I Love You as Much as I Can

"I love you as much as I can."

I found this written three times continuously on a napkin at work.  I thought it was sweet, yet when I showed it to my coworker, she said, "That actually seems kind of sad."  

After thinking a moment, I disagreed with her.  I'm not sure I've felt real love in my life.  Sure, I've looked people in the face and told them I loved them, and only once was that returned, wait, maybe twice, but never was it sober.  Maybe it's cynicism, or maybe it's growing up, but I know people move in and out of your life.  

Getting older, as a gay man, I've always wondered why my elder gay friends have little to no girl-friends.  As I've aged, it's gotten clear to me.  We are placeholders.  When girls don't have dates to parties, we are the stand ins.  They clearly don't think of us like this, but when it happens, it does happen.  When my used-to-be best friend Joy asked me to stand up for her in her wedding, I was so excited and felt so appreciated to be her friend.  Cut to 3 months after her marriage when I didn't hear from her again.

Girls may say this will never happen, but it's happened to me many of times.  Bobbi invited me to live with her after her engagement ended to fill the void, but once she met Dennis (her future husband), who was in our apartment 6 out of 7 days of the week, it changed.  I brought it up to her once that I was a tad annoyed that every time I came home from work he was there using our computer or television, inhibiting me from what I wanted to do, she kicked me out of the apartment.  Perhaps the final statement from me to her was that, "You're kicking me out because you finally found a guy who will stay around and actually fuck you."

My current girl-friends may say it til they are blue in the face that will never happen, but I know it will.  Currently, I went to a concert with my friend Melissa, but this is only because her boyfriend couldn't get off of work, so I was luckily on standby.  Yes, we had fun, and will continue to have fun because we love each other and all that barf stuff, but when it comes down to serious commitment, weddings, children, marriage, etc.,  stuff along those lines will become barriers to our friendship.  We'll keep the idea that we will be friends, but eventually our lives will become so separated by  diapers, clubs, boyfriends, new lovers, car seats, etc, that we will no longer have things in common. 

Now, it's not that I'm judging, but there is a part inside of me that harbors jealousy because those are things I will never have.  Trust me, not like I want those things, but I don't want to be denied them just because of my lifestyle.  Or the choice I've made to live, according to Republicans.  

I love my sister dearly, and try to love her children, even though they are demon spawns that ruin everything, but there is always a part of me that is jealous, and believes that my parents love her more because she is "normal" and giving them what they want: grandchildren.

I will never give them that.  Not necessarily because down the road I couldn't picture having children, but because I couldn't ever trust a man to stay with me in the long haul.  I'm not even sure if gay marriage became legal if I would do it.   After my parents fucked up their marriage, and their children, I just can't picture myself ruining another person the way I am.  

After taking a moment to think, I almost retracted what I said, but digress.  Brittany and I seem to be the female/male version of one's self, but I know if she found a man to love her, fuck her, and want to marry her, I'll be off on the way side.  Yes, I may be in love with a man, but I do not force him on people.  I am a firm believer in having friends, and then having a lover.  Yes, at times, they cross, but all the time?  No.  No one should spend that much time together.  Megan spends every day with her lovers and then moves on to a new one.  Well, perhaps if they had time apart, it wouldn't happen like that.  I've been seeing Dan for a year and a half, and I cannot spend every day with him, but perhaps it's because I'm not a female.

I just wish people understood more that friends are here forever.  I've had plenty of girlfriends leave me to be with their "one," but when it's ended they've come back to be my friend.  Maybe it's a fault of mine that I keep accepting the comeback, but I try to be a nice person, even though I am not.  Lovers come and go, but I will always be here.  If you find a man that enters your vagina more important than the friendship we've shared prior to that insertion, then I should be a prouder person and not allow you back into my life.  

I love my friends, but it may just be as much as I can.

