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8:31 p.m. - January 26, 2004
Misanthropic sob fest. Spare yourself this one
Tonight driving home from the group session, realized I'm quite tired of Non-Descript. Unsure of what this means.

Discussed intimacy, not allowing people to get close. *Big Gay Whore talks about being embarrassed when tricks from a few days ago approach him and say hello and he doesn't remember their names. *Mini Gay Whore talks about bathhouses and gee, why can't he feel personal connections? And the therapists turn to me, What are your thoughts, Jason? and what can I say? Save your protests, ye ambassadors of the Great Gay P.R. Committee.

If I spew bile it's because I'm jealous and am angry I find it manifestly difficult to be intimate with a man. Reaching in, I find it difficult to be intimate, period, regardless of gender. During the session I looked back and could only find one - one - instance where I recall being there and enjoying sex and not worrying about duty, obligation, bad thoughts that hang like a specter. It was years ago, early spring, and Dana and I had sex on the couch in her living room and the sunlight was warm and I kicked back and she rode me and I watched the light in her hair and it was fantastic. That sound sheíd make when she opened up always made me feel like a stud, like a real man. If I were to die tonight in my sleep, Iíd be glad for that one time there were no barriers, no wariness or feeling like there was a piece missing.

Easy enough to discern Sunday night didnít go well.

I panicked. Got sick and didnít make it to the bathroom. Nothing like the fresh scent of wine vomit. I started to cry seeing everything fall apart and I donít mind crying in private (thatís a lie) but never in front of somebody else and the cycle spun and today Iím telling myself itís best to back away and nobody makes me feel bad about myself when Iím alone. Ryan II thought it was food poisoning. Maybe it was in my / our best interest to tell him a bit about why that type of intimacy does this to me but talking about it cheapens it especially when heís on his way out the door. I can kid about being fucked, laugh and brush it away, offer a great blowjob instead. I can avoid the topic, offer a great handjob. Iíll lick a guyís asshole, anything to divert attention or want and still it always comes down to that. It becomes top-shelf candy, becomes comments like you have a cute hole, I want to be inside, becomes frustrating for me and for him. Avoid it, want it, want to be close that way, give him reason to like me more.

I feel robbed and cheated and frustrated and alone and pathetic and angry. And I feel stupid saying this far from eloquently, much less articulately.

Better quit now. Drivel forthcoming.

Itís like Iím good for nothing. And I know this isnít true but what is true is that I donít have much to offer. No funny stories or a great heart or a body to lust after. Iím quiet and shy and afraid of people at my core and I hate with fire every bit of me. How have I become this? And that well-meaning saying then get up and do something about it makes me spit because itís the doing something that makes it worse and the questions stack up Ė maybe itís the way I do things, maybe itís one of a million controllable factors and I feel good when I see myself taking it slow with a guy whoís interested in me and Iím open to him, feel really happy when I am comfortable kissing him, think Iím in control and hope forms a world when I can be intimate, exposed and not be afraid and then itís all gone an instant later.

 

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