January 4, 2001 - Thursday
January 7, 2001 - Sunday
First off, no, this isn't a poison pen letter. I'm not writing to attack, or to make you feel bad, but rather to let you know exactly why I wanted to leave... why I wanted to cry... why I felt nauseous... why I was disappointed in you.
On the most basic level, hearing that Mr. Booty Call (the name Alex and Bryce had given him) got to come over and spend the night at your dad's house was disconcerting because *I* was going to spend the night at your dad's house. I thought that spending the night at your dad's house was special, that I was special. Sure, you had sex with the other guys, but *I* was someone extra, the one you hung out with afterwards, the one who was going to go over to your dad's house when he was out of town, the one who was going to be a REAL true friend. And here some guy that you admittedly won't hang out with after the boink fest is over gets to enter into your life FURTHER than *I* do. Crazy me, I actually believed I was somewhat near your gay best friend/mentor. That's what I meant by "mental ho": sharing of your mental space with someone you don't admire/respect/etc (aka who's more than a fuck buddy). It really hurt that he was getting to do what I thought was somewhat special between you and me. No one I didn't hold in EXTREMELY high regard would be able to come to my parents' house, with them there or not. And here Mr. Booty Call got to, and I didn't. Just because we aren't dating doesn't mean that I wouldn't like to spend the night as a sort of sleep over... what I would see as something special, as something bringing us closer together, was given to him freely, with no idea of specialness for him or you. How could someone spend the night at your dad's house and that person NOT be special? And... am I special?
On another level, this "disposable" guy getting to meet your grandfather, when I cannot, left me disappointed in you and hurt. I don't think I'm a big gay flamer, but apparently, being unfalteringly masculine is far more important than being worthwhile. I don't think I'm so gay that your parents would pick it up, but even if I am, how could you introduce Mr. Booty Call to your grandfather and NOT let me meet anyone just because he's undiscernible. I thought everyone treated me the same, with me being gay out of the equation, but you're treating me differently because I'm gay. Like I said, I thought we were close friends... yet you're treating me like something to be ashamed of. My words don't accurately capture the hurt that causes. Damn it, you're a spoiled little rich kid, but you're my spoiled little rich kid and I'd go to the mat for you... or so I thought. You ditch me at the first sign of someone possibly thinking you're gay, when they obviously already know. THAT hurts. "How could I have been so wrong about you? How could I let you into my life? How could I care about you that much when you so obviously didn't care about me?" Those were the thoughts going through my head in the car as I wanted to throw up.
I'm sorry, but I cannot be something you're ashamed of, in any time, context, or place. I'm one of the most damn fine people on this here planet, if I do say so myself. And I can't let you make me feel like shit. I love MYSELF more than that.
So, no, I don't think you meant to hurt my feelings, but the hurt's just the same. I wrote that I loved you the other day, but I don't know how I can love someone who thinks of me as anything less than wonderful.
P.S. The response I'm hoping for... is that you want me to meet your dad. I know you have that within you somewhere. I just hope it appears before it's too late. Dude, you made me feel like SHIT tonight. I still don't know if I've gotten that across. Noam asked if I was going to go up to my apartment and cry when he let me out. It was THAT bad. What's important to you; keeping the lie or keeping the friend. Being in the closet is so fucking up your point of view that no-one-special gets to spend the night and meet your grandfather, yet your gay best friend(?) cannot.
January 8, 2001 - Monday
January 9, 2001 - Tuesday
|[I] also didn't want to be limited to interacting with just 10% of the population, and I felt like that would happen if I came out. I see it happen almost every day with visible minorities...Asians hang out together, African-Americans hang out together, and, yes, Caucasians hang out together too. I never want to hang out with exclusively gay people...I know a lot of great people who aren't gay, and I don't want to stop meeting them.|
|It's funny. I always said that I was looking for friends, but I was looking for good-looking guys who would eventually work into "the one". None of the guys I sought out were that person. Most of my real friends I met through shows I was in, or at work. They needed a ride home, so I gave it to them. Then they said, hey let's get together and have dinner after the show tomorrow. The biggest quality that made us such good friends is that they didn't give a rat's ass whether I was gay or straight, rich or poor, neat or somewhat disorganized (I'll let you guess which of those two I am. hint: Keith, my partner, is the neat one). What really made it work is that I suddenly realized that it didn't matter whether they were any of those things either. And, over a long time of neither of us caring about that stuff, we learned a lot of cool things about each other that have made us thicker than thieves. I know that I'm talking about it like it's only one other person, but that's because each friendship started that way. One on one. Then I would meet their friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, wives, husbands, kids. Before I knew it I had more friends than I knew what to do with. It takes a lot of time and energy and a lot of being there to maintain these friendships, but I wouldn't trade them for the world.|
January 12, 2001 - Friday
January 18, 2001 - Thursday