The Day My Life Won't End

The other day I was prompted to, as happens quite often, delve into all my shit and throw things out.  I would classify myself as completely the opposite of a hoarder, whatever that may be.  Lack of emotional connection to inanimate objects has always been a thing for me.  Sure, this blanket was given to me by my now deceased grandmother, but it's old and tattered.  Replace and move on.  It doesn't mean I'm disrespecting or demeaning any value she gave my life; it means I have my memories, and the moments in time spent with her that shaped me who I am to remember, not the basketball team blanket she gave me for my whatever'th birthday.

During my clean out, I came across something rather interesting and almost disturbing.  Now it is not infrequent that I find things that I have no memory of writing, but this was different.  Yes, it was what appeared to be a poem, but not in the usual form of writing, nor on a generally accepted writing surface.  On a crinkled up old, seemingly scrap piece of paper from class, large writing in bold, bright red ink reads as follows:

I'm sorry for the pain I caused
I leave this place with no applause
I'm saddened as I contemplate
My heart is blank an empty slate
I'm sorry but I must go
No more feelings can I show
I deadened that I cannot cry
Even when I say goodbye...

Yeah. YEAH.  I'm no scientist or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's a suicide note.  What the hell?! I thought to myself.  When did I even write this, or when did I even feel this horrible to incite such writing?!  I was in such shock and awe that I just stared at this paper in my hand for what seemed an hour until my mother walked in and I replaced it back in the door in shame.  I cannot believe that at one point in time I was weak enough to actually consider taking my own life.  No situation in your life is ever bad enough for that to be the logical solution.  Sure, I have thought to myself that it would just be easier to die than to deal with what I'm going through, but that's what DEALING is.  You deal, you move on, you grow up.  

Now I've had to deal with a lot in my life, even recently.  I hid things rather well when I want to, but to some it can still be pretty obvious.  While I was still having fun sometimes and being myself, plenty of people had witnessed my alcohol induced breakdowns.  Let me tell ya folks, being unemployed is not the tits.  Having to rely on your friends to have one morsel of fun in the cookie of life makes you feel like such a loser.  Pile on top of that being in love with an insensitive, past-dwelling, ex-boyfriend controlled man who strings you along....and well...I kinda lost it a few times.  Mostly in the privacy of my own home, but it did creep out a bit when the alcohol had lubed the hinges slightly.  

Never, though, NEVER is it ok to kill yourself over love.  Fuck Romeo and Juliet.  They knew each other for like 4 days, a week at tops, and you know what that week gave them?  Death.  At the beginning of it Romeo was all being a whiny bitch about some other slut that wouldn't love him.  Screw that.  I don't care if I'm with you for 27 years, that is just the lamest thing ever....Life is for you to live, but it's yours to live, and you share it with others.  They should feel lucky that you are, in fact, sharing it with them, so if they decide to tap out, that's their damn problem.

In any case that you may feel like ending things is the best option, I encourage you to reach out.  I'm assuming I did as I have no recollection of this letter, but if you can't be brave enough to reach out to a professional, at least reach out to someone.  Reach out to me...even if I hate you I'll still help you to live just so I can hate you longer.  :)

The Wanted

I want to write in this damn thing so much, but I'm so overwhelmed with nerves right now that I can't focus long enough to sit here.  Future posts promised though.  The wrongs I've done, what you mean to me, the insanity we call monogamy, we're all liars, and I'm sure here in a few weeks, how once again I'm alone.

The Stupid Side of Happy

(Preface:  I wrote this while drinking some wine, so if there are grammatical errors, go fuck yourself.  I don't want to proofread it.)

Last weekend I was alerted to a particular piece of information with which found myself unprepared.  The man I am currently infatuated with found out that his younger sister has succumbed to the amount of cancer in her body, and no longer chose to fight.  Not ever having been in a real relationship, let alone one with such serious situations, the next course of action was about as clear to me as seeing in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.  My stance on death is quite skewed.  I know we are all going to die, and I have no great delusions in hope for the future, thinking that science will find the "cure" to my ailment, let alone any others.  I don't feel it appropriate to say that "I'm sorry," because I didn't kill her.  The cancer was not a product of my doing, so I find the only words thoughtful and decent enough for me to say is, "that sucks."  I know it sucks, and I know that if I apologize, it's not going to help.  Nothing said to someone grieving really helps, and those damn sympathy cards just make it worse.  People do say strange things in death, even those who don't believe in the afterlife tend to make some stupid ass remark like, "She's in a better place now."  Fuck off.

