Sexual identity

[vaneramos]

Paperwhite narcissus given to me by Mom, blooming on my desk today.

Yesterday I downloaded and used LJArchive to back up my journal. It includes several analysis tools. Here is a list of the 25 words I have used most frequently, excluding common ones (e.g. articles, prepositions and conjunctions):

1. couple (306)


2. marian (302)
   
3. danny (290)
   
4. today (289)
   
5. toronto (268)
   
6. brenna (232)
   
7. parents
   
8. guelph
   
9. gay
   
10. favourite
    
11. yesterday
    
12. river
    
13. summer
    
14. someone
    
15. mom
    
16. post
    
17. later
    
18. music
    
19. weekend
    
20. daughters
    
21. mdash
    
22. lake
    
23. journal
    
24. cottage
    
25. photo

What follows is a capricious response to trapezebear's post, whatever.

~~~~~~~~~~

What am I? It's so simple to say I'm gay. Some people like to drop identities, but I hold onto it like a lost treasure, a diamond that fell from a ring and lay under the corner of the bathroom cabinet for months until someone saw sunlight glinting off its facets. The word has meant so much to my life, shaping fear, misery, desire, loneliness, ecstasy, fulfilment, love, connection. I tried to use the B word once. I was obfuscating the fact that I really couldn't feel that way toward women.

And yet I did. Yes, I have loved women. Several. Fell in love with my wife the first day back to work after we got home from our honeymoon. I walked through the door of the sun porch in that old brick Paisley house, saw the hardwood floor in the hall with worn blue Persian carpet from my grandparents. Right there it happened, hearing her voice through echoing rooms. Yes I can, but would I let it happen ever again? Undoubtedly there is choice involved, but mine was so laced with danger, falling, leaving my heart open to one who acted like a cornered animal. That is gone, and I will never go back.

Even the sex. In dark rooms she wouldn't look at me. I lay with eyes closed thinking of dog shit to hold off my orgasm, thinking of anything but pleasure to make the pleasure last long enough so she could cum. And she did every time, but in the end despised me for wanting to please her so badly.

God, such dark chasms! Another life, so not me. I can never return. Yes, it is partly a choice.

Closets? Closets are for stuffing. You know, with toys, stuffed animals, dirty laundry, clean laundry. Whatever has no place.

In the house where we lived in Windsor when I was a little boy my bedroom had a closet where a giant lurked. He was bigger than the whole house, but he fit in that closet, neatly alongside my embryonic sexuality. Closets are for big unspoken things. I was a child who would rather leave the door open so I could see inside, but at night it revealed only shadows.

I was a tortured homosexual who was never really closeted; told every friend about my problem. Came out to my parents when I was 19. I said I wanted help. They just told me to be happy, but never spoke about it again for years. We conveniently left it on a closet shelf alongside bills, a coin collection and shoes no one ever wore. We could go back whenever we needed it, but my family never needed to look at that.

Later it became almost a badge of pride to tell other Christians I struggled with homosexuality. It gave me a cross to bear along with Jesus, a special kind of pilgrimage. Still people would rather not speak about it. It's a strange dilemma to be proud of suffering.

I only had to let go, stop holding onto worthless things; prizes and cartons in the back of the cupboard. Such a relief to stop holding, hiding, twisting and making myself want pussy while thinking of dog shit.

So much better just to dive into sex whole-heartedly and lavish it, lap it, soak it up right to the very last pinpoint of ecstasy. No inhibitions, no guilt. So I am gay.

Now I arrive at the bottom of the well, surprised that the strange flood empties out cracks until there's nothing left. No orientation really, nothing at all. Still, the beauty of a man catches my eye. I collect porn, but what does it mean?

I happen to love a man. At his touch I feel better than anything. There I go. Wow. Man lover.