9:35 p.m. - August 24, 2003
Yeah. I know. It's always this way.
I understand why I most-times hate gay men. It's because I'm jealous of that freedom, the finger in your face, that comes from being at ease in one's skin. Prudes are not born, they become. Uptight is not inherent, it is a condition. And an uptight, prudish, gay man is a leper.
Eli ha/s/d three concerns:
1. I'm not out and that's a problem. Of course it is. I'm not a fool; you think I want to run and duck either?
2. I'm not open enough; I don't let him in. It's not an on-off switch.
3. I frustrate him sexually. Because one day - three - it's fine and good and one - last night - I panic and he had no clue what was going on or what to do and I quote, ass isn't worth this.
#s 1-3 are comorbid and collude in their symptomology.
I'd say you can all go to hell were it not for the recognition that I'm there looking out and seeing you on the other side. That's what this is, it's my own hell. I'm not making sense. Running through my mind is a celestial finger saying It's all YOU and under ideal circumstances I cannot manage fruition and if I don't push I'm pushed and it's a game of survival at its most base and I always win.
Of course, this means I play the game alone but funny, one can become used to solitude or loneliness and invite it the same way old men play chess solo and you've seen him once, you've seen them all. That's me already, I just don't know it yet.
Frustrated. And I did everything I could.
As he said, ass isn't worth this.
Ah. I cry far too easily nowadays. Once I thought that a good sign, a demonstration that I was opening up, allowing others in; now I see it as a hole draining whatever fuck-you-and-the-world attitude I once had.
It's like riding a bike and at a stop sign falling over because you don't put your feet on the ground in time to balance.
Balance. Such a tricky word. Doesn't seem to be much balance available if one's gay and fucked up and sexually decomposing and socially inhibited and just plain fucking stupid and pathetic.
Enough.
