I loved my childhood. This despite any of the hardships that you have heard about. I loved school, especially high school. I would like to think that I was popular; I had a fantastic group of friends. I never felt that I didn't fit in. I was never excluded. I am still close to many of those friends today.
Keith and I commented today about birthday posts for a young 18-year old that we know. He is your typical straight boy, and his guy friends were writing long, emotional messages to him on Facebook today. It's wonderful to see boys unafraid to show emotion, as opposed to the days when it was frowned upon; maybe not as much during my childhood as it was for Keith.
This post is not about knowing when I was gay. It's a frequent question though. You just know. But even though I knew, I only had girlfriends at school and into at least my second year of University. The answer to the second question is Yes. I do however I suspect that the fact that I spent many nights lying in the bath crying, while listening to Michael Bolton, after one girlfriend dumped me, was a clear indication of where my life was headed.
Coming out was a slow process and for a while I lead two separate lives. But I think I will leave that story for another blog given that I have 354 posts to go.
Any type of social group has it's hierarchy. And in many of these you find the popular mean girls (the Plastics) at the top. In my world I call them the A-gays. These are the boys with beautiful, chiseled bodies. The Jock equivalent in the straight world. They have perfect hair, they spend hours in the gym, they drink protein shakes and they take their shirts off at any opportunity. While many will find themselves in relationships the majority struggle because there is always something better around the corner; they seem to always be looking for the next best thing.
The B-gays are your boy next door, the guy your mom loves ("what a waste", she says), who may be just as good looking (or not), who goes to the gym and tries to hard to eat healthy but would never take his shirt off in a club unless it was very very dark. I think I'm a B.
The C-gays are in relationships. Wait, I may be a C.
D-gays are anyone over 30. Too old to be a gay and may as well be 60. Oh Jesus, I turned 42 two weeks ago, I'm a D.
All ex-boyfriends are E-gays. I'm definitely someone's E.
Like woman (I think), but unlike the average straight man (I think), there is a huge amount of pressure on the gay man to be thin, be good looking, have a gym body, be young. I am a pretty extroverted guy and yet I am extremely self-conscious. I think that I am not very good looking, and on the chubby (Keith calls it beefy) side. I blame some of this on Jewish genes (not my fault) and I blame some on my love of food (not my fault).
There was a time that I would catch my reflection in the mirror and shudder. And I would feel depressed for the rest of the day. I would tell myself that there is nothing wrong with the way I look and yet I couldn't stop the self-hatred. Because I was not an A-gay. I still feel it sometimes, but not as much. Turning 40 changed that - another possible blog.
Keith used to tell me to enjoy my body while I had control over it, because the time would come that I would not have that control, and I would regret not enjoying it when I did. He was right. But he is also the most content guy I know, so comfortable in his own skin. I've never been comfortable in mine.
I have one A-gay friend that I believe became my friend by accident. Yet we have been friends for over 20 years. An A and a B/C/D/E. It happens.
I would be lying if I said I didn't (in the past) have friends that I thought made me look better in public. I have an ex-boyfriend who refused to be friendly with fat people. There are other reasons why he is an ex-boyfriend.
I'm going on vacation in January that will include a beach. There are days when I look at myself and think that I'm OK. On others I look at myself and cringe, because I don't have the willpower not to eat that slab of chocolate, because I didn't make it to the gym for two days, because I think that people are staring at the ugly boy, because I think that nobody will notice me. There are also days that none of this matters.
Many of you reading this will be surprised to know how much I worry about what I look like. But this also means that I probably have no idea what your issues are when I look at you. Often the things I hate about myself, are the things I love about other people. For example, I think a bald man can be extremely sexy, yet I wish I had a full head of luscious hair. I have absolutely no interest in the muscled guy and think that a guy with a few extra kg's can be pretty attractive, yet I HATE the extra weight that I carry.
What I know for sure, is that when I look at anyone I take them for what they are. My sister taught me this. Keith taught me this.
42.11
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