Woes (Part 1)...

The ride back to Toronto was more or less uneventful, until we were 20 mintues from my place.

"You haven't said anything about me seeing someone," I said cautiously. It had been nagging me in the back of my mind for the past few days. I needed to know how she was reacting.

"Well, I'm not good with it," she said. "I just can't get used to it, I'm not happy with it."

My heart sank. Here I was thinking that things were getting better.

She went on to explain that she isn't getting comfortable with it, how I'd given her a "glimmer of hope" by saying that maybe, at some point, there would be a girl instead.

"No. I'm gay, I've explained that," I said. "I'd never close the door completely, but it's not a big attraction for me."

I tried not to get upset, but as each sentence was spoken, I got more hurt. She just doesn't understand. And neither do I. Why can't she just accept me for who I am, seven months after she found out? I told her that I haven't grown a third arm, I'm not some mutated monster.

"I know, you're not a different person. I still love you."

She said that my being gay was a choice (uh, no, it's not), then asked why I didn't just come out in highschool if I 'knew all along'.

"Because! It's called accepting it yourself, and I didn't exactly grow up in a gay-happy environment."

"I never contributed to that," she said, "never."

Also, she doesn't like flamboyant homosexuals, which apparently for some reason makes it hard to accept the truth about me. I told her even if I was flamboyant (which I'm not, she says everyone 'thinks I'm straight' even though I watch Sex and the City, drink Pinot Grigio by the gallon and have only close female friends) it would be 'who I am' and I would never apologize for it.

She said it was better that I'm not flamboyant, because she just couldn't handle it if I were.

I kept pushing the conversation because I needed to know what I can do to help move this forward. She says the biggest problem she's having right now is that my Dad doesn't know. She needs to have no secrets between them, and claims that it's tearing her apart that she can't talk about it with him. Plus, she's worried he'll be furious at her for not including him in the knowledge when I told her originally.

"It's not about you and him!" I exclaimed, "it's about him and me. That's IT."

I can't wrap my head around the fact her biggest problem right now is that my Dad doesn't know. I mean, she's worried about how he'll react towards her, whats up with that?

She then went on to demand I tell him soon, because she's almost told him three times already. She had to physically leave the room, on three different occasions, to keep from blurting it out to him.

Apparently she cries herself to sleep some nights. And tells herself every day that I'm not straight, and that I won't have the picket fence. That killed me the most, because I don't know why it's hurting so much after so much time. It's almost as if she's refusing to let go and simply start moving forward.

"I know that on the other side, we'll be fine," she said. "It's just getting there that I'm not sure about."

I suggested that maybe it was time for her to talk to someone about this, like PFLAG or another support group. We're not the support-group type of family, but she's obviously not getting anywhere by herself. And I don't know how she's going to get anywhere by talking to my Dad, because it's not like he has any answers himself I'm sure.

She refused flat out. "NO, I'm not talking to anyone. No, I'm just not doing it," she said, as if she's the only person to know about my sexuality, and we've got to keep it under wraps.

We left things very awkwardly. I just didn't know what to say, how to make her feel better, to lift weight off her shoulders. I tried to tell her it's really not that big of a deal, and that I'm happier than before, but I didn't really get that out clearly. I was just working on not crying mostly.

I had never felt so rejected in my life. That night, I understood why there's a gay community. Because when your family tries to pretend you're not gay, and tells you how they can't handle it, you have somewhere to go. I mean, up until now, I saw the community as a 'fun' thing, a safe place for gays to socalize. I now realize the serious aspect of it too.

I also realized that I had nobody to lean on right then. I talked with Laura for an hour, and she was very sympathetic, but as she said, "There's noting I can do, I can't offer you any advice. I just don't know how to help."

It was very hard going to bed that night. Realizing how badly I wished I had some gay friends in Toronto to help me through this.

I talked to a few people online, and I'm trying not to undermine the friendships that I've made thanks to the blog. But in this instance, I needed a person, in front of me. A shoulder, to literally cry on.