The best thing I felt to do was just to simply be there.  Be there to comfort if needed, to be hated if needed, to get drunk with if needed, to hold if needed, or just to simply sit there in silence with them.  Welcome to the next 8 days of my life.

The return into town brought me to his apartment shortly before our annual "Labor Gay" party.  Occurrences from the prior week had me wrapped with worry for what lay ahead at this party, so I offered the option to go to a bar for a little liquid courage.  Everything is better when your sense of caring is lubed.

The party did, indeed, turn out to be a blowout of crazy.  It was if the 1970's had ended halfway through the party, and in the midst the 80's were born, and the idea to tease our hair to crazy happened....and oh...was that hair big.  While the events occurring did not involve me, the clean up of it was, which is another story all together.  I digress.

Labor Day consisted of meeting up with his older brother to start planning the funeral.  Sustenance was needed, so we had to leave to eat, and Dave (the older brother) told us not to return without liquor.  Cut to me drinking with the 3 brothers reminiscing about their dead sibling whom I'd met once, and quite frankly I thought she was a bitch.  I suspicion she didn't think that I was a good match for Dan because of my age, or maybe she was just suffering from the repercussions of chemotherapy, but I sensed no warm feelings coming from her.

At some point later that evening, whilst I was not a midst, the decision had been made to go out for drinks.  Of course, if anyone is to know me, I'm not going to say no to this.  Metro had welcomed us with open arms, and the booze flowed and flowed.  I've been making an attempt to....

Wait...I need wine.

quit smoking, and luckily for me, Dan's elder brother smokes, so I would sneak a cig with him.  The night starts to haze like memories of elementary school, and I sit an witness Dan doing his famous escape act.  At some point in drunkeness, he decides there is nothing better to do than to leave....leaving me stuck with his sibling from Michigan whom I'd met 8 hours prior.  

Dave asked what we were going to do, and I replied that from my experience with Dan, he was to go home, pass out, and not wake up to buzz us in.  This is where one of the worst decisions in my life was made, to go home with Dave.  If we could reference Seinfeld, and just yadda yadda yadda the specifics, let's just say shit went down with Dave and myself.  I did, however, tell him I would not have sex with him because I was in love with his brother.

Eyelids slowly creeping open, the trickle of sunlight through the yellowed, dusty blinds awakes me with fright and uncertainty.  For a brief moment, the knowledge of my whereabouts and who I was next to was unknown.  As if I'd obtained a mushroom in Mario Bros, the memories came surging back faster than a teenager's first ejaculation.  Shame and self-loathing crept across me as I reached to awaken the naked, (still cute) older sibling of my current lover to ask him to return me to my rightful place.  

Talk about an awkward car ride.

(I feel this wine is making me too type-y)

Arriving at Dan's, ease settled over me, especially when I saw the half full handle of Captain Morgan sitting on the counter.  Simultaneously, without even consulting each other, we made drinks.  He asked if I thought the fact that we were sitting in bed together at noon drinking cocktails was a problem, and the response forming in my head was, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

A tragedy had then struck.  The bottle of Captain was deceased just like his sister, and it was only 3pm!  Certainly a trip to CVS must be made to buy more, this time for the Captain's redheaded stepbrother Admiral Nelson.  Drink, drank, drunk.

Time flies by with booze and body parts combining.  Suddenly, time slows until the sound of all the clocks in the words slowing to a stop is bombarding my ears when I hear the words, "I love you."  A jolt runs down the middle of my back, and something gay like Katy Perry's "Firework" seems to be playing in my head.  'Did I really just hear that?  Did that just happen? (Am I stoned and think an axe murderer is trying to break in my house?)'  

"What?"

"Zachary, I love you."

Without response, or knowing quite why, my face is moistened by a heavy flow of salty, dehydrated tears.

"No, you don't."

"Zachary Keith Fleming, I love you."

.....

