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6:32 p.m. - March 03, 2003
I would ask for help or an ear but then I remember, I don't do that
I suppose I could be honest, given this is my private journal, but I am averse to admitting things even to myself sometimes. It's far more than shame that dissuades me, it is the essence of failure. On a certain level Iíve always suspected Ė known Ė feared Ė despised Ė and what more can I say? I remember well the afternoon when Spec told me how he knew before he understood it, I looked at the dust motes because I avoided making eye contact, was astonished when he told me he would collect images of guys in underwear advertisements and hoard them and how could I admit I did nearly the same thing? I realize it was easier to deny when I didnít physically act on the impulses and meeting Spec and that experience has been a brand and I am rent over the push / pull and I desperately want a cure but even as I say that I know it Ė it, it, it, it, why is it so hard to say gay? Ė isnít a bird thatís alighted on my shoulder, whispering noxious thoughts in my ear, itís something thatís been there for as long as I remember. And I have such difficulty saying this to myself it hurts; I want answers, I want to track down the trail and know why, why? Is it because of the experiences when I was younger? Because of something else? My father, the lack of role models? A laundry list of remembrances and reliefs, of minor and major salvations, relief that in school there were girly guys who took the brunt of attention, relief that it was only in my head and wasnít visible, relief later in college when my thoughts and fantasies receded nearly complete except my heart would beat erratically when I had to drive down Broadway on Capital Hill to go to Minnieís for midnight omelets and I would will myself to sneer but not too much, to avoid giving my friends any ideas Ė Methinks thou protest too much, he said. A double life not quite but even one drop is bad enough, isnít that the saying?

When I was 17 I spent a week at Camp Pendelton, a Marine base in California and I knew it then, was terrified by my thoughts and I made myself sick by eating raw eggs so I wouldnít have to hang out with Zach and his buddies, a kid in the company of men and when they told me the story of what they did to one of the guys in their company I felt shamed and sick, not because of what they did but because their contempt hit me like nothing I had experienced prior. And I felt violated, I felt so strongly for this anonymous guy and I felt his shame Ė they fucked him with a plunger when they discovered he was gay Ė and I was relieved as well, another escape from detection and Zach was so proud of what he did and I remember thinking Better him than me and being angry with myself for no obvious reason. I think as long as I didnít act on the physical nature I absolved myself on one hand, hated it even more on the other. Itís that deep down secret, that shame that makes me want to rip my head off and scream and all of a sudden Iíve begun to sweat and there goes my heart Ė I itís so hard to say, hard to think, hard to type. When I was a kid I think I initiated or continued or knew what I or he was doing, something like that, when I think about that I become angry Ė and Iím a fairly calm guy Ė and see! My thoughts are becoming convoluted and messy.

I let myself down when I think about it and how it isnít something transitory. I let down my friends and they have such good intentions but it hurts for them to tell me to read my Bible and be careful because I know where theyíre coming from, Iíve prayed and prayed and thereís been no direction and I think about the perfection dichotomy, how if God created me whole and perfect then this part of me is a part of me but it is my actions that glorify or donít, and then the flip side is I am not to experience the love between two people of the same gender and that strikes me as hateful and then Iím back at square one. Iíve never talked about this to anybody before. Not even to A[deleted]a or Bathsheba, Iíve never told them how much it hurts that they love the sinner but hate the sin but you know, I understand it because I hate the sinner and hate the sin, too. Is it any less it to be with a woman, to love a woman, to fantasize about a woman, but also think of men? Is it any better? What hurts me is knowing that despite everything, I donít regret it, I donít regret Spec, I donít regret what transpired, I donít repent. I think I needed it, I needed to see this part of me but like Pandoraís box I canít put it away. I hate gay people because I hate that part of me and how Toni Morrison is that? I hate that lifestyle because Iím jealous, jealous that they can do as they please and not care and be open, simply not care. And I want this part gone, I want to know how to deny it better, completely and itís not a matter of being a man because I already scratch my balls and enjoy sports, I want it gone but no matter what I try, itís not going anywhere. I donít know what to do about that.

This is lonely.


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