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What was it like


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One quiet afternoon in late February this year (the wind hadn't started up yet), a small bird said to me from it's perch on a yucca branch (just before he or she collapsed from the heat), "Don't you just love it here in New Mexico? There's no snow or cold or despair."

I couldn't get that out of my mind as I watched it's lovely feathered body fall from the branch and a small puff of dust erupt from the desert floor below.

Sorry bird. I wondered if someone must have let you loose from your cage after capturing you from BC, Canada. You didn't want to be here.

I was born in northern Minnesota, but raised in southern California. OMG, what a change, but I was only seven when we moved, and life's decisions were based on the future then and not on what I had known in the past.

But I'm in New Mexico now, and my grass even goes brown (just like in my old stomping grounds of southern CA). I love the lack of snow!

Hmmm...HS in southern CA. That was a treat that took me the next decade to get over, and I guess I'm still working on some of the crap that that experience taught me.

But I did learn one thing, not at the time though. Love where you are and appreciate what you have around you. I still love the beaches, the views, the bodies, the...but I digress.

This forum has become lethargic. Okay....let's talk about our pasts, what we had or didn't have, our hopes then for our future, our disdain for where we were, and how do we feel about the past now, what gave us hope and what gave us misery, what events influenced us to think the way we do now.

What was it like or what is it like today? Let's communicate.

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let's talk about our pasts, what we had or didn't have, our hopes then for our future, our disdain for where we were, and how do we feel about the past now, what gave us hope and what gave us misery, what events influenced us to think the way we do now.

There is too much to say, and, to a degree, I think people use the blogs to tell of their personal past, their hopes, and their frustrations.

I didn't have hopes in school, although I'm certainly not saying I felt hopeless. Each day was another day, and one might have angst, and the next pleasure. In P.E. I'd dread the gym classes, in which I was bullied by just about everyone, as I was totally incompetent at any sports, but there were a couple of weeks of heaven, when a substitute P.E. teacher regularly made us play soccer, with half the boys being on the 'skins' team. It was great fun looking, and truly, the thrill of being half naked like that, in a setting not normally so (unlike a swimming pool) was nicely erotic to my juvenile self. Bordering on a bit of dominance, following the orders to be bare in public was a turn on. Not enough to be 'obvious', but a distinct pleasure. Showers? Well, I don't really remember them, and it was probably nightmarish, and totally suppressed. The only change room incident I can remember was when I somehow managed to get one finger stuck in the hinge side of a hydraulically closing door, with the result of excruciating pain, followed by no feeling in that finger for almost 14 years, when it slowly returned over a period of several months.

Shyness was my being, my life, my soul, and I suffered the pains of attractions silently, imbedded in my personal amber, stuck like a bug in frozen immobility. There were guys I saw, lusted after, dreamt about, and even pleasured myself with, all in my own private world. I would spend days, weeks, just trying to figure out how to even say 'hello', until it became obvious that I was never going to be able to say it. Then, like a veil across a virgin's face, the thoughts were covered over, the brain removed the pain, and I knew of it no more...till next time, when a new face, body, smile would pique my fancy...only to cycle through it all again, no differently than the time before. Inevitably, I remained not only a virgin, but never even had a date. Well, that's not quite true, as a Sadie Hawkins Dance required girls to ask guys out, and I was cornered by Heather.

Heather was a busty girl who rather fancied me, I suspect, but our required date was an eye opener only to me. We kissed, or rather, she kissed me, and the electric spark that is supposed to uplift a teen to heights of ecstasy shocked me to the depths of my core with its pure ugliness and revulsion. It was like a reverse shock, if that is possible, and I vowed that never again would I touch a woman's lips. I'm happy to report that at age 55 I managed to finally get a kiss with a guy, and the happy shock coursed through me, triggering a 40 year delayed emotional puberty that rocked me to my inner being.

How about them apples, huh, Richard? Interesting enough? It is all true, and I will NOT be insulted if people comment. However, before you go too far in being critical of my inability to deal with it as a youth, you need to realize that I also have Aspeger's Syndrome, which is essentially high functioning autism, and social inability ranks as one of the highest of our challenges. I didn't know that at the time, and indeed, not till I hit that same age of 55. I castigated myself for many decades, for those in-abilities, which I now know is as silly as a paraplegic castigating himself for not being able to run.

