Self

There's something in me that's changing. And for once, it's a change I'm not afraid of. I feel more comfortable in my own body. I can look at myself naked in the mirror and not recoil in disgust. I can see things in me that others have told me they've seen, but have always been too full of hatred for my own appearance and personality that I never understood what they meant. I'm gaining this wonderful sort of confidence that I've never experienced before. I've always considered myself an outgoing person, but it's only recently that I realized what a shell I've been living in.

When I first came out of the closet, I felt like I had to defend this image of my masculinity. Not that it was especially prevalent to begin with, and it's not like I wanted to be some macho-bullshit-asshole, but I avoided anything that I thought would associate me with the whole gay stereotype. And then a couple of years ago, I started to embrace the things in me I found stereotypical, but I think I got overexcited at my new-found acceptance. I started playing this ridiculously sassy gay caricature of who I thought I was or should be or who I thought others wanted me to be. Now, I'm beginning to find this middle-ground that just doesn't give a shit about gender barriers. And, strangely enough, I'm finding that this whole perception I had of what being gay meant directly affected my self-image.

It's only recently that I realized I'm not actually fat. For the longest time, I've thought of myself as a relatively big guy, despite the fact that I've pretty much been a stable 150 lbs. since I was 14. Sure, I'm not a twig, and I'll never be a twig. I don't have the body type. But I thought that's what gay men were, or what they wanted. I thought I needed to fit this stupid "twink" mold because that's what other people were telling me I was. This also made me hate my body hair, because this was also outside of the twink mold. I have a lot of body hair. I guess in gay terminology, this would make me an "otter," but... fuck that.

I'm so fucking tired of being defined by other people. I'm sick of letting myself be defined by other people. It's become such a way of life for me that I would do it even when I didn't need to. While I was spending all my time with the Court, when I started to embrace the "stereotypical" aspects of myself, I turned into this Kurt Hummel clone because I felt like that's what people wanted from me. And the more I acted like this character, the more compliments I got. I was told I was "fashionable" or "witty" or some other compliment, and that was what fed my self-image. Not my own perception of myself, but this positive feed-back I was getting from other people.

I didn't like myself, then, but I could never figure out why. I remember having conversations with Emily and Lavina about how I just didn't like who I was, that I wanted to change, that I wanted to be myself, but I wasn't sure of who that was. I think, in part, I am still all the people I've been. I'm still the quiet, creative goth kid in high school who spent way too much time by himself writing poetry about suicide and love. I'm still the kid I became later in high school, after shedding the goth clothing, who got along with everyone and bounced around between social groups because he never really felt like he belonged anywhere. I'm the newly-graduated young adult, so full of confidence that everything would just work out in his favor without actually having to put any effort in. I'm the disillusioned youth who lost faith in himself when he couldn't even afford to keep his home. I'm the optimistic young adult who applied for college, thinking he was major in theater and become an actor. I'm the reflective, lonely young man I am now, who's about 85% sure he finally knows what he wants to do with his life.

The only real difference with all of those people I am and have been is only the last one has a sense of self. Only the last one has realized, or just started to realize, that he's not ugly. He's not stupid. He's not a bad person. He's not defined by what others see in him, but by what he sees in himself. He knows he's got some pretty bad personality traits, but he's got some pretty great ones, too. He's starting to find out what he wants, not just out of the people around him, but out of himself and his life. And that's a pretty fucking fantastic feeling, let me tell you.

Author's Note to the Court: I hope it didn't sound like I was blaming any of you in this post. I'm not. The entire purpose was to demonstrate that I was my own biggest hurdle on my race for happiness. I changed myself to match what I thought you wanted, but I think the person I was at the time was probably a much less likable person than the person I am now/am becoming.

I want to...

I want to feel your palm against mine.
I want to feel your hair against my face.
I want to look into your eyes and know you're thinking the same thing I am.
I want to taste your lips, and drink in your breath.
I want to hear you say my name with nothing but a moan or a whimper.
I want to explore your body with a curious hand.
I want to lock my arm in yours and walk proudly down the street.
I want to yell at you and tell you what a fool you are.
I want to be the center of your universe.
I want to make you the center of mine.
I want to write shitty love songs about you.
I want to see your breath catch when you see me, the way mine does when I see you.
I want to dive into firsts and unknowns with you.
I want to be the thing you dream of.
I want to scream your name like it's the only thing keeping me alive.
I want to be that guy that you want.

