Category Archives: Posts
Everybody’s still into nostalgia. I have many unpublished posts from 2007. One shall be coming in a few days, but here’s a short one from eight years ago. Once again, it details with my unrequited love for an online friend.
14th April 2009
I’m still unmoved, not that I expected much to change, but I’m just rather afraid of losing the one good thing in my life despite being stuck in the crappy subtext of smiles and characters, driving me to the point of insanity.
I have four infections at the moment. FOUR! If I really do believe in that whole “it’s me who’s causing it” deal then I am beating myself up at the moment, apparently. But coming out would not solve anything.
It would only create new dilemmas, I’m certain of it. Don’t say you don’t know until you try it, because there’s no way you can put it out there without taking it back.
It will be this year, that of which I’m certain. I don’t know when, and I don’t know how; I don’t really even know why, but I’m telling her I’m gay.
It was two years ago this week I came out to him. Did I love him back then? I think so, I was so enthralled in my own personal turmoil that I probably didn’t recognise it was love. I was so nervous he wouldn’t accept me – even though I thought he knew! Why did I think he knew? That must have been odd for the both of us.
I tried hinting to him yesterday – told him I’d rather leave him voicemail messages than type, due to my poor aching hands. But not even a shred of consideration. If he asked me, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.
I guess that sort of tells me everything I need to know really.
How long do I have left here? Why do I insist on putting myself through these trials? Perhaps it’s to prove to myself that despite my illness, I am human, not unchanged. I go through all the things these regular humans go through.
He asked me how I coped. I told him something rather modest I can’t remember now, but really, he’s how I cope.
I often think about the cogs that have to turn in order for events in the universe to be set in motion. I believe in signs, and I used to think signs were pointing to you, but now I can’t help but wonder if whenever I recognise a sign that it’s actually to warn me.
To remind me of what came before; to remind me he’s a different person now. And so am I, and maybe the people we are now were never meant to know each other, let alone love each other. Most of us take a little time developing, and you should never assume that who a person is when they’re 16 or 22 will be the same person when they’re ten years older.
We aren’t born into this world a fully formed human being, and it’s all very well and fine if you are one of the few who found The One when they were 12 and has loved them unconditionally. It sounds romantic, and darling, and precious, but the harsh truth is it’s a fairytale drilled into us from a very young age that is wholly unrealistic and should be quashed at the first chance.
It’s not bitter.
It’s not cynical.
It’s not depressing.
It’s reality, and it’s adult life.
There’s a boy I knew, he’s the one I dreamed of.
Sound familiar? I mean, it happens to all of us! It’s only now looking back, I can see there were a catalyst of personal issues and events that lead me to feel this way about a boy. He wasn’t The One, he was just what my brain needed to survive at that moment in time. To keep on being able to tell myself that I had a reason and a purpose, because everything in my life was telling me otherwise.
I had been stuck in hospital-limbo for nearly three years – transitioning from paediatrics to, basically, the place where no one gives a shit. I had my transfusions in a dark room on my own where I would sit and be left to amuse myself for 6+ hours. If it wasn’t for my dad getting a job there, I may not have had meaningful human interactions at all. I’m making it sounds worse than it is, but honestly, when I finally ended my transition and found a competent doctor and was allowed to carry out my treatment on a special unit, that’s when I realised what I dark place I had been in.
During this time, I only had one person I could really turn to, but I couldn’t even tell him about the way I felt, so I wrote it down in a diary that I kept password protected. Here’s an entry I wrote on this very day, 8 years ago:
28th February 2009
Why is it that being gay is so not gay? It’s not that I envy the alternative or feel like I’m missing out on something by living with myself as I am. But I don’t get why homosexuality got given this pet name that means full of light-heartedness and merriment. I kinda see why the “nu-generation” did a complete three-sixty on that definition. In my books, it makes a lot of sense.
Gay is another synonym for shit.
They don’t have the same rights, they get treated differently, they have to actually come out and declare their sexuality and, I have very little reference from the other side, but getting a date is fucking hard!
That’s weird… I just realised I didn’t identify myself with them until the last part. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been treated differently because of my sexuality. It’s a little hard to be treated differently for something you don’t publicly identify yourself as! But I can draw reference from my disability. As for rights… I’m not passionate about politics. The world confuses me enough without bringing the Government into it. But maybe the real reason I didn’t identify with those first two points is because I have no jumping-off point for them and won’t do until… if… *slits throat* I have a “gay experience”.
I’ve never had one! Who the fuck would I have one with? My closet’s so confined I feel like I’m in a Japanese subway train, except instead of people there’s issues… sooooo many fucking issues.
I only want him. It’s true. The problem is I’m never going to have him. He’s there, I’m here – end of. And if… IF he ever, by the grace of God, actually ever makes it over here I know EXACTLY what will happen… just because I’ve swapped teams from my childhood, I can bet you it does not change any of the same old tired excuses.
I was being far too mellow-dramatic in my last post. I can survive without him. I have this weird feeling in some aspects I might even survive better. I wouldn’t have this nagging urge to stay home and socialise on my computer… but it’s not a nag. It’s a gift. I can turn to him whenever I want and he’s there. I have a better relationship with him than I do with my own family. In fact, I’m quite hostile to my family a lot of the times. It’s not their fault, it’s mine. I’m the one with the problem; I just can’t deal with it.
Why is being gay… so gay?
I remember being alone in that dark room having my hospital treatment, listening to music on my iPhone. A song came on shuffle: Nicest Thing, by Kate Nash. It’s not an especially sad song, or even a very good song – but at that moment, it was exactly what my brain needed. I needed to let out my feelings, to cry. So I thought of my nicest thing, and it made me cry.