What do I hope for the future? Not too much. I would love to have a nice guy to cherish, hold, snuggle with, cry and laugh with, and just feel contentedly secure. "That's it?" you ask. Well, yes, it is. I have found out that I actually dislike sex. What does that mean? Well, gay sex is probably the easiest thing to get, compared to getting a non-sexual loving relationship, so I'm pretty much doomed to being by myself. Fortunately, it's not as bad as you might think, because another AS characteristic is the LACK of a need to socialize. So, I'm not even looking, and really don't care overly, but I'd never turn down a sincere hug or snuggle from a nice guy. No women need apply. :shock:

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I suppose Trab may not think so, but I was touched by the eloquence and honesty of his post. Truly heart-rending and marvellous.

My own history is much more 'common.' I seem to have been born with a fully developed libido, that was accosted by a fellow student in highschool. From that moment on, I investigated everyone of my fellow students whom I thought might want to accost me some more. Unfortunately, I didn't find out until some years later that there were even more of them than I knew at the time.

My early years in school were subject to much bullying. How was I to know that after puberty these same bullies were in lust for my body which I thought was ugly? I was totally devoid of reason in those days. My only saving grace was my ability to appreciate sex, and that was most definitely, not with anyone called Grace.

I can't claim to not have known love either, I have been terribly lucky.

On the other hand, I feel I have lost opportunities to excel in interests that are very dear to me, but that is my fault because I wouldn't play the social games needed to realise an ambition in the arts. I am very pissed off with petty bureaucrats who think they are more important than the artists they are supposed to facilitate.

In more recent times I have found much fulfilment here at AD and CW, but also in recognising that my temperament was never suited for mass consumption. Coming to terms with the freedoms granted by gay liberation has been like a door opening to an existence denied for too long for all of us, and that meant I have had to reexamine my attitudes to myself and life in general.

This has been traumatic but never boring, enlightening and fascinating, enriching and life affirming, as I discarded the necessary mental protections of the old ways needed to survive in the old days of criminal and personal persecution.

It is not that I am unaware of the dangers that still surround us as gay people, lovers of the same sex, but now I know I no longer need to feel guilt or the need to hide my nature. Neither do I need to shout it to all and sundry, but I will if needs be.

It is a lot easier to do this when you are old like me, all I have to lose is a few years, but I will dedicate those years to helping the young feel as free of guilt, and ridicule and persecution, as I can, as they should, as they have every human right to enjoy.

There is still so much to be done, I just feel inadequate to the tasks involved, but that is endemic in many of my peer group. Such are my thoughts on my past and hopes for the future.

Did I mention that I am a dreamer, an idealist and an optimist? :lol:

Is an agnostic who expounds the goodness of the human spirit really better described as an optimystic? :shock:

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Trab, what you wrote is absolutely beautiful. Des called it eloquent, and it was certainly that, and a whole passel of other adjectives as well.

What seems to be missing is an awareness that you were not alone. What you describe very much fits a lot of young boys: the ones who happen to be shy, a little unsure of themselves and how they fit into the world they inhabit, aren't very rambunctious, and lack many of the skills they see and envy in others. You felt isolated and different. So too do so many boys, gay and straight alike.

You weren't unique. There were aspects of yourself that most other boys don't have. Most aren't AS, and most aren't gay, so there were too added burdens for you to struggle with. But what you described, the loneliness, the hopes, the coping, all are experienced by any number of boys.

You write so very well, express yourself in a way that allows us to join into your emotions and feel them. I wish you'd write more. Lots more.

C

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This has been traumatic but never boring, enlightening and fascinating, enriching and life affirming, as I discarded the necessary mental protections of the old ways needed to survive in the old days of criminal and personal persecution.

Many convicts when released from prison wake up, eat, shower and exercise at the same that they did when they were in prison.

It is one thing to be set free.

It takes a while to learn how to fly.

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A lot of fascinating posts in this thread. Trab, your story definitely strikes a nerve with me.

Well, I'd feel weird reading something like this and not responding, so here goes...

When I was a kid, my only hope - my only real, deep aspiration - was to die. I wasn't suicidal; I was religious. I had been taught from birth to believe three basic principles:

1 - Not only are there demons and evil spirits walking the Earth, out to hurt me, but all of mankind is desperately evil and is out to hurt me, as well.

2 - All activities on Earth - art, entertainment, work, being with friends/family - are only a temporary distraction, and are essentially meaningless.

3 - Life is suffering, but once I'm dead, I'll be happy forever. This is because I've been "chosen"/"saved", unlike the vast majority of mankind, which is evil and is nothing like me.