"But, why?" is my response, sounding more rude and repulsed than I ever thought could happen.

"You're kind, you're loving, you're attractive, you've always been there for me, and you're the type of guy that any man would feel lucky loving."

'Jesus Christ,' I thought.  He actually fucking means this.  These are the words I've been waiting to hear for sixteen goddamn months, and I cannot even revel in the magic of them.

"I hooked up with your brother...." I whisper...

He pulls away from me with a loud, "WHAT," and I respond as quickly as I can reaching out for him.

"We didn't have sex, we just made out."

After a silence that seemed to last longer than my 27 years on this Earth, he replied that he didn't care, and he still loves me.

Tears streaming down my face at a rate that quite surprised me, he continued to repeat himself, until I finally could pull my face up, eyes locked, with a slight whisper that almost seemed painful, "I love you too."

Truthfully, I've never felt an embrace that felt better than the one following that statement.  We moved to bed, yadda yadda yadda'd, and wrapped up tight inside another, I fell asleep with the most security and safety I've ever felt in my life, and at that moment, I realized what all those sappy love songs were about.  As if Katy Perry lit her fireworks off in my head, and the knowledge I've never known once before was finally bestowed upon me.  A moment written in time that I know will never be forgotten.

The Silence

I've just been so overwhelmed with emotions that I've been unable to write in fear of what I would say.

The Home of Drugs

Sitting in the darkness of my apartment, listening to the sounds of my roommate's boyfriend snoring while sleeping off his beer mixed with the sound coming from the television as I viewed "The English Patient," this memory that I'd once forgotten was revived back to life.  Like a Phoenix anew, the memory came soaring back into the front part of my thoughts, completely blocking out any visual or auditory sensations from the movie.  Perhaps I should stop watching sappy, sad love stories.


*Beep beep*


My mobile peaked my interest as boredom had set in while in the midst of a television marathon.  A sly smile crept across my face I read the text that asked what I was doing, and "I want to see you."  Frantically, I rushed to the bedroom to pick out a suitable outfit that would make me look my best.  After option number 3, I freshened up and stared at the reflection in the mirror.  'This is probably the best it's gonna get,' as I decided to finish and head toward my enjoyment for the night.  Driving there takes 25 minutes, which seems to be a mere second in the time of life, but the thoughts and hopes racing through my mind were running like a bullet searing through my brain made it seem a multiplied amount.


After rapping on his door, the deadbolt was released and he opened the door with a new feistiness in his eyes.  Before the door was even closed, his masculine arm reached around the small of my back, and pulled me up to his mouth as he pressed his warm soft lips on mine.  He then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the sofa, where I heard noises from the television, but paid no attention to anything other than the beautiful man staring at me.  Sitting down, I decided to take the position of straddling, as I was quite pleased to his reaction.  


The time flew by yet seemed to stand still.  He kissed my neck softly on both sides, then focused a more intent, stern kiss on my left carotid.  My body went limp as electricity shot through my entire body, making my every cell seem to explode with a tingling sensation, much how I imagine shooting heroine feels.  My head rested upon his hard shoulders for what seemed to be 30 minutes for my body, but in reality it was more like 30 seconds.


"Would you like some wine?" He proposed.


"Duh."


We opened the bottle together, still yet to manage a distance between some sort of embrace.  Cabernet Sauvignon flowed as we continued to cuddle and talk while "watching a movie."  


Suddenly, my spidey senses noticed a change in demeanor, and I knew that my favorite part of the night was on the rise.  After putting down wine glass, I leaned in to kiss him, and he pulled his face back playfully.  


"Oh, you're not gonna kiss me, bitch?  It's on!"


The routine that follows varies between wrestling, kissing, holding the other down, flipping top to bottom, kissing, and more kissing.  In this time I always feel like a giddy child, finally getting the piece of candy he's been begging for for days.  Like I'm in a movie that I finally understand because the movie was written for me, and I want to watch it every day.


