Proud

Being a sucker for ballads, I really like this song. I always have; it really speaks to me. It's a question I find myself subtly asking people in my life. Sometimes I imagine asking God the same thing.

Compared to....

Good news: My weekend ended up being pretty darn good.

Really, it was quite un-extraordinary. I woke up; I joined a few friends for breakfast; I tended to some cleaning; I walked around a shopping mall; I went to church; I met someone for coffee. Boring stuff, compared to what the gay male life is supposed to look like, or so I'm told.

And right there, in that very last sentence, is a tricky phrase.

Compared to.

I'm beginning to understand the kind of trouble I get into when I start using the words Compared to. Compared to my high school friends, my life does not exactly look like their lives, which are full of diapers and baby bottles and school assemblies. Compared to other gay men, I'm not quite as comfortable with myself. Compared to other Bloggers, I don't post as much. Compared to some guys at the gym, I am a weakling. Compared to my classmates, I'm a little slower to learn than they are.

So what?

Why must I always compare myself to someone or something else to understand myself? (Beware, I'm in a moment of clear thinking. There undoubtedly will be future posts detailing how I am comparing myself to someone else.) Could I say instead that I'm working toward a level of comfort with myself and call it good? And maybe even call it getting better?

Comparisons are a killer, especially because I nearly always use a comparison when I'm comparing myself negatively against someone or something else. Like, my clothes are not as nice as their clothes. I rarely compare myself positively. Like, I really listen to people at work more closely than other people. I suppose I am learning that this comparison thing is another of those instruments I use to beat on myself. When I compare, I usually come out on the bottom, and I cognitively do not see large benefits from continuing to do that. I'm not sure I can turn off this behavior right away, but perhaps at least recognizing this is a start.

My therapist would be so proud of me.

The Weekend

For years, I have found the weekend to be a difficult time for me. There was a time when I actually hated Fridays, because I knew the weekend was arriving. Often, that meant going home Friday night and being by myself, followed by a Saturday of being by myself and a Sunday of the same. What made Sunday all the stranger--or more cruel--was the trip to church when people would ask me how I was. I would lie, like most people do, and say how great my mood was or how busy I was all weekend long. When I crawled into bed Sunday night, I knew I was going back to work on Monday. And even if I was at work, I would not be by myself.

I almost never call anyone to make plans. I'm just not that type of person. Not having a lot of great ideas hampers me. And those times when I did have the balls to call someone, I got turned down anyway, which made me realize two more things: (1) That other person obviously ALREADY had something to do with themselves, which put them ahead of me already; and (2) maybe I'm not all that enjoyable as company anyway. It's sad that I would rather not ask than ask and get turned down.

So as another weekend looms, I am a bit sad. I'm by myself, which honestly leads to all sorts of temptations. That's when I have trouble with porn. That's when I start to chat inappropriately. That's when I pull the blanket over my head and will the time away, hoping to get back to Monday. I think of people making plans to go clubbing, and I realize that I'm not going with them and I really wouldn't want to anyway.

Some people suggest doing something--anything--to get over this. I'll try to at least buy groceries or get a library book or something to force me to be around people. I guess I just wish I could have a good weekend, or at least not a bad weekend. I know I should meet people or join a club or something. I know! It's just that when mild depression visits, those things that I know don't even make sense.

And I wish I could have more courage to enjoy friends and life. It's getting a bit lonely here.

Reward?

I'm guilty; I've been watching The Apprentice. For me, it's like a train wreck: I don't really want to watch, but when it happens I can't help but observe.

For those who have not partaken of The Apprentice, the reality contestants on the show form teams and compete in tasks to win the approval of Donald Trump. He generally kicks one person from the losing team out of the contest. The winning team players are safe from elimination and typically get some sort reward.

The funniest part of the most recent episode was the reward, a trip to the Playboy mansion. I suppose there is a legitimate reason to the contestants there, as Hugh Hefner is an incredibly successful businessman. But then Hugh throws a huge party complete with busty woman batting around a beach ball in the pool. Even NBC's website says: "For their reward, Kinetic goes to the Playboy Mansion to meet Hugh Hefner and hang out at the swimming pool with some of Playboy's special... assets"

The problem: Of the nine winners, there was only one straight male. Maybe he had a good time, but the other eight (7 women and 1 gay man) must have been thinking, "I cannot believe I'm here pretending to enjoy this party on national TV."

This sounds like something that would totally happen to me, and I would be seen on TV wondering, "Do you have anything in a male model?"

Laying Here

I seem to have little to say lately, as I continue to sort and sift through my thoughts. So I'm borrowing a bit, as I've seen other bloggers do, to express myself when I can't do it so well myself.

Several months ago I stood outside on a beautiful day helping a friend set up a sound system. This Chasing Cars song was the first he used to test his sytem, and it moved me so much that I had to walk away and mask that choked up feeling which came. I love laying around. I love quiet. I would love to do so with someone special, and find that within the quiet I'm having the greatest of conversations.

The S Word

I feel so Stupid. I mean, I feel first-class dumb.

I'm simply tired of the war that wages in my mind about my sexuality. I read a lot, and I sometimes cringe when I read stories of people who knew since they were 5 years old that they were gay. That is not my story. I didn't know. Or maybe I denied it for most of my life? Or maybe I'm just totally confused? Or maybe I'm bisexual? Or maybe I'm asexual? What the hell?

How can I be so confused? How can my mind be so tied in knots? All I can think about is how Stupid I am. I just keep thinking and thinking and thinking. People tell me it will get better. People tell me I will just know. I say I'm too dumb to know. I don't trust myself.

And so I pull back from everyone and everything. I don't even talk any more with a few guys that I once actually had interest in. Each time I've had some interest in a guy, I've had my heart handed back to me in pieces. I've begun wondering if it's just punishment from God.

But then who could blame those guys? I know what I bring to the table, and it is nothing. I would actually pity the person who ended up with me, because I know that I could never adequately love them the way they deserve to be loved. I want to be loved, I want to love someone else. But I would question the good sense of anyone who loved me. It's a Catch-22.

I walked through the store yesterday, watching hundreds of people know who they are and what they are about. My friends seem to know. They smile and laugh and date and stuff. And then there's me; I'm just trying to get by. I'm trying to buy groceries and cook for myself and show up for school and work without totally breaking down.

I wish I could understand my feelings. Some days, I wish I had feelings. I wish I wasn't so Stupid.