I never saw a demon or an evil spirit (though my Dad said that he had come under attack by them a few times, fighting them off by speaking The Lord's name). When I started school at age five, the other kids didn't seem evil to me. Still, I was convinced that they were just biding their time. I stayed away from them as best I could. I was terrified of the dark, and would refuse to enter a room unless the lights were on, for fear that a demon could be waiting inside to possess me. To cope, I carried a flashlight everywhere, even during the day, and if I had to venture out of the direct sight of my parents, I would sing hymns under my breath to scare off any demons that might be thinking about sneaking up on me. It also scared off other kids, which also made me feel better, because if they were scared by hymns, they must really be evil, after all. I wasn't like them.

As I grew older, I was still afraid of demons, but even more afraid of humans, especially in groups. Hymns no longer seemed to work for me - I was still afraid. It came to a head when I was around ten or eleven, when I began having panic attacks during church services. Of course, to me, these weren't "panic attacks" to me - they were "demon attacks." I would run into the church basement, the singing of the congregation swelling above me, and slam my head against walls and support pillars while calling out to God, trying to drive out the evil spirits that were oppressing me. Eventually, my Mom found out what I was doing, and after a few years of trying to "work through it," she said that I could stop going to church. I haven't been to a church service since then, and I have not since suffered from a panic attack.

I no longer believe in demons or spirits or gods. I still, however, have trouble thinking of myself as a human. I tend to look at people as strange, complex, terrifying, and beautiful, but above all else, foreign. Something to be studied and cared for, but I don't always understand how they work. I don't really understand what they expect from me, or what to expect from them. I used to find that very frustrating, but now I'm at a point where I can appreciate that confusion, that sense of chaos that creeps in when I'm around them.

Around age seventeen, I began to realize that I was gay, but honestly, that's mostly in theory. I don't know if I could ever truly love a person. I don't know if I can feel things that strongly. I just find it difficult to take people seriously. Ever. My first instinct, upon seeing someone expressing an emotion, is to think that they must be joking around or faking it. It always takes me a second to remember that, no, that's just what I do. That other people really do say things like "Happy birthday" and "I'll miss you" and "I love you" and such, and that a lot of them probably mean it. That they might not just be saying it to fit in and look normal. The only thing I really understand is laughter. It's too hard to fake it, convincingly. It's almost always genuine, and it's something that I can instantly recognize. And you don't have to take it seriously.

I used to hope to fit in with other people. I thought that maybe if I studied them enough, watched how they acted, I could stumble upon some kind of code that I had somehow missed, and act in accordance with that. I don't worry about that, anymore. I know the basics - how to respond when someone says "what's up?" (took me about 19 years to learn), how to properly talk on a phone (took me about 20 years to learn, but to be honest, it still shakes me), how NOT to act when someone appears to be upset (took me about 16 years to learn), etc. - so I can get by well enough to not draw attention. Otherwise, I'm weird as hell, and that's fine by me. :lol:

And I know that all of this might sound sort of angsty and depressing, but it's not. Not to me, anyway. I'm happy. I like where I am, I like who I am, and I like what I'm doing. Call me crazy ('cause I totally am, heh), but I think I'm the least depressed person I know.

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EleCivil wrote:

The only thing I really understand is laughter. It's too hard to fake it, convincingly. It's almost always genuine, and it's something that I can instantly recognize. And you don't have to take it seriously.

...

And I know that all of this might sound sort of angsty and depressing, but it's not. Not to me, anyway. I'm happy. I like where I am, I like who I am, and I like what I'm doing. Call me crazy ('cause I totally am, heh), but I think I'm the least depressed person I know.

Laughter is the key to understanding Zen. Nothing is sacred, except the ability to laugh at it all.

EleCivil's marvellous essay reminded me of Zorba the Greek. (see the film, read the book.)

As for being 'crazy', Zorba the Greek sums it up thus, " A man needs a little madness, or he never cuts the rope and be free."

?Life is trouble,? Zorba continued. "To live is to undo your belt and look for trouble!?

And Zorba on being happy: "This is true happiness: to have no ambition and to work like a horse as if you had every ambition. To live far from men, not to need them and yet to love them.?

:lol:

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What a remarkable piece, EleCivil.

I've heard it said that the Catholic church proclaims, "Give me a child till he's five and he's mine forever." I've always thought that was a smug statement, but it contains a lot of truth. Perhaps it was your father rather than the church who engaged your brain and imagination, but the effect was the same.

