Quite a bit has happened. Let’s start with the mundane and move to the more interesting.
A short time ago, my parents came to the city to attend an exhibition. They enjoyed it. After that they went to see Sissy’s new apartment. She lives near by now, in the next state over. On Saturday we all went to see my 2nd cousin perform his senior recital. It was alright. I supposed he’s a good enough musician, but he’s not ready for a career right now. Neither was I at that age. Not sure I am now, either.
This weekend my parents came back again. They came to hear a special performance at a church. It was a mostly pro choir plus a few teen girls and one choirboy (11yo). The performance was pretty good.
After the evensong, my family (Sissy included) and My Friend on the Facebook (who was one of the ringers) went back to my house to hang out. Noting particularly interesting happened, but it was fun. Why am I even writing this down…
The next day my parents took me to get my birthday/belated graduation present. A digital piano. We ended up selecting the Yamaha Clavinova CLP 330. It won’t arrive for another week or two. Then we went to Sissy’s, had cheesecake (my birthday cake this year) and watched Dan in Real Life. The movie was so-so. It had some great moments, but it didn’t quite finish well. It either needed to do a better job of making everything come together perfectly, or it needed to end more messily. Like…oh I don’t know. I didn’t like it enough to try and fix it.
Now the more serious stuff. One week ago today, I was doing my taxes. About 12:15 I went to bed. My heart felt like it was pounding, but I was very tired. I tried to fall asleep, but when ever I got close, I would jerk awake again gasping for air. It felt like a heart attack.
I considered calling lots of people, but was too embarrassed. I finally called the doctor’s office near my house and got to speak to the Dr. on call. I told him my symptoms, and he told me I should go to the hospital. I didn’t want to so I scheduled an appointment in the morning.
But I couldn’t sleep. I tried to stay up the rest of the night, but it kept getting worse. At 3:30 I gave up and called 911.
Hospital visits aren’t that interesting. I told them all my suspicions and answered their questions over and over (“No, I have not been taking any illegal drugs.”), got an EKG, and finally was told “Anxiety Attack.” Got some drugs, walked home. When I went in, my BP was high and pulse was 140 bpm. When I left it was normal and 90.
Went to the Dr. a few more times and got an ECHO done, but all signs point to anxiety. I think the diagnosis is the cure. If I don’t have heart problems, then I have a lot less to be anxious about. Except…
Last night I told My Friend on the Facebook. Spend the afternoon and evening with her, and had been thinking about it the second half of the whole time. Actually, I’d been thinking about it for weeks, and less seriously for well over a year. She could tell yesterday that I had something on my mind and asked me a few times what was up, but I kept saying “nothing.”
My Friend on the Facebook has a friend who was obviously gay, but he wouldn’t admit it for the longest time. Finally he did sometime in our junior or senior year. He went to her apartment, turned off the lights to make himself more comfortable, and spent the next three hours stringing together the words to form the single sentence, “I’m gay.” That’s more than one hour per word.
The past few times she and I had gotten together, that situation was recalled, followed by a comment by her along the lines of “if you ever sit me down and turn the lights off I’ll know to worry,” or, “please, if you ever tell me you’re gay, just come right out and say it.” They were jokes. That’s just her. But there was some truth to it. She truly would rather have it all out at once.
When I came out to The King…two and a half years ago, I pulled something similar myself. We had just started a movie (The Maltese Falcon) so the lights were off, and it did take me a painfully long time to get from “I’m not attracted to women” to “I’m a boylover.” We didn’t get to bed until around 2 am. Half the time was him asking questions after the fact, but it was still a long time.
I took all of My Friend on the Facebook’s little comments as a suggestion that she was waiting for me to tell her. So finally, as she was getting ready to leave, she asked one more time if I had something on my mind.
“I do,” I said.
“Do you want to tell me?”
I thought for a second. I could see that this was it. The last chance. Speak now or for ever… Not that there would never be another chance, but it was certainly the last chance of the night. And who knows. Maybe it was the last chance ever.
“I’m thinking about it.” I continued to look at the floor, trying to gather courage, to buy time, to not set off another anxiety attack.
“I think you should tell me,” My Friend on the Facebook said after a few more seconds. I nodded.
“Would it help to turn off the light?” she asked with a grin.
I smirked back at that. “No, but you’re remarkably on target.”
She looked puzzled by that. “What do you mean?”
Now I was confused. She made the friggin’ reference. How could she not understand what I meant? “You know, with your… You’re… Never mind, that’s not important.”
I took a deep breath and said words that were easier than what I wanted to say, but committed me to saying it.
“I’m not straight, but you probably already knew that.”
She had a knowing smile on her face and nodded.
“But I’m not gay either.”
Now she looked confused. She might have said something here, but I can’t remember it.
“I’m a boylover, which is sort of a nice way of saying pedophile.”
She now had a serious look on her face. “How long have you known?”
“Since I was 13 or 15.”
“Have you talked to anyone about this?”
At that comment I got a little angry. What does that mean? Do you mean, ‘am I getting professional help?’ But I calmed down quickly. She is going to see things differently than I do. She is going to have feelings more in line with society’s than with my community. So I tried to answer several questions that she might have asked at once.
“I’ve told The King, so I’ve talked about it with him, and now with you, but I don’t believe there is anything wrong with me. I believe this is a sexuality that can’t be changed, just like being gay or straight, so no, I’ve never talked to a psychiatrist.”
Then she laughed. Hard. “Now I understand what you meant by my being right about the lights.”
That laugh told me a lot. She was alright. We were alright. The tension, the fear was all gone. Maybe we wouldn’t agree on everything, but our friendship wasn’t about to end.
We talked for another hour about how The King had told me of her suspicions a while ago, about all the signs from here I had been reading, signs she actually hadn’t been purposefully sending. We talked about why I waited to tell her, why that was good. We asked each other questions and I opened up to her in the truest way she’s ever seen from me. Yesterday she was fine with it. Today she’s still fine with it. She said it doesn’t change anything for her. I’m still the same person she’s known for years.
To all men else uncouth 