The next morning I woke and wanted to vomit. My stomach rolled while I tried to clear my mind. I don't want to become some depressed homo, but my family means more than anything to me. Thankfully I had to throw myself into work, finishing an essay before rushing off to class.

Again, this morning, I woke with a sense of dread in my chest. I felt unloved. I've got friends I love, but I've never felt so distant from my family. And at times like these, I don't know how to call on the support of my friends. Thankfully I didn't feel as ill as I did Wednesday morning.

I still haven't talked to my Mom since our discussion on Tuesday night. I'll be calling her now...but I don't really know what to say.

Cooked goose...

I am fat and sleepy.

Uggghhhh...too much food. And before you say, "Well, just don't eat it!" I have to tell you, I kinda wanted to. Its all been good...just not good for you. And I've payed the price. I can feel my body spreading, that extra substance on my bones. It's weird. It's gross. And I can't stop myself.

As a result I now have made my life harder than before. As of Wednesday I have to go back to eating a lot less, and a lot better food. That adjustment will be somewhat welcomed, because I really feel gross right now. But you just always know in the back of your mind your stomach will just want more.

What's even more strange is my alertness. Thursday and Friday of last week I was primed and happy to be home. Saturday we had our immediate family over for Thanksgiving, and by 4 p.m. I wanted nothing more than to sleep (this was pre-turkey too). Sunday was a little better, but I was still crashing terribly by 11 p.m. Today I was ready for a nap at 3 p.m., after working from 11 a.m. on school stuff.

I mean, a nap? I never do that shit! But it was wonderful...I wrapped myself in a blanket on my bed, laid on my pillow and listened quietly to an audiobook on my iPod. It was everything I dreamed it would be.

The thing that drives me crazy in my life these days is that nothing is guilt-free. While I was enjoying my nap, in the back of my mind I was worried about all the work I still have to do before tomorrow night. The entire weekend has been spent pushing things off to enjoy family time, then worrying I've pushed things a little too far. I hope the next weekend I get at home will have me with far less homework.

Of the 2200 words I'm supposed to write, I've gotten 1200. Oh, and a 500 page novel I was supposed to read...but that's not happening.

Saturday's Thanksgiving was actually really fun. My good grandparents came over, and we spent the day laughing and kidding around. My father wore a cabbage hat for most of the day. But of course, there had to be drama. My evil grandmother said she was simply too tired to come over for dinner. The last time she was out for a day she spent the next two in bed, because she was just so exhausted by it all.

My father was deeply hurt by this, and I don't blame him. Everybody else was quite excited we didn't have to spend time with her, but for the sake of my Dad we all felt badly. Considering she lives next door, I really don't think it would be too much to ask of her. Also, considering I saw her drive up the road to go grocery shopping just as we were mashing the potatoes and pulling out the stuffing, I really think she could have made it, that bitch.

Sunday was the 'big' family Thanksgiving. I really can't stand any of them. My parents and my grandparents are the only family I really love and the only family who love me in return. The rest, comprised of an Aunt and Uncle, three cousins, all their spouses, several children and a dog. As usual, I was well ignored by them as they fought amongst themselves.

More drama ensued. My grandmother refused to come to dinner again, saying that she'd had a heart attack on Saturday night but didn't want anyone coming over (she'd locked her doors), or to go to a doctor or hospital. Oh, and that' she'd rather just die than live another day. (On a side note I swear she will outlive us all, even with her attitude.)

My cousins got into a huge fight, in front of the family, where they both demanded a divorce. Also, we ate in the garage, which smelled like cat piss and fly spray. My 'favorite' cousin (and I use that term loosely) wrote on the chalkboard wall: "Happy Ghetto Thanksgiving". Also, one of the kids was seen brandishing an axe, immediately changing his story to, "Look what I found!" after wielding it around his head.

I was musing later that evening about my family. After my father dies, I will never see those people again. I cannot even describe how isolated I am from these people. They never show interest in me beyond 'how are you', and never make an effort to include me in their goings-on. Not to mention they're all 8 or more years older than I am.