Yours is as real an account of brainwashing a kid as I can recall reading. You were a good and innocent child and believed your father. You had no guile in you, just clear-eyed acceptance and gullibility and trust.

And those lessons you learned, the nonsense you learned, stays with you to this day. Life and years have taught you that not everything said by those you trust and love is true, and you've been able to compartmentalize and rationalize what you were taught, but it still colors your thinking, and you still adjust your life to accommodate some of those early perceptions.

It's amazing to me that someone whose connections to other people are tenuous should choose to teach, where you're surrounded by and immersed in people every day. It makes me ponder a bit if this isn't a mechanism whereby you recognize you need to be around people to ground yourself in reality and not the fantasies of your childhood.

Whatever your early training did, it created in you a writer's imagination, a cockeyed perspective on the world and its workings and a sense of off-the-wall humor that is a delight to behold.

It's extraordinary that there are several billion people on this earth, and they're all different, and all have their own unique tales to tell.

C

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This is the most intense thread I have ever read on the internet or anywhere else.

I am deeply affected by the posts I've read here; I'm in awe of the sheer courage and honesty displayed by the contributors.

In particular EleCivil's post resonates with me - my hat is off to you, man. You say about your interaction with other people:

"I don't always understand how they work. I don't really understand what they expect from me, or what to expect from them."
and I will not disbelieve you, But your writing stands witness for you that you can understand people - and more than that, you can write down their lives so convincingly that you hold your audience captive, involved and caring for your characters. That's a great talent and says a lot for your understanding of human nature.

I'm glad you're happy. Be happy. And be yourself. The EleCivil we know from AD is lovable and full of infectious wit and sparkly prose. Don't ever change, man!

Now, I'm psyching myself up to post my own contribution, revealing myself stripped bare naked. And I'm not sure if I'm brave enough. So you might read a further post from me on this thread, you might not.

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My idyllic childhood was cut short at the age of ten when I was sent away to boarding school. It wasn't a great school and I was not happy there. I didn't have much of a relationship with my father but I loved my mother dearly and couldn't square my understanding of her love for me with the fact that she'd sent me away.

I began to fall behind other boys my age in growth and emotional development. When I was thirteen I had to change school and by then I was noticeably small for my age at four feet eleven inches, and immature. And soon after arriving at the new school I was the victim of an awkward attempt at abuse by a teacher. I reported it to my father and to the headmaster, and neither of them responded in the way I needed them to. I needed a knight in shining armour to defend my honour, I got an embarrassed suggestion that maybe it could all be kept quiet.

Looking back I realise I was more hurt by being let down by the authority figures I went to, than by the abuse itself ? which didn't get very far before I worked out what was happening and ran away.

To compound the problem the story leaked and I became the target of older boys who thought I would be easy prey, either for physical, or sexual abuse. So for the next five years I endured a very unpleasant school life.

At the age of seventeen I encountered religion, which had a big influence on me and affected my situation in a big way, both positively and negatively. I began to believe there could be purpose to my life, I began to develop glimmerings of self-worth ? and amazingly I began to grow. I was still four feet eleven inches at seventeen, but over the next five years I grew another eleven inches. And I began to mature emotionally too.

I could have known I was gay as young as eleven when I had a short-lived crush on a boy my age. And I knew I had a major curiosity about boys' bits, but I didn't know if all boys felt that way. And there were other, higher priority issues to deal with ? like survival. So when my newly-acquired religion told me that homosexuality was bad I accepted it, full of confidence that if it was bad and if I wanted not to be homosexual badly enough, if I had enough faith, I could be heterosexual. Or at least not homosexual.

I tried. I really tried. And when I failed I knew it was because I wasn't trying hard enough, or I didn't have enough faith. So I tried again. I kept myself too busy to stop and analyse. I volunteered for charity work and became heavily involved in various projects. And I kept that up for nearly thirty years.

I know, it's pathetic, isn't it?

About three and a half years ago, some members of a committee I served on (more charity work) maliciously tried to have me removed as unfit. It was all investigated thoroughly and slowly and the accusations were shown to be groundless but I was exonerated with a bad grace. It sounded like 'You're innocent ? but don't do it again!' I should have put it behind me and got on with my life but I found I couldn't.