On this day, 10 years ago, I thought I had come out to an online friend. We became friends on a message board (are message boards still a thing?) after I stuck up for him when he was being bullied for being gay. He helped give me the confidence to admit my own sexuality not only to myself but also, eventually, the world. At this point, we’d been friends for about a year.
16th January 2007
I’m writing this because a part of me will appreciate having it later on in life… whatever the future holds.
I’ve always been careful to shield myself from him. He can’t know too much, I feel it’s a burden for someone still young and hopeful. I always attributed it down to being ashamed, but I realise now it wasn’t that – surely he knew, and I knew he knew, but I didn’t know if he knew that I knew he knew… or whether he knew I even knew. Well, now I do know – and he knows, and I think it’s more than clear we both know.
I am gay.
He said “secret” – it wasn’t the word I would have chosen but he’s right. It is a secret… and he’s the only person in the whole world who knows. I wonder if it shows? My psychologist did seem to say “is there anything else you wanted to talk about” in rather a suggestive manner. But I can assume that a part of me is paranoid it shows. As soon as he said it I practically screamed it inside my head, but luckily I thought of something else before the uncomfortable pause got so long he realised I was holding back telling him things. But I couldn’t tell him, he’s only bothered about the medical side of my life and how it affects me. But I guess deep down this is what all the secrecy is about. My “medical life” makes trying to accept being gay so much harder. I’ve had to deal with having a disability for over 20 years and I’m barely just getting used to what I consider a “normal” life – and now it’s all been turned on its head. I have to deal with being disabled and gay! Those two things don’t really mix well; you have the disadvantages that being disabled brings and you have the disadvantages that being gay brings. All in all, one very sheltered and lonely life.
But that sucks! I know there’s tonnes of advantages that I’ve yet to experience – most I probably won’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to have fun fantasising about them. I guess it all boils down to what I originally thought when I first realised I was gay: What’s the point if you have no-one to share it with? I might as well be asexual! I never got a girlfriend (one that at least acknowledged me) in my whole 18 years of being “straight”, and it wasn’t for lack of trying! But even back when I was ten-years-old, I fell in love too easily. I grew connections with people that I misread as love and then had to deal with rejection when I told them… so I stopped telling them. And the feelings built up and eventually found a place in the back of my head to reside. And even that in itself is a scary thought: that there are dark spaces in my head that would jump at the chance if an unrequited love came back into the picture and declared her undying love for me. Who’s to say these feeling won’t make an uncomfortably reappearance four or five years down the road when I’m “out and proud”?!
So that’s what I want. Never mind being gay and all this “coming out” crap, I want a boyfriend. But maybe that’s all just another shield I’m hiding behind, protecting the realisation that I need to accept that I will be gay and alone for most of my remaining life… no, that shield ain’t ready to come down yet.
Turns out, he didn’t know I was gay (at least not for another 3 months). I was just so paranoid and introspective, constantly worrying about how other people perceived me, that I read into our online conversations and saw things that weren’t there.
This would continue for many years to come, until it reached a point where I had to stop and actualise a real life for myself, not some fantasy life of writing scripts together and being in each other’s lives forever. It was never going to happen – and if it was, I realised I had to change in order to become the person that I wanted him to meet.
We ended up chatting to each other almost every day for over three years. It’s still to this day one of the longest and most powerful relationships I’ve ever had, which I think is due to the fact the majority of it took part in my imagination! Who better to be your best friend than yourself!
This entry was written exactly 2 years later:
16th January 2009
I don’t know why I always seem to write these things at 20 past 2, but to be completely honest my Internet stopped working. So I was just searching through my files and was like, ‘let’s write in my gay diary,’ because it’s been so long.
I guess that fact I’m not having to write in here means I’m coping with things more – but the truth is I probably aren’t, I’m just bottling things up. Like, I remember my sister pulling me aside one night last October to tell me something – probably the most life-changing thing ever for her. That she was pregnant.
And I froze! I didn’t know what to say, all I could think about was how it sucked I couldn’t ever just pull her aside and say ‘hey, I like boys.’ But really, why should I? She doesn’t live here anymore; she always comments on changes in my behaviour, as if she’s disapproving of me. I don’t know how she’d react and I don’t want to know, it’s not an issue right now. There’s no point in me ever coming out because I’m never going to have anybody, I’m never going to find anybody – that just isn’t my life. There’ll only ever be one person, but there’s nothing I can do about that, so why bother. I doubt anyone will ever find this after I die, so it’s not like they’ll ever know.
He’ll often stop dead our conversations and say, ‘Oh it really doesn’t matter,’ as if he’s suddenly just become detached. And it’s those moments that snap me out of falling in love with him – because he knows it’s never going to happen, but he’d never outright say it. So instead he says, ‘it doesn’t really matter.’
And so I think, when I can’t wake up on a morning, it doesn’t really matter. And when I can’t eat I think, it doesn’t really matter. But the truth is – the gut-wrenching, jaw-dropping, and-the-oscar-goes-to truth is… if he wasn’t in my life, I may as well be dead. So it does matter. It matters more to me than anything in the world.
Much like nostalgia, most of life is spent trying to recapture the same moment over and over again. The taste of a certain food; a drink; a place; a friend, an orgasm. We repeat, over and over again, desperately trying to feel that same spark we initially felt when we first had it. That’s how I view my friendship with him. He satisfied me in a way nothing ever had before, because he made me like myself – and I hated myself, for years. I left sixth form and I just floated around not knowing what to do, grasping onto anything that felt solid. And he was the first solid thing that actually wanted to keep me around. And so I thought, there must be SOME reason; I can’t be all that bad.