It was quite depressing, really, to realize how alone I will be in a few years. Granted, my parents will still be around for roughly 30 more, but my grandparents may only have 10 left. And having no siblings myself, nor close cousins, one day I will literally be alone. Of course there will be friends and lovers...but nobody who is my family. And I'd hate to gate-crash my best friend's family Thanksgiving when I'm 55...

I've always wanted a big loving/dysfunctional family. Like on Brothers and Sisters, where everyone fights but ultimately loves each other unconditionally. That will never happen in my blood family, so I've turned that gaze towards future partners. In my fantasy world, I would hope to find myself with someone in a big family that I could bask in. While I know that all partners aren't always accepted into these family situations, I would hope I could find myself accepted.

I leave home tomorrow. It's been a nice visit.

Naughty, naughty...

This is a two-poster day, because I can't not put this up.

I came downstairs this morning, suffering from a Turkey hangover. I swear, everything feels fat thanks to that damn bird, and we've still got another family dinner tonight, plus leftovers for the rest of the week...

As usual, I switched my phone on to see if I'd gotten any messages. Moments after it had turned on, my text message noise sounded. Not a curious thing, really.

"1 New Message," read the display, so I pressed read, hoping it was from Danny.

"I miss your cock ;)"

From Brian.

My ears started to hum, and I sat hard on the couch. Could a more random thing have arrived in my mailbox?

I guess I'm just not used to being the centre of such attention. Like I've said before, I haven't got a closet full of Exes, and I'm not used to being the one involved in such situations.

Immediately I texted Matt, who said I'm with Danny now and to ignore it.

Not that I was going to do anything about it...but what do I text back? "Gee, you don't like your boyfriend's cock?" or "Thanks, it's pretty great." Oh, how about, "What the fuck are you sending me this for, I haven't seen you in six months."

This could be either a highly dramatic situation, or a simple flirtation, or a joke. I was just so shocked to have gotten it that I lost all capability of sane thought for the hour afterwards.

It's true enough though. You'd miss it too.

Seeing someone...

Well, I told her.

Thursday afternoon, while we were driving to the grocery store. She seemed to be in a good mood, chatty, so I cut through the fear that was clenching my throat and told her I had, "Exciting news."

"Oh, that's good! We always need good news."

There has been some confusion: I am indeed out to my mother. For those stories, see: Telling Her Pt. 1, Telling Her Pt. 2, She Deals With It, I Cry, We Fight About It.

I sucked in air, and proceeded. "I'm seeing someone. His name is Danny."

"Oh..." she said, and the pressure of the air surrounding us increased. "So...it's a guy?"

"Uh, yeah."

I proceeded to tell her about him, where he studies, works, what he does in his spare time, all the while trying to keep it as 'normal' as possible. All the things she would want to know if this was a 'girlfriend'.

Silence filled the car. "Well, where did you meet him?"

"Online," I said, completely and finally.

"Oh, well, everyone I talk to says people you meet online are creeps, and it's always a disaster..."

"Sorry, but I really don't think that's the case," I said, defensively.

More silence. "So tell me about him..." she managed. I retold what I had said, adding that he was very sweet and good natured.

"What does 'seeing someone' mean," she then asked, suspiciously. I shook my head in disbelief.

"Well, we've spent some time together, we've gone out on dates...I guess you could say it's the early part of a relationship, if things continue the way they have," I attempted to explain. She paused again, and I knew she wanted to ask the sex question. But to my great surprise, she didn't.

That was pretty much the conversation.

I was pretty upset at first about how much of a shock it seemed to be, and how unenthusiastic she was. The biggest thing that bothers me is, if this were a girl, she would be happy beyond words for me to have found someone. But she could barely ask what he was like, and all she wanted to know was about this notorious 'seeing someone' label.

It hurts. After all these months of her knowing, and me thinking she would have grown to accept things a little more by now, she showed little improvement.

Now I'm scared about how to proceed. I've been told to bring him up in normal conversation, when I'm asked what's new or what I've been doing. Keep up the mentioning, and it'll become just another normal part of life.