I had a breakdown and went to therapy sessions where I worked out that the reason I couldn't get over the way I was treated by the committee linked back to feeling let down by my father and headmaster all those years earlier. I finally decided to be honest with myself about all that ? including my sexuality. For the first time, at nearly fifty years of age, I admitted to myself ? I am gay. Since then I've had to rebuild my self-image and I've been enjoying the journey. I'm not quite the person I always thought I was but it's fun finding out who I am. Writing has been a big part of that for me. I've missed out on so much, and it's too late to go back for most of it, but I can write stories, and live some of the missing bits vicariously through writing.

I'm happier than I used to be, but there'll always be a sense of loss ? the wasted years, the missed opportunities, the cage I built for myself.

There, I got it out. I'll try never to be self-pitying again. Sorry to trouble you all with it!

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It was no trouble at all, Bruin. I'm glad we are able to help, even if it may only be by being your readers. Once you make that step of honesty and acceptance of who you are, you can start the path to a better life. As long as one hides from himself, nothing will truly work well. :lol: :lol:

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I'm happier than I used to be, but there'll always be a sense of loss – the wasted years, the missed opportunities, the cage I built for myself.

That was a gripping account, Bruin. I have to say, I never had anything quite that bad in my childhood, though it had its moments.

I was a lot shorter than you were in middle school -- probably barely 4' 6" tall when I was 13 -- and I'm only 5' 6" now, though I still wound up taller than my parents. I had some bad days of being bullied as well, but usually my sense of humor (and fast running) got me out of it.

If I can give you two bits of advice:

1) get over it as best you can. Leave it behind you, let it go, worry about today, and forget about the past. I know it's easier said than done, but it's the only thing that works.

2) channel these experiences into something positive, like your writing. Maybe there's a way to rewrite history into something different, like putting a new spin on what happened and making good drama out of it. If nothing else, try rewriting your life and push it in a direction it didn't go, and maybe that'll be cathartic for you.

And know that you've got friends here who empathize with what you went through. We've all been there -- some worse than others -- and we all survived, albeit with some scars.

Quick story: my partner and I went back to my old hometown of Tampa, Florida, a couple of years ago, after a 30-year absence. On one of the days we were there, we visited three of the schools I attended. One of the schools -- the junior high school (ages 13-15) -- was where I was bullied the most. I have to admit, I was really affected by returning to "the scene of the crime," and it brought back a lot of bad memories I had suppressed over the last 40 years. My partner and I stood at the chain link fence and looked at the playground, with the baseball field and running track, and I really had chills remembering a couple of dozen bad experiences. (I thinly disguised a few of them in Groovy Kind of Love, elsewhere on this site.)

But there was some good memories in there as well. I like to try to be as optimistic as I can, and say, "it could've been a lot worse." Nowadays, I have better things to worry about, like paying bills, dealing with irate clients, and surviving my job. Compared to that, the events of my childhood are trivial.

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Those of you that have read Broken know most of my story or as much as I've been able to tell so far.

My story is fairly atypical. I was a LARGE kid. Played football, the youngest son of a war hero. Everybody's all-American.. until I got outed at 13 by a religious nut Scoutmaster.

In another time or another place that's not much of a story. In rural Mississippi in the 70s, it was War.

Broken tells that story up to a point.

Like EleCivil I was raised religious. Believed it too. I asked everybody I could find and all I heard was that gay and Christianity were incompatible- not accepting but damning. They did everything they could to play with my head. Finally I said, "F*ck it. So I'm damned. There's nothing else you can do to me so get out of my face."

The preacher didn't get the warning. I was done with his shit. I grabbed him by his adams apple, head butted him hard and broke his nose.

Accepting my eternal damnation was liberating. I could do anything I that wanted: f*ck anybody, do any drug, drink anything, punch out anybody I felt like it.

I became worse than the thugs that I had to keep at bay. I was surrounded by violence. Fighting was a regular thing. I was the one they took to jail- not the darling little angels that started the sh*t. My strategy was to hurt them as bad as I could before the coaches or the cops pulled me off of them.

Coaches loved me. I was a psycho linebacker that hit people hard enough to rattle their spine. They liked my aggressiveness but I daresay no one here would have had much to do with me back then.

I was a hardcore asshole. If I wasn't screwing you or you weren't doing something for me, it was a good idea to stay out of my way.

My spohmore year some seniors decided to beat my ass and trash me (put me in a garbage can). The fight sent three people to the hospital, got me arrested and sent to youth court.

My grades were high B+, A- but I was probably most likely to do time in my class.

People were scared of me and that's just the way I liked it- but I never bullied anybody or took anything that wasn't offered. Sure- I was an asshole. I just wasn't the average asshole.

