And before I get a bunch of hate mail, I AM GAY. Well, at least when I am having sex with a male.
Today is “gay pride” in the capitol of all things gay: West Hollywood. I went when it first started, for a couple of years. After that, I did not see the point and was already well on my way to self-hatred.
Having grown up obese, I was teased as a child. In middle/high school, I was teased for being gay, a secret I had tried desperately to hide, but my suit of armor betrayed me: color-dyed hair, fanciful haircuts, grooming myself to win the Senior Award for Best Dressed…I won!
I grew resentful towards gay culture/society because, once again, I was being shunned for my size. Feeling tremendously ugly and lonely, and having found drugs masked all that pain, I started experiencing copious amounts of anonymous, bathhouse, cruising sex. Hell, they didn’t care what I looked like. They were getting serviced and I was pleased to serve, feeling needed, wanted, lusted/loved, desperate for some human communion.
Today, I am supposed to do a fifth step
“Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs”
with an old friend/sponsor. I already called and got voice mail – standard, in my opinion for “anonymous” help. My friend suggested I read Step Five of the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions.
The chapter starts by talking about reluctance of anonymous members to take this step and how it can lead to relapse via shame from our secrets we are not willing to bring to light. Surprisingly, this is not my problem, though, I did get a sense of it this morning, most likely attributed to my rage.
The first promise – by my interpretation – of what I can get out of doing step five is “we shall get rid of that terrible sense of isolation we’ve always had.” I don’t remember feeling that way after my first step five. to be rigorously honest, I am guilty of half-measures, being a know-it-all, and not maintaining a conscious contact with a high power. Isolation is what I certainly feel. “Nearly all of us suffered the feeling that we didn’t quite belong.” Truth. I was both “shy, and dared not draw near others;” and one of the “noisy good fellows, craving attention and companionship, but never getting it – at least not to our satisfaction.” For me, drugs removed my inhibitions, freeing my tortured soul from the prison of my mind until the drugs were gone and I was returned to my cell of loneliness.
Real and imagined, rational and irrational, I just don’t feel part of something, though that is not why I am doing the fifth step. I recently admitted/discovered that sex may have been my primary addiction, a cure for loneliness, a panacea for companionship. Drugs facilitated the sex by removing my preconceived shames. Another “dividend” if step five: humility, masked by uncaring by me.
Ultimately, I wonder what’s the point. I don’t feel better – emotionally or physically, my wildest dreams have never come true, I am still a victim of my own circumstances. Ultimately, I know that I expect to do something and immediately achieve the dream! Spiritually, know things don’t happen in my time; they happen in God’s time.
Fifty-four years later, I am angry as hell at God and place the majority of the blame on him, the rest on myself. It all comes back to me being spoiled. Fine! God take it away! If you can’t do that just smite me now! You know, I started praying four days ago. What the heck! What have I got to lose? Two days! That’s how long I was able to keep the commitment. I know there is a God; I have no doubt; I just don’t think he likes me. Today my prayer is “God, just smite me now!” As a complete and total smart ass, I am going to see how long I can keep this prayer commitment, or see how long God tolerates my defiance until he finally does smite me.
Then there is Mojo, my pet dog. I am asking God to take him at the same time as me because I don’t have the heart to put him down for such a selfish reason – though I can selfishly pray for it – yes, I see the irony. I figure, better he go with me than be left behind with someone that would not love him as much as me. Perhaps a bit shamelessly afraid to admit someone could (afford) to care for him better than me.
You know, just before posting this, I was trying to finish Deep Sleep afghan and I realized I was “angry crocheting.” Angry crocheting involves anger, multiple mistakes, miscounting, working with too high a tension. That is a good indication of where I am at today.
As for gay pride, mine left with all the gay friendships, acquaintances, dates, prostitutes, drug addicts, colleagues, co-workers that are no longer in my life. I sit here alone, celebrating.
A job, a home, a companion, some friends would may me proud to be gay.