We move to the bed after the clothes have been removed, and we are wrapped so completely in each other that it seems as if we're trying out for "The Human Centipede 3."  Hands and mouths collide with each others as we grasp and pull to somehow try to get close to one another.  In attempt to better reach what I want, I slide my hips between in his strong thighs.  My mouth plunged into his as if he were going to suck the soul right out of me, and I ran my tongue down his strong body, finding the pressure points of his neck, his well defined chest.  Slowly, I stroked and flicked his nipples with my tongue, making good use of my beard to change the stimulations.  Moaning with pleasure, his legs were wrapped tightly around my back, controlling the movement of my hips as our throbbing cocks were rubbing each others.


Suddenly, almost without even knowing what happened, he lifted my entire and I was sitting on his chest.  Slowly, he caressed the head of my penis with his mouth before engorging almost the entirety inside.  Tossing my head back with a sigh of pleasure, I reveled in the waves of passion that passed through my body.  


It's time, I cannot take it anymore.  I slip back between his thighs and look deep into his eyes before caressing his face with my lips.  My hips rock against his as my dick massages the entry to his ass.  Suddenly, without knowing how or where it came from, I felt him grab me from the side, jerking and pulling myself inside him.  A surge of electricity shot through me like fireworks exploding in my brain as I heard him moan in desire, telling me how great I felt inside as we no longer were two separate people.  


The temperature in the room heightens as sweat glistens on our bodies, combining bodily fluids as we grind and enjoy each other.  The breathing gets heavier, and the sounds get louder until finally I feel an explosion beneath me.  He kisses me like never before, like he would die if my mouth was removed from his, as if I were his life support.  I let myself go to enjoy this passionate embrace, and feel myself swell in excitement before finally unloading myself deep within.  In a heap of exhaustion, we continue to kiss, as I am now laying on him with such force the fear of smothering him emerges.


Together we walk to the bathroom to clean up before sleep.  I returned to bed while he finished, laying to the right side of the bed with my back facing the inside of the bed.  Upon returning from the bathroom, he slid his muscular left arm beneath my neck, and grasped around me with his right arm, clasping my hand and shoving a leg between mine.


"I love holding you," he whispered.  With immediate clarity, I understood the song "Died in Your Arms tonight," and I drifted off to sleep knowing there was no other place in the world I'd rather be.

Distorted Realities

Distortion (noun): A distortion is the alteration of the original shape (or other characteristic) of an object, image, sound, waveform or other form of information or representation. Distortion is usually unwanted, and often many methods are employed to minimize it in practice.


It's been over a year now, and I have been "unseeing" a person of interest.  It was your typical run across a hot person on Facebook, poke, and meet in person.  It wasn't until the physical "poking" happened that shit became hazed like a fog after a cold rain.  Age barriers caused a strain in the beginning, coming from the opposite side.  The fact that I was born when he graduated high school uneased him to the point of stating a relationship would not form.  Nonetheless, this torrid affair continued, and while the mention that we were only a friends with benefits situation was there, my heart felt otherwise.  Time and time again my emotions were fooled into thinking the possibility of a change occurring was soon to be found in the future.  


A mere 2 months into our relationship, a large piece of information was dropped into my lap like the atomic bomb drop in Japan.  Through strain, confusion, hatred, and incessant crying fits, we were able to talk through it and eventually get back to where we once were.  But we were never actually where we once were, were we?  It's come to my attention that once a couple goes through things, it does, indeed, make the relationship stronger.  However, I also believe that it is never forgotten, and always harbors in the backside.  It frightens me to think that I can understand abusive relationships now, because no matter what he did to me, even if it were to possibly give me a fatal disease, the positive benefits he gave me outweighed this.


In the past 2 months, as we neared our 10 month mark, it had come to my attention that something was not going right with my emotional stability.  No matter how much I love to be around him, and with him, the constant let downs and loneliness conquered the rest of my time.  While I still enjoyed being around my friends and having fun, there was a small part of me that I knew was gone, and that it had been taken by him.  Mind you, this is completely my fault, as he was upfront in his intentions, but my silly mind and emotions led me astray.  