I got used sexually alot. My fault of course. I wanted closeness so badly but things were so f*cked up by junior and senior year that was shot. I hustled old men I met at the mall. I was astonished how much money they would pay me.

I was getting pretty bad on drugs to at that point. Crazy, violent, hustler thug. Why the F*ck not if even Jesus didn't love me?

Things went downhill until I met Jeff. A boy so sweet he could tame the feral animal that I had become. Amazing what a little love in your life will do for you. I fell in love with Jeff in a way I can't explain. He grabbed me and pulled me back from the edge and probably saved my life.

I wish I could say that we lived happily ever after but I can't. We had some really good years together but when HIV started getting really serious here in Mississippi, I insisted on a monogamous relationship and it broke us up.

I went to rehab and kicked my coke habit. I got out on my 21st birthday and stayed clean for many years.

College went very well once I had cleaned up my act. I was still seeing Jeff until he got a job in Atlanta and geography split us up. When I graduated, I went to work for a Department of Defense Lab as a programmer. Moved around a bit but stayed with the Feds until 1990.

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Those of you that have read Broken know most of my story or as much as I've been able to tell so far

I just read your story a couple days ago, James, in fact, stayed up all night reading it, which is an indication of it's impact on me, which was considerable, as the live of others usually are. I trust you received my comments through the provided link? :lol:

I was born in northern Minnesota

I grew up in International Falls, Richard, as north in Minnesota as it gets. I have lived in a couple other states, including Florida, and I'd have to say i'll take the total number of really cold days in Minnesota over the total

number of so-hot-I can't-stand-it days down there. My best memories of living in noth woods country come from

my childhood, so I hope there is still a bit of that in your heart, too. I came back to Minnesota for a number of reasons, the main one being a relationship with what I now know to be a bi-polar woman who appeared to hate me more often than she loved me. That of course is another story, but I have not since been seriously tempted to move away from everything I know and everyone who knows me.

And quite possibly those very folks have had cause to lament my decision, and more than once or twice. I had a

restless adolescence, which somewhat solidified in my early adult years to a succession of habitual obstacles that had to be overcome, and only a decidedly persistant nature, along with an ability to avail myself of the many sources of help, both personal and professional that abound in current society, saw me through to the relative comfort I now enjoy. I have a career I pursue with enthusiasm, an absence of anything I could honestly claim to need, and more peace of mind than I ever dreamed existed.

Having been a less than ideal fit almost everywhere I placed or found myself, hanging around a predominately

male but infinitely interesting and creative environment seems to suit me rather well. All I know is, after stumbling in looking for answers to what I thought were simple questions, I found a world that offered more in the way of what I consider worthwhile than my world up to that time ever would.

Thank you, Richard, for what is sure to be a thread that sends no one away empty handed. Inspired, if you ask me, for the opportunity for any who wish to express what they might not otherwise say, and for insight into others for which they would not otherwise ask.

I'm going back for that insight right now. Haha, Cole you know i'm running for it!

Tracy

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...I think people use the blogs to tell of their personal past, their hopes, and their frustrations.

You're right Trab, and I apologize for having started this thread here instead of in a blog. But then I also don't apologize for some marvelous and truly inspirational things have come out of this.

It takes a while to learn how to fly.
I like where I am, I like who I am, and I like what I'm doing.
As for being 'crazy', Zorba the Greek sums it up thus, " A man needs a little madness, or he never cuts the rope and be free."
It's extraordinary that there are several billion people on this earth, and they're all different, and all have their own unique tales to tell.
I'm happier than I used to be, but there'll always be a sense of loss ? the wasted years, the missed opportunities, the cage I built for myself.
I like to try to be as optimistic as I can, and say, "it could've been a lot worse." Nowadays, I have better things to worry about, like paying bills, dealing with irate clients, and surviving my job. Compared to that, the events of my childhood are trivial.
College went very well once I had cleaned up my act.
I grew up in International Falls, Richard, as north in Minnesota as it gets.

I was born in a little place close by you, Thief River Falls, where my brother and father still reside.

Thank you, Richard, for what is sure to be a thread that sends no one away empty handed. Inspired, if you ask me, for the opportunity for any who wish to express what they might not otherwise say, and for insight into others for which they would not otherwise ask.

I said earlier that I didn't know what to say, and I'm not sure if I do now. But one thing struck me as I read some of the most gut wrenching, courageous and honest stories that I have ever read here. Even though each one of these stories is from a different set of circumstances, there's a commonality of "hope" within each and every one of these stories. We are all unique, but we are also all the same...human.