Break My Stupid Little Heart, the Pisces Adventure

Nothing is ever simple, is it? There's always so much pressure. Pressure I'm putting on myself, and pressures others put on me. I'm so tired and heavy all the time, it's a familiar feeling though not a pleasant one. It reminds me of my teenage years, a constant depression hanging over my head. I used to sleep for hours, simply because it was easier than being awake. Or I would lay in bed and simply wish to be asleep, or gone from this world. This feeling isn't as strong as the feelings I got in high school, likely due to my hormones having evened out quite a bit over the years, but that doesn't make it a less crappy feeling.

I met a guy. His name is Skye. No, I didn't intend for that to rhyme. Anyway, we met about two weeks ago, and we've been pretty inseparable ever since. Since we first met we have literally not had a day when we haven't seen one another. Sounds ideal, right? Wrong. Skye doesn't date. Skye only wants a friend. Skye has said that I am "friend-zoned." In his defense, he's been pretty up-front about that since we met. Not that it stopped me from developing feelings for him, anyway... Really, though, how could I not? I finally meet another gay man who's actually interested in the things I'm interested in, and who's first order of business ISN'T to get in my pants.

We click on a level that even he acknowledges, just not a romantic one, apparently. Not that I've really approached him about my feelings. One morning, after staying over at his place (I just crashed there, no hanky-panky), I quietly told him, "I think I'm getting a crush on you." His response was to squeal in disapproval and say, "DON'T MAKE THINGS SOCIALLY AWKWARD!" I haven't broached the subject since, just tried to let it go. Not that is stemmed my feelings for him. I even sacrificed my Thanksgiving so I could spend it with him, because he doesn't have any family here and would have spent it alone otherwise.

He spent most of the day complaining about what a crappy Thanksgiving he was having. Guess it wasn't enough that I gave up my Thanksgiving with my family to spend it with him. Finally, we decided to go out to the Pumphouse, a bar that a friend of his bartends at. I assumed Skye knew it would be open, since his friend works there... well, it wasn't. Not knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing he "didn't want to go home," I decided we'd stop by my friend's house since he was having a big Thanksgiving dinner for a bunch of friends. The whole time we were there Skye just looked and acted miserable. His only solace seemed to come from his phone, which would buzz every so often with texts from his friend who worked at the Pumphouse.

I told him we could do whatever he wanted, and he decided he wanted to go to the Big I to meet the friend he'd been texting. We sat at the Big I, him loading up on a couple beers, vodka tonics, and rum and coke, while I nursed a couple beers since I was driving. He was constantly distracted, looking behind him towards the door to see if his friend had made an appearance yet. When he wasn't looking back at the door, he was talking about his friend and telling me how they had a connection he'd never felt with anybody before. This friend of his, Patrick, was apparently the first guy Skye had romantic, not just sexual, feelings for. I played the avid listener as usual, hiding the hurt I felt at the guy I had feelings for.

Finally, Patrick arrives with a couple of his friends. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though not what I was expecting. Skye is ecstatic at his arrival, since they'd had a falling out before I met Skye and this was the first time they'd seen each other since. Skye did his best to hang on to Patrick while we were there, but Patrick ran into someone he hadn't seen in a while and spent a large chunk of time talking with her. While he did that I sat at the table with the friends Patrick brought with them, especially socializing with an interesting woman named Buffy. I refused to let my hurt ruin my night, but my mind kept flashing to what would happen later on.

I honestly kind of expected Skye to ask if I could take Patrick back to his place when we left the bar. Being the passive little person I am, I would have readily agreed. I already knew how it would play out, too. We'd get to Skye's apartment, Skye and Patrick both being drunk messes. Maybe they'd even both sit in the back, perhaps even make out a bit. When we arrived at his apartment, Skye wouldn't say I couldn't stay but might imply that he wanted some "time with Patrick, since we haven't seen each other in a while." I would smile and say, "No problem." I would drop them off and let my mind torture my heart with images of them together.

None of that happened, though. I sat with Buffy and talked with her, even seeing a couple people I recognized. One of them, Sam, was a guy who I had spoken to before but found I was completely uninterested in when it was evident sex was his primary concern. I didn't talk to him, just noticed him floating around the place. He seemed to know a couple of the same people as Skye and Patrick's crew. Eventually, though, Patrick disappeared from the main bar area, prompting Skye to go look for him. Skye found Patrick in the bathroom, and I thought they were in there forever. I assumed they just didn't want to wait to get back to Skye's apartment, and my stomach turned as I waited for Skye to emerge from the bathroom with Patrick, both of them smiling happily with disheveled hair and clothes.

