Tuesday, 1 November 2011

I Admit

I am a very transparent person. You don't have to know me very well in order to understand how I'm feeling. When I'm happy, I'm infectious, all my friends will know the source of my glee. When I'm sad, I'm the biggest drama queen in the world. My friends will know the blow-by-blow account and nitty-gritty of my despair.

Ok, I might be sounding a bit crazy already. But to balance it out, I share in my friends' life moments the same way I share mine with them. (my good friend Jonas once told me that i have a deep sense of empathy, I didn't realize that before).

Some well-meaning friends cautioned me on my openness (especially about my sexuality during the past year). I understand their concerns. However, it still comes out naturally. I have been empowered so much that to continue to hide in the closet is becoming more and more unbearable.

The same openness has extended to my heart. The moment someone I like gives me a glimmer of hope, all my defenses go down. I'll be all out with my sweet gestures. I will be literally prancing on air.

Friends tell me to hold back a little. Keep the other guy guessing. "Make him miss you." But as I am brutally frank with my opinions, I am also brutally honest with my feelings. I don't see the point with pretending, with playing a game. "It's better he knows how I feel upfront."

Listening to Fabcasts recorded over the past year, I've noticed a common theme in my comments. It started as a simple joke, a form of self-flagellation. A recognition of a state of being. Little did I notice that bit by bit it was eating me up. And as Mcvie has pointed out to me, I was desperate. "Guys can smell your desperation from miles away." Brutal words that I must admit made me feel defensive. I was shaken. Tony said I lost my groove, I lost my confidence. In the middle of a massage last night, my head was swirling with thoughts, the warm hands of my masseur felt like nothing, I was numb. I was stripped naked. I was exposed.

I've been asking myself a lot of times, "Why am I still single? I'm a nice guy, I'm not ugly, why can't I have a boyfriend?" And each time I say it, a piece of my dignity, my self-respect is stripped off me.

I don't want someone to love me out of pity. I don't want someone to "complete" me.

But I recognize, I am broken. A brutal reality that I need to accept. I need to fix myself. Not anyone else.
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