Each one of us has had to survive from what life through at us, and we all did it in a different way, but we did it. Yes, all of us have "holes" in our past that we're still trying to fill today, but the idea of filling those "holes" speaks of that "hope" for a different and an even better tomorrow.

I'm ecstatic over the inspiration that you've not only given me, but also by your courageous honesty, the inspiration that you've given to all of us.

I'll be posting a piece of flash fiction at Codey's World on my page, but I think I'd like to share it here too. It's probably the closest thing that I've ever written that is autobiographical as it speaks of my past. I'm going to post it in the Flash Fiction topic, but it's really my story along this thread.

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I was going to pass on posting to this thread. I told myself it's because I already did something similar on IOMFATS board a year or so ago. But I guess the real reason was I've always been one to hold things close to my chest ? to not divulge much about myself. I've since come to realize that this is a common trait that I share with many gay or bi men of my generation. It is part and parcel of the closet I lived in for so much of my life. So I need to fight against those old impulses to maintain the new me.

I remember being fascinated by other boy's bits at a rather early age. I was playing show and tell at age eight. By age ten it was ?do you want to feel something really neat?? So, I guess, I was the very definition of precocious. I was well on my way to becoming a little flamer. But this was the fifties and early sixties we are talking about and in the religious backwaters of Utah. Even before I reached my teenage years I became aware of my society's definition of homosexuality... ?ABOMINATION?. I began to slowly entrench myself in a closet that was my domicile for about forty years. I just didn't have the courage to face the social stigma or, what I perceived, would be the lose of friends and family who would surely abandon such a 'leprous' person.

Unlike many of the gay men who married in order to further advance the big lie, I was never able to take that fateful step. After all, I knew what happened in the conjugal bed and I was extremely fearful I would fail in my husbandly duties. (Quite an accurate observation as a result of attempting the 'big nasty' with a number of women I dated.)

Clear up into my twenties I prayed to a God who I knew considered me an abomination. His failure to act on my behalf and change my orientation told me that God found me a lost cause. So I turned my back on a God I believed had turned his back on me.

I was in my mid forties when I had a total meltdown, an emotional collapse. The only reason I didn't suicide was because I was in no hurry to face an afterlife that I knew would contain considerable brimstone in it. (I sunburn quite easily and would probably roast rather poorly.) So I underwent ten years of therapy instead. Oh, I wish to God I'd sought that therapy twenty years earlier. It enabled me to turn around my thinking and accept who I was. It allowed me to regain a spiritual part of myself I'd lost, as I realized that God had never rejected me ? it was the church that rejected me.

Today I'm out of that stifling closet to any who ask. I've found a Christian church that ordains gays to be ministers and I have a sense of self worth that was so sadly lacking for most of my life. I'm also far more interested in establishing relationships today than pursuing sexual conquests. (My libido is no longer what it once was.) But my primary mission has been to write stories that would allow gay youth to come to grips with their feelings and, hopefully, accept who they are and the normality of their sexuality. I want to nail up all the closets I can. I've had a number of correspondences to indicate I've been nominally successful and to spur me to continue my writing. So, when I get too damned old to work I'll probably be still pounding away at my keyboard. I think having a sense of purpose is what defines us.

Today I am at peace with myself and with the world I live in. I'm fighting prejudice on every level I find it. I don't believe anyone is a lost cause or unworthy of friendship or help. And, in short, I am content.

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I used to hope to fit in with other people.

First, Ele, whether or not you chose to believe it, you DO fit in here. I'd be glad to call you my friend here and in real life. I mean that. And there are very few people I'd say that about -- even fewer where I'd say it publicly.

The rest of you, kudos for sharing your stories. I suspect I am by far the most private one here. This thread's had me thinking. Thinking hard. Almost like maybe I want to actually share some of me. I might yet do it, but I'm afraid and there's not a whole lot that actually scares me but this does.

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I'm sorry if you have the runs, Tracy. Keep 'em clenched.

You are incorrigible, Cole! And doing a fine job of it i'd say.

With family here, Richard, you perhaps have a place to visit, in the summer of course!

I hear so many writers here express the desire to make the world a more welcoming place for

our children, where instead of spending years trying to come to terms with themselves and the world they live in, they can move into adulthood to realize the potential that exists in all of us. It's

impossible to imagine what the world would be like if that were the norm; a world where diverse ideas and infinite creativity reigned would certainly look much different than the one we look out on today.

