiled in a most stunningly beautiful material (Mexican tile) that was unlike anything I'd seen prior.

Another tip off relative to their "pariah-ness" had to do with her dad's choice of vehicle (which he'd handed down to Beatrice as her daily driver).  I'd never seen too many one these in 1988.

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Beatrice had a funny way about her that Hoppy (again, her best friend) enjoyed attempting to guilt her about.  Frankly, her aloofness served to mask this peculiarity pretty effectively.  Hence, I likely wouldn't have taken note of it had it not been for Hoppy (who spent far more time with her than I did).  And that was her refusal to acknowledge (the existence of) black people.  

In other words, she lived here in Mississippi as a teen, but pretended like black people weren't here with her.  And I suppose she picked this up from her parents / siblings.  It was a peculiarity that made her seem exceedingly ditzy (almost to the point of ignorant fool).  Now, for those of you who've no clue as to what the racial makeup of Mississippi is, know this:  there're a boatload of black people here.  

Beatrice lived this illusion out as follows:  she maintained strict (private) protocols regarding where she traveled and whom she chose to interact with.  Too, she refused to be entertained by black artists, no matter their popularity.

And now that I'm thinking through this, she too executed this approach regarding rednecks (country folk) as well.

By my observation, it was an insular experience that allowed her to maintain some semblance of comfort over her world (as she chose to see it).  And I'm assuming it all was rooted in her inability / unwillingness to engage / process / confront the abject hopelessness that's so in-your-face relative to the majority of blacks / rednecks here within The Magnolia State.  Hopelessness that's grounded in ignorance relative to so many rudimentary facets of the human existence.

Now, it's important that you do know that Beatrice's closest female friend during our high school days was Hispanic.  But this Hispanic girl wasn't a Mississippian.  Instead, she was an (lovely) exchange student who Beatrice met at our respective high school.

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In closing, having been reared here in Mississippi, I have a certain degree of emotional resilience towards the setting.  And that resilience has not had the opportunity to diminish via me dropping anchor elsewhere - for even the shortest stint(s).  

And it is emotional resilience / endurance that I'm describing.  Not racism or feeling entitled.  Instead, it's this integral understanding of pain that's pervasive enough to eventually make peace with (or else).  Pain that you know isn't going away / slated to someday be (re)solved, therefore you choose instead to give it the respect it deserves in order to face it head on.  Day after day after day.  

My high school friends left Mississippi for a number of reasons, but I'm convinced their unspoken motive was one of unwillingness / inability to reckon with hopelessness.  For to make a home here, you must face that giant, or choose instead to live an illusory existence that's nothing more than one massive emotional safety net.

It's overwhelmingly sad / a shock to your system to witness the hopelessness that's birthed out of ignorance (financial illiteracy / radical misunderstanding surrounding sexual reproduction, etc.).  But if you yourself have "grown out of / sprung forth from" it besides (to one degree or another), there's a certain comfort level there that neuters it a bit.  And this contrast can certainly humble those of us who can no doubt look left or right and see where we once were (with solid hope that future generations will do the same - no matter their race).

God bless Mississippi and "Mississippi Rob" (as funny as it is, beholden to this unique place). 

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