Everybody wants to know your business.
You want some Honesty and Willingness? Here you are.
Maybe it's just better all around.
I am a gay man. I have had my attractions since earliest childhood.
I learned in my household to fear and appease others, so I shoved
my identity deep inside. I longed and loved in secret, ashamed.
My home, the church, my family, TV and movies, and every friend
I ever tried to have taught me to hate my insides and promote a lie.
I have nonetheless attempted to live truthfully.....except when it
would hurt myself or others.
I do not know what a healthy relationship is. Between one set of
scarred parents handing down biological disorders, and one set of
parents raising me as an isolated prisoner in an insane asylum, I am
a boat adrift. I had no role models. I have no real past relationships
of substance or quality to draw from.
I suffer from bi-polar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and
obsessive-compulsive disorder, to name a few. Yes, there is something
wrong with me. It is not just laziness, or 'weirdness' nor a bad mood.
The person in charge of making decisions is constantly changing; if you
think this adversely affects you, try not being completely in charge of
your own brain and life. I don't cop out and cease efforts; even with the
best possible treatments and lifestyle, there are problems.
I am not a good friend; no one is contesting that. I have learned to
expect nothing and rely on no one for good reason. Between abuse, neglect,
abandonment, betrayal, and all the joys of 40 years of tortured living,
this is what I have to show. I am not heartless; I am defensive. I am
secretive. I am selfish. I am judgmental and hyper-sensitive. I am paranoid.
I am untrusting. But I would also lay down my life for someone I care for.
More often than not, I speak too directly and too earnestly. I share too
much, and wear my heart on my sleeve. Conversely, when I feel connected to
someone I may slip into camouflage mode and pretend to be different; I
don't trust that the real me would not chase them away. I try and say or do
what will make another person happy. I then hide the loneliness I feel at not
having the real me connect with them.
I fluctuate between wanting to take on the world and thrive and excel...
and wanting to become invisible and wither and die. This is not hyperbole;
I am a creature of raging extremes. Forming relationships, getting and
keeping jobs, staying focused on anything is excruciating.
My mind works 'differently' than most people; that's not bragging, trust me.
I see and am made curious by different factors than occupy most others;
trying to have a conversation with me may be like speaking Romulan to
a non-Trekkie. I'm not acting. It's not for attention. It's not superiority.
I'm trying to communicate the only way I know how.
I lie to keep people from getting too close. I avoid people and situations
to hide my pain. I act aloof because I don't want my neediness to show.
I get needy because I fear there will never be another person who wants to
spend even 2 minutes talking with me. I await the 'other shoe' to drop always.
I get indignant to protect myself from your rejection; perceived or otherwise.
I lash out because I only know self preservation. Trust and faith and hope
get you killed in the wrong place and time.
There is nowhere and nothing that makes me feel safe. I do not choose
to be miserable; I am struggling for dear life with every departure from
the house, every conversation, every e-mail, every attempt to reach out
that you may think nothing of. The voices and chatter and shakes never stop.
Never. There are no treatments that I have found to work in 28 years of
trying.
If you ask me "what's wrong?" and then ridicule what I share with you,
please don't act surprised or contemptuous if I never speak to you again.
I dislike having my time wasted.
I'm not oblivious to how difficult it is to deal with me. It tires me, too, even
after all the years of experience. I can look at a letter I wrote on a Tuesday
(with the best of intentions to set things right) and be fully aware on Friday
how insane I was when writing it; but I didn't know it then.
I am so lonely--beyond words or human comprehension--that I would
keep secrets from those I care for. It is the only way I know to keep the
Real Me from chasing away the illusion of connection I have with a scant
handful of people. I am not proud of this; it is survival. And that's all I know.
I have an issue with my heart that has scared me beyond any health issue I have
faced previously. The tightness and pain is constant, and the fear and emotional
surges only serve to exacerbate the matter. Since my doctor visit, I have been
unable to consider anything else.
I want a clean slate if it is time for me to go. I want at least to know I have
put myself out there, regardless of whether or not understanding ensued.
Life is messy, and there is often no closure at all. But if I were to leave now,
I would like the peace of knowing I did the best that I could.
I have tried to live fully. To love often. To risk and care. I cannot control
what appearances may seem to the contrary. I hope the people I have loved
know how much I care for them. In spite of themselves, in spite of me.
I did care.
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