Wednesday, June 20, 2007
The past five years have been especially trying ones for me.
The end of my last relationship was particularly horrific; even though it has helped me to come to terms with the most major of my issues, with each passing day the last relationship I had feels more and more like the last relationship I'll ever get.
Being single for the rest of my life - while not ideal - wouldn't be so bad, but it's not like I'm even dating or anything like that. Aside from a couple of sloppy kisses from a drunk guy 14 months ago and maybe half a dozen compliments a year (usually from people in faraway places via email), I remain an uber-affectionate guy with no effective means of expressing it.
The thought of having to spend the next forty years of my life like this is almost more than I can deal with.
No matter how specious my reasoning, I have come to blame this situation on the gay men of Vancouver, who have only broken their pact to ignore me recently to insult me. In the non-gay world, there are very few gay men; Vancouver's gays are heavily ghetto-ised, and the ones who aren't are so thoroughly married and assimilated they might as well be straight.
As usual, I'm willing to accept my share of this dire turn of events. Mr. Barr has referred to it as my "roosting", and I plead guilty. It's almost more than I can take to spend all that time to get ready to go out to be referred to as "Fatso" or "Grandpa" even before I've had a chance to introduce myself.
When guys who are older and heavier than I am talk to me like that, I honestly don't know what to do. Laughing won't help, since laughter only enrages bullies. Getting mad is never a solution, and trying to defend myself (no matter what it might do for my self-esteem) will always fall on deaf ears.
As such, it's increasingly difficult for me to feel that upwelling sense of Pride that I know I'm supposed to feel since, for all intents and purposes, I have been rejected in all corners of the gay community. I've had a dozen attempts at volunteering with gay organizations rebuffed, I get insulted whenever I try to enter gay clubs (usually by the doormen), and I won't even go into my experiences with the personals (since the scars have only just healed).
All those things the gay community is supposed to provide it has denied to me. Since there's nowhere else to go for validation as a gay man, I must look within, and that well is pretty dry. Validation as a person is remarkably simple to achieve; I am surrounded by reminders of the skills and abilities I possess.
Gay-wise, though, I feel worthless: old, fat, and ugly. I know my regular readers don't like me to talk that way, but not talking about it doesn't make such feelings go away, it only makes me more ashamed of myself. Not to mention that, even if self-loathing is untrue, it feels as real as fists.
My forthcoming trip to Seattle is, in part, about my quest for that lost sense of pride. I am unable to cast aside my community simply because they've done it to me, so it's time to go looking for it. I had it once and I will have it again, even if it means doing a thousand crunches a day just so someone will notice me.
I feel this blog does its bit, and so ultimately this blog may be the vehicle that brings me back my pride.
I can only hope.
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