I thank you all, for my child, and for everyone's children, and my every hope is that you succeed, for undoubtedly, what helps one gay child, helps all gay children, and what helps them, helps the whole world in the process.

For my part, I am much like Paul, believing that prejudice of any kind only futhers prejudice, and

I fight it where I see it, in myself as well as my environment. In myself, I find I must peel it off, layer after layer, and I honestly have yet to reach the bottom of it. On days when I'm tempted to think life is long, I need only remind myself how much work there is to do in it, and i'm soon thankful for even one more day.

As an aside, this forum has given me a number of new names to use in hunting for stories, so I am off to read--that is, after all, what I do.

Tracy

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First, Ele, whether or not you chose to believe it, you DO fit in here. I'd be glad to call you my friend here and in real life. I mean that. And there are very few people I'd say that about -- even fewer where I'd say it publicly.

The rest of you, kudos for sharing your stories. I suspect I am by far the most private one here. This thread's had me thinking. Thinking hard. Almost like maybe I want to actually share some of me. I might yet do it, but I'm afraid and there's not a whole lot that actually scares me but this does.

Ditto on Ele, Wibby. I think he is one talented, remarkable, lovable guy.

As for your being tempted to join the group therapy disclosure thread, :lol: please feel free, but there is no compulsion to do so. We are after all open to the public.

Neither is there any pressure for anyone to divulge anything more than they feel comfortable to share.

I have reread the posts here, several times, and am aware that the honesty and openness contained in these posts does indeed provoke a desire to share, and that is of course, how group therapy sessions work.

I look at my own offering and see how much it falls short in revealing the experiences, the circumstances, the revelations and the relationships that shaped me.

Yet there are somethings that cannot be shared, cannot, even should not, be revealed because their complexity needs an expanded explanation if they are not to be misunderstood as concealing subconscious escapism. Even saying that much may invite that accusation. Deeper analysis may tempt someone to ask for 5 cents. :lol:

Then I read Tracy's latest comment, and I am humbled to realise the innate caring each of us shows in our desire to share our experiences. Our object is not world domination, not personal control of each other, or even public confessions, but simply a desire to be closer, to share ourselves in a way that will allow us to peel away the layers of not only our own prejudice, but the prejudice imposed on us by others, and as Tracy so beautifully states it, "helps the whole world in the process."

It is like so much of our writing. As authors we share little pieces of ourselves, small insights into the human condition and even, at times, great revelations, and almost always with fun and entertainment, through our stories.

However, having said all that, with wholehearted agreement, as administrator of the forums, I would impress on everyone reading this thread that no one need feel compelled to contribute. We will not think less of anyone who prefers to keep their privacy.

Commercial break:

I would however love to see our members (new and old), giving us their opinions on all out topics, blogs and stories, especially our stories, joining in with us in our discussions and deliberations. Everyone is welcome, even if you just want to read, but why not write and let us know your thoughts? We all love feedback. Feedback is awesome!

End commercial break.

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This is the most amazing thread I've read in a long time.

So, me.

I was the second child of two, which would have been great if my sister hadn't been fifteen years older. I'm pretty sure I came along as a panacea for a marriage on the rocks, but as I didn't get around to asking my parents when they were alive, and my sister wryly denies it, I can't say for sure.

However, make up kid or not, I was loved, and spoilt rotten.

I was sent to a boys only boarding school at thirteen, and remember feeling utterly disgusted with myself for thinking about other boys - though I wasn't sure why. Nobody ever sat me down and told me that liking your own sex was a bad thing, and I don't remember any hell fire and brimstone rants from the religious knowlege teacher.

Religion didn't play a big part in my make up as the family never went to church - except at Christmas.

I was a very late developer which caused me a shed load of grief. I can't say I ever had a revelation that I was gay ... I just was: Or perhaps it was because I was surrounded by boys. Dunno.

I wasn't good at school. Period. I tried to follow my father into the sciences when I was more inclined to the arts (imagine allowing an immature idiot to pick his own subjects - the mind boggles). Team sports I loathed, but I was reasonable at tennis, squash and cross country.

In my late teens and early twenties I slept with both girls and guys, but ended up knowing that I most definitely preferred the latter ... though you probably wouldn't know I was gay if I didn't tell you.

Everybody has a different journey and I've been awfully lucky in mine. If there's one thing I've realised it's that religion seems to be the common cause behind so many of the horror stories of growing up. Considering religion supposedly espouses love, I find it sad.

Camy

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