What scares me is what I discovered last night, while driving a friend home after a mini-reunion. I don't want to lead two lives. I don't want to have my life in Toronto, with boys and my friends and school, then a separate life at home where it's something that we just don't discuss. It frightens me to think after I come out to my Dad that we just won't talk about it; like some proper British household we'll just sweep it under the carpet and pretend nothing has happened. The whole point of coming out is so I don't have to hide myself from my parents, not to lead two separate lives.

So now what do I do? Since I never really had girlfriends before, I don't know what constitutes 'normal' amounts of conversation about your relationship. It's not like I brought a lot of girls around home, or was always receiving calls from people. And obviously that's not happening right now. But still, how do I proceed?

The other thing that shocked me was her complete lack of dating knowledge. I mean, did she marry my father before they went on their first date? I thought the progression was always the same, no matter what decade: Meet, first date, second date, on and on until either turning into a relationship or simply ending because of lost interest.

Obviously there's many more stops in that road...and many detours. But I wasn't going to say, "Oh, this could just be a physical thing..." or she would have needed to go to the hospital.

And this wall all a conversation with my mother. God knows how it's going to go when I come out to Dad (though it won't be this weekend!).

Back to bum-fuck...

"I'm home again in my old narrow bed, where I grew tall and my feet hung over the end."

Thanksgiving is upon us. Well, Canadians anyway. We like to be odd, and celebrate in October. You know, keeps space between turkey times...lets you work off the extra ass fat before the Christmas calorie rush.

The drive home took longer than usual. I can't believe how traffic has continued to increase. Watching the scenery change was interesting...why does it feel like I've been away for so long?

Really, I think this is probably the longest I've gone away from home. Some days I missed it, but I was adapting to my own life in Toronto, as unglamourous as it at times is.

But this weekend is going to be sweet. I skipped my classes for the rest of the week, and don't have to be back until next Wednesday morning. And I plan on enjoying this time at home, with my family.

---

I fought the urge the entire ride home to scream, "I'm dating someone!" to my mother. I mean, all my friends are excited...well, the ones who know anyway. A huge part of me is yearning to hear her approval, get a pat on the head for finding myself someone. But I'm scared, too. She's shown though she cares about me, she's not really ready to handle my sexuality.

The plan is to tell her tomorrow. Whatever happens happens, but the whole point in coming out is so I can live my life. I'm not going to hide this from her even if I'm scared she's not ready to hear it.

I've also decided to draw the line about what we discuss. There is a pretty good chance she'll ask if I've slept with him, and quite honestly it's none of her business. I'll discuss the intimate details of my sex life with my close friends, but certainly not my mother. When she asks, I'm just telling her it's none of her business, as hers is none of mine.

---

After dinner (a stupid time of day, I know) I ran upstairs to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me, I stripped with enthusiasm, tearing everything but my socks from my body.

The mirrors showed me my naked body, illuminated by 200 watts of light. I did a mental grimace, because I really can't look at myself and think, "Oooh, looking good today!"

My toe jammed into the base, and I stepped on. Terrified, I stared straight ahead, back standing rigidly at attention. I counted to three and looked down.

I've lost weight.

Thank God.

We have no scales at our apartment, something I plan to remedy. So I've had no idea what I weigh, or how much I've gained since going back to the land of easily accessible food and beverage.

But my newfound attention to food has done me well, and I almost collapsed with relief.

Now all I have to do is vomit after every Thanksgiving meal I eat (which will be two or more) and I'll be set.

---

The air has a bite I have not felt for months. I think by midnight I may even be able to see my own breath. Without concrete to warm us, the evening truly feels like fall.

For the first time in over a month I have seen stars. Hanging vividly overhead, they are as spectacular as memory serves.

The things we give up to live in a city...

A boy's white night (part 2)...

Things could only get better after having sat in a room silently with my ex-roommate for 45 minutes.