Throughout my life I have been known as the heartless one.  The one who refers to children as "it" or "asshole."  I didn't even understand simple emotions, let alone how my body responded to them.  I've spent the majority of my twenties alone, and had no intention on changing this.  All of the sudden, this motherfucker opens his door, and a school bus named Desire hit me right in the face, and made me an idiot.


The question now that lingers in my mind...Is this my fault?  Is this actually what I want?  


It seems so.  The reoccurance of this happening within the latter few years is overwhelming, and the evidence is in.  The district attorney is charging me with stupidity.  My attraction to emotionally unavailable is obvious.  We could go all Freud on my ass and say that I have issues to the lack of a father figure in my life, and that he left me early on.  Perhaps I am trying to find some sort of redemption in myself for this.  Some sort of penance that I apply to myself for my father's wrongdoings.  In the end, the reality of knowing that I want someone to come out of their unavailability due to the realization of how special I am.  Sad, but true.


I know that I could be a great partner.  I've never been offered the chance, but I know if someone found me fit to do so, they would greatly reap the benefits of this decision.  Friends and family tell me that if a man does not realize how amazing I am, then it's not worth fighting for.  While the logical part of me knows this, and I know that if I were looking on the outside of this situation, I would agree, a part of me thinks, if it's not worth fighting for, then what is?


In this distorted reality I feel happy deluding myself that someone loves me, and push out the reality that he does not.  Is this ok?  Is this right?  Maybe I'm not actually happy, but I have nothing else right now to make me happy.  If this were an Easter egg hunt, he was the only egg I found.  It's not as if I stopped looking, but the field I am in has high grass, and it's very hard to find another egg, especially one that's edible.  


In conclusion, if it's fake, but it makes me happy, then I guess that's what I'm going to keep dealing with for now.  Hopefully some day before my demise, I will feel something real, but currently, this is how I deal.  

A Past Reviewed

07.07.12

It's 6:29am on a Saturday morning where sleep has feigned to happen.  My mind is racing like a mad man speeding in his car to end his wretched life.  In attempt to avoid this sleep inhibiting race, I decided to clean out the desk that harbors more junk than I'd like to admit.  Upon this much overdo cleaning, I stumbled on my old journals.  Curiosity peaked as I opened the first notebook to see that it's dated for 2001.  Remembering back that far is hard with this alcohol soaked brain, but through simple age analysis, I discovered this to be my sophomore year of high school.  My memory of this year, as of most my years before becoming an adult, is blocked out sans this being the year I came out as "bi" to my friends. (I'm not certain if the joke was on them or on myself.)  It didn't take but a few scanned entries to realize the amount of disgust I felt toward my former self.  The sophomore version of me literally made use of emoticons and text abbreviations (i.e. "lol") in a journal, not to mention the excessive use of exclamatory punctuations.  So badly did I want to jump through the pages, or H.G. Wells it and build a time machine, simply to cause physical harm to him.  He spoke greatly in detail about people with whom most I am not even Facebook friends anymore, or even remember.  This idiot did make my eyes moisten with one particular entry filled with more hope than any amount of liquor I've put in my liver.  The adolescent said, "I know that someday I'll have my time.  I'm gonna fall in love, be happy, prosperous, and successful.  Oh...the future."  


Future my ass, kiddo.


My years here have accumulated to 27, and I've probably somehow UN-succeeded so badly that I am worse off than ever.  2001 me continued in another post about words that would describe himself.  Six fully-loaded words that sound like the bullshit I would state on my resume' to get a job: 

• proud
• confident
• strong
• determined
• hard worker
• committed

Give me a break.  I wish I could have just half the optimism this kid has.


So this got me thinking...What made me change?  Is this world so cruel and awful that everyone ends up a skeptical pessimist?  Or was it the years of mental illness, instability, and drug abuse?  Personally, I think it's a combination of the two, but one will never know.  One thing that I do know is that at the random age of 27, I realize I am at a crossroads, and while I know I will never be the optimistic, future forward child I once was, I think I will try and open myself up so that I could be maybe a mixture of my two selves.  Perhaps I shall throw myself in a blender with some ice and serve chilled....Oh, but don't forget the tequila, and I shall call this drink


HOPE.