Can We Take Today Off the Calendar Please

It's been eight or so years since I began my "gay life," marked by the moment I realized that my adulthood would be different (read: difficult) and there was no way to deny or avoid it. I had one last girlfriend during my gay life. She wasn't really so much a girlfriend as she was an asexual beard. But we both got some sort of self-esteem boost out of our dysfunctional relationship and I hear she's doing quite well for herself now so I don't feel too bad about it in retrospect.

Despite my dutiful and supportive beard, I was miserable the first half of my gay life. I thought about what would happen if my parents and my friends found out. I worried about how I would hide my sexuality during college. I lay in bed most nights wondering, "Why me?"

My first gay relationship marked a turning point in my gay life. Today marks two years since. I remember driving home the night we started dating officially (though we were only ever official in our heads) thinking to myself, well I guess I'm pretty lucky after all.

Tralala.

In the time since my last post, I've been trying to move forward with gay life. More accurately, I've been trying to live regular life without suffering a nervous breakdown in a public place. For the most part, I've been successful, though I do tend to drag my feet and look down at the ground a lot like I'm Macy Gray in the music video for "I Try." Life is hectic, I don't know if that helps or hurts.

I still think about "it" a lot, though thinking about it at all is probably thinking about it too much. It's probably unreasonable to not care for four months and suddenly suffer a massive epiphany/stroke and start caring. A friend pointed out to me today that I tried, and he tried, and it didn't work out, so I should just let it go. She also suggested that what I really missed was intimacy and not him in particular. I hate people who are all, philosophical and insightful on Skype. I just want you to tell me my hair looks nice.

I wonder what it's like for him to love somebody new. I wonder if he thinks about me on occasion. I wonder how he can suddenly do without all the things he used to love about me. These thoughts are depressive though. For the moment, it seems like the best thing to do is to bottle up all my questions and doubts and fears inside of me in the hopes that one day I'll forget that they exist.

In truth, all of this posturing is hypocritical. I've been on a steady stream of dates since the summer. The fact that none of them has led to anything seems kind of like it's my own fault and it's certainly aligned with the kind of luck I've come to expect. 

I used to worry if being gay meant everyone in the entire world would hate me. Now I worry if it means nobody (other than my beards) will love me. And while I spent the first half of my gay life wondering, "Why me?" the second half of my gay life (this is assuming I don't make it through 2012) is mostly defined by the question, "Why not me?"

The Irony In My Life No Longer Impresses Me

I was feeling manic on Sunday night after Once Upon A Time and before Desperate Housewives so I googled "gay-friendly therapist, dc." Finding one that seemed to have a particularly sympathetic looking headshot, I sent an email urgently asking for a first consultation as soon as possible. She emailed me back the next day, "First consultations are $350." Miraculously, I felt better instantly.

It's downright prophetic that I wrote about TBA in my last post because 3 days later a friend texts me, "Do you know the new guy that TBA's dating?" I was, in fact, not aware that he was seeing somebody. This was one of those shoot-the-messenger moments. I resisted.

I suddenly felt like I was being kicked in the stomach and the back of the head, simultaneously. The guy he met right after me turned out to be somebody serious. Being the dramatic diva that I am, I sent the most awkward and ridiculous message I could have possible come up with, "Do you love him?" He said, "what?" and then a few minutes later,"yes."

I felt the kicking again. How could two people who were basically each others entire lives just move on? Well, I guess the real questions is, why did one move on and the other one didn't? It's tough to imagine all the things he used to do and say to me, he's now doing and saying to this new guy. I wonder if he makes him happier than I did and I suddenly feel this strange connection to Adele.

This question is more or less answered by the fact that TBA also came out this summer. He decided not to go to Princeton but to stay in the area for a job. I wonder if this is the work of the new guy too, getting him to do and feel things that I could not. Ultimately, I will go down in history as a footnote in TBA's little black book, the boyfriend that was always in the shadows and a little bit insane. This new one seems more real.

I was dropped, I see that now. And I also know now that anybody who says they will love you forever can wake up one day and decide that they don't anymore. Four months after the fact, I should care less than I do. Perhaps it seems like I'm only upset that he found love sooner than I did. But the truth is I'm upset because he found somebody to love and I think I'm still in love with him.

There are many more questions I would like answered. But although knowing may satisfy my curiosity, it will probably only make me feel more horribly inadequate and depressive. The best strategy here is to go back to what we were doing just a few days before, not talking to each. For me, it takes a conscious effort to not pick up my phone and tell him that I want nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms. For him, it's rather effortless. It doesn't seem to matter to him whether he contacts me or not, and when he does, he comes off surprisingly glib. Yesterday morning, out of the blue, he said to me "if you are looking for new music, the new florence + the machine album is fantastic." This might be the last thing he ever says to me and I'm always going to wonder if it was spam...

Compounded with the rest of my problems, I feel especially helpless - like I'm drowning and there is nothing for me to hold on to. People say, "just move on" like it's that utility bill sitting on my desk that I've been putting off. They say, "don't think about him" as if the new season of Top Chef, white Hyundais, Angry Birds, Fresca, Pop music, the very thought of college, and a million other things don't remind me instantly of what we were together.

I was on OKCupid tonight hoping to spark up a conversation with a rando internet freak that would somehow result in the love of my lie. I clicked on a profile that looked somewhat promising and there he was, standing in the background of this guy's profile pic. TBA was wearing a shirt we bought together, smiling.

How fucked up is that?