I tried to rebound, personality wise, as best I could. After all, I'd just sat practically without saying anything. So I took a few more swigs and we headed out on the town.

Almost immediately I got the sense that Katie was flirting with me. She adjusted my hair, pulled on my jacket, and threw my bag at a different angle on my shoulder. Oh, and the fact that halfway through the night, she pulled off my glasses and cooed, "Yeah, you're hot. Without these."

Gee, thanks.

Flirtations aside, we had a good time stalking the city after dark. It's not as if we were alone, as predictions showed nearly 1 million people turned out for the festival/show. We saw toilets floating on water, acrobats on ropes, silent looped films...it was all very artistic. We were even going to venture into the abandoned subway station, opened specifically for this show, but the lineup was around the block.

What's with that! Can't people just not attend these things so I don't have to wait?



Along the way we ran into several people we knew, mixing and mingling with people from all walks of life. Really, the magic wasn't so much the art, but the fact a huge portion of the population was out in a festive spirit. It was like when people cared about Christmas.

Keeping with the Christmas tradition, we warmed ourselves up with coffee and Baileys. How rebelious, walking the streets with spiked coffee...at least we didn't smoke anything, like so many of the other pretentious hippie kids.

At 1:30 we'd taken in enough art, and headed to a local bar for a few drinks. On the way, Katie got a call from her friend, who wanted us to meet in the Village and go out there.

My stomach leaped. Was this it? I was going to hit a gay bar? With my straight friends?

We started out in that general direction, and I got a little tense. I mean, I'm paranoid of actually going, yet this crowd would be a lot of fun. And I would have the guise of an overcrowded bar to keep me semi-hidden, lost in a sea of randoms out for the festival.

Also, part of me was excited. I do want to get out there...maybe this was my ticket.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. When we got there, Katie called her friend, who had already gone home. We trundled down the street into another bar she knew of and closed the place down.

Back out on the street, we headed back to Katie's place, though not really knowing why. We continued drinking, our small party in her small apartment. One thing led to another, I went to the washroom, and came back to find them all knee-deep in a game of truth or dare.

I took my seat, and was given the 'truth or dare' question. I chose truth, because to be honest, I'm not very daring. I'm still not crazy enough to strip, run naked or otherwise fulfill most of the dares people like to come up with. I took my truth.

"What percentage of men have you slept with over women," Katie asked, straight faced.

Well, this is unexpected. I smiled wryly, and was happy with my reaction. I didn't really care that she knew, much less anyone else there.

"It's a lot higher with the boys than with the girls," I laughed. She smiled dangerously at me. Apparently this new shocked nobody in the room.

After Laura and Katie made out as part of a dare, I wound up taking a dare myself. "Kiss Katie," Laura giggled like a 10th grader.

We moved in and made out for a minute or two. She was a good kisser, I now understand why gay guys make out with women for no other reason that to have someone to kiss.

When we pulled away, Katie had put on that dangerous smile again. "You're good at that," she said, biting her lower lip.

On the walk home, I grilled Laura. "How did she know!?" I begged.

"Oh, she asked me when we were just leaving her place actually. I was surprised she knew that early, but she's a good judge of character," Laura said.

Wow. I got discovered! People can tell! I may be broadcasting signals! At the entirely wrong sex and orientation, true, but this is big news for me.

We made eggs for breakfast, I showered, and finally went to sleep at 5:30, a smile still on my face. I guess I may not be such a failure in the broadcasting department as I thought I was.

Whoops...

I'm gentle...honest.

But I got the better of my ceiling lamp the other day. Sadly, it wasn't even a sexual accident.

I'd just changed my sheets, and was throwing my duvet over my bed. My arms held high, I gave it a quick snap to toss it across the bed, when all of a sudden the sound of plate glass crashing was all I could hear.

I stood for a minute in stunned silence. Then I looked up.



I'd put my hand right through the glass, leaving a nice little shard hanging out of the lamp. Thankfully none of the glass pieces ended up in me, but they did manage to end up all over the floor and in my fresh sheets.

This was one day I wasn't happy being tall.