WARNING: THIS POST MAY CONTAIN TOO MUCH DRAMA FOR THE MORE SKEPTICAL READER!
This coming out thing is not an easy process. In many ways, it’s like moving to a foreign country, one in which you are required to learn a new language, a new culture, and establish yourself in an environment that is a little disconcerting at best.
While the difficulty of my transition has been mitigated to an extent by friends who care for me and do what they can to make my life easy, there have been inevitable bumps along the way that have left me with a few scrapes and bruises and perhaps even a broken bone or two.
Fortunately, I have no permanent scars and am recuperating. I’m confident that one day I’ll be as good as new.
The source of my most visible injury is predictable and should have been preventable, but my naivety coupled with confidence (some say arrogance) led to a series of decisions that reminds me of the idiot man who keeps pounding his head, bloodied and lacerated, against the block wall simply because the block wall is there.
And what is my block wall, you ask?
A man. The Butterfly Man, to be exact.
Those of you who have been longtime followers of my blog remember my encounter last winter with The Butterfly Man, the first man in a very long time to actually make the butterflies in my chest take flight. There were early signs that this relationship would end as platonically as it began, but I refused to accept the obvious and instead hoped for something better.
Rather than go into detail about the romance that never was, let me suffice it to say that while he was as honest in his intentions as I was in mine, after six months of spending most evenings and many days together, it finally became clear to me that he is as committed to remaining alone as I am to finding a partner. While many of my friends and his saw us as a successful match, the reality was far different and I finally awoke to that fact.
So now my heart is somewhat broken, my confidence somewhat shaken, and my optimism somewhat diminished.
In a discussion about our relationship several weeks ago, TBM said something that he intended to be instructional, helpful, but in fact left me crushed. “Clive,” he said, “In two years you will find yourself still single and alone. That is the nature of a gay life. You might as well get used to it. The most you can hope for is a ninety day romance followed by a cordial separation.”
Is his comment cynical or an accurate portrayal of the typical gay man’s life?
For me, the answer will eventually unfold with all of its own bliss and heartache. I must be patient and find solace either way in the discovery.
And yet, down deep, despite his words and experience, I still have faith in the power of love and I still believe that there is in our natures an imperative that cries out for a partner with whom we can shoulder the joys and the trials of a full and fulfilling life.
My time will come. Eventually, I will find the man who is searching for me and we will bind our lives together not just for an instant, but forever.
I just must be patient. I just must have faith.