Instead, Skye exited the bathroom and walked straight up to me and asked if we could leave. He said it in a way that was both nonchalant and urgent, and I maybe too readily agreed, happy to avoid the fate I had thought the night would take. I found out later, on the drive back to Skye's apartment, that Skye had found Patrick in the bathroom stall with Sam. Skye was a mess in the car, telling me I "didn't know what it was like to see someone you like act like that." I gritted my teeth and said nothing, though my mind screamed, "I know exactly what that's like, you idiot! That's how I felt all night with you and Patrick!" But he was drunk, and I knew I didn't really have any right to be mad at him. After all, he'd made himself very clear on what our relationship was.

I spent the rest of the night consoling the guy I like about the guy he likes. For about three hours I laid with him as he cried and told me how miserable he was, how he sometimes thought of suicide and how he wanted a better life than the one he had. How he had finally felt romantic feelings for someone, only to have them turn around and hurt him. I cleaned the snot from his nose as his emotional out-pour created a nasal out-pour. I did my best to play the diligent friend and not let my own pain become too apparent. I didn't speak much, because I felt like I could never find the right words. I just laid there, cleaning his snot when it seemed necessary and holding him close when I thought was appropriate. I listened to him complain about how his Thanksgiving had finally taken a good turn before plummeting back down into crap. I did all of this until he stopped crying and seemed to fall asleep.

In the morning he seemed more like the Skye I knew. He was obviously still hurt by what Patrick did, but he tried to cover it up with feigned disinterest. "I don't give a fuck what Patrick does anymore" he told me, and all I could think was, "Then why are we still talking about him?" Later, his friends Jordan and Joclyn came over to his apartment. I stayed for a short while, but feeling like he didn't need me anymore, and having my own emotional drainage to work through, I decided I needed to go home. I made plans with my friend Lavina to go to Family Restaurant later than night, though. I needed someone to talk to, any Lavina has always been that friend who not only knows how to listen, but relate.

I met with Lavina, and we complained about the current problems in our life and about how guys sucked and that we needed to quit being attracted to "Takers." Skye starts texting me, and he's not making any sense. He just starts talking about some conversation that he thinks I should have knowledge of, then reveals that he's at Family Restaurant, also. He comes over to the booth on the smoking section Lavina and I are sitting in, and tells me that his friend/co-worker who had been giving him rides to work has decided he doesn't want to do that anymore, and that if he doesn't find a cheap car soon he's moving back to Wisconsin. He also told me that Patrick texted him and apologized, though I'm not sure if Skye's forgiven him just yet.

I had been feeling so much better until then. Seeing Skye didn't bring me back down, the possibility of him leaving did. If you have a negative image of Skye because of this story, then I feel it's only fair to point out that he's not always like this. He's a generous, fun person to be around. This was just the bad day that I suppose we shared, and it wouldn't be fair to judge him entirely off of this story. I like Skye, and even if he doesn't feel the same way, he's still my friend. I'm a glutton for punishment like that. Part of the Pisces persona, I guess.

There was a metaphor that Lavina and I discussed while we were at Family. It stemmed from both of us being water-signs in the zodiac- she's a Cancer, I'm a Pisces. We're both these water creatures, and we're stuck in this fishbowl. The fishbowl could be a number of things. It could be the city of Fairbanks, a place we both feel trapped yet at home in. It could be our own emotions, our own brains, this space that we can't ever seem to escape and just have to cope with. As a Cancer, Lavina hides in the corner of the bowl, claws at the ready to punish someone who threatens her. As a Pisces, I am the two fish swimming at the top of the bowl in infinite circles. So close to the freedom that exists outside, but unable to leave it.

We both dream of the ocean. It represents freedom from all things. It's the place we'll get to when we don't have to worry about boys or Fairbanks or all the shit that seems to accumulate in a tank. It's the freedom to be who we want, without fear. It's the rest of the world, all the places we have yet to be but want to see so bad. It's the end goal, the paradise we seek. If we could only find the right stream, maybe we could find our way to the ocean. But first we have to get out of this tank. Maybe it's terribly selfish of me, but I'm glad I'm not alone in this.