All my life-- I hadn't been happy with who I was. I'd set out to re-invent myself and succeeded, from Luigi Espinosa to Eric Lewis, from a kid in a fishing town in Rhode Island to a doctor in a big metropolitan in California. I'd accepted being gay, but only if I could be the "very best." I had to have the best car, the best house, the best job -- and the best boyfriend. I found the best boyfriend... and then I lost him.
Or was I losing him? Why? Why did I do this to myself? I thought of all the people I knew who were happy with who they were... who had found peace. I envied them. I couldn't find peace, instead I was a traveler, always looking for what seemed to be better -- somewhere else, somewhere just out of reach. Oh, sure -- it was great that I finally came out to my parents, but somehow that wasn't enough. Now my mother was TOO accepting.
And then this, this stupid thing -- this stupid affair with a stupid man. A man I didn't love, a man I didn't have feelings for until now-- feelings of hate and resentment.
I thought of this as I punched his number into my phone for the seventeenth time in the last hour. I waited at home for Andrew to come back from work. I continued to call Mark, over and over and over. Damnit! I was going to make him take the blame for this-- he was going to be made accountable.
I wondered how Andrew could work during this -- this darkness that had fallen upon us? How could he put on a happy demeanor and go out there when he was in such despair.
I pulled out the old punching bag from when I had started boxing a couple years ago and went wild in the garage.
BOXING AND HITTING AND PUNCHING... slamming my fists against the leather bag in rage -- until my hands were burning and I was pouring with sweat. I was afraid of the anger within me. I was afraid of what I was capable of. I was afraid of losing everything I had -- for what?
For a quick bit of sex with some lawyer...
In the shower, I began to calm down. I soaped my body and looked at myself, looked at my body. Who was I? What kind of man would be so stupid as to throw all of this away? I covered my body in suds till I was slippery and slick, I massaged my legs, thighs, chest, pecs, arms, neck, and shoulders. I covered myself -- God, I had this incredible need to touch myself.
To try to feel who I really was, searching for where I could find myself. If I'd been able to reach inside and feel my heart, I would have done it. I would have felt my heart, my guts, my stomach... but I couldn't -- I was on the outside, looking in.
I began to grow hard, I knew what I would wind up doing, what I always returned to -- sexual release. It was the one thing-- the one place I felt safe, in the escape of an orgasm. I grabbed the bar of soap and began.
But this time it was angry, fearsome and resentful, and full of retaliation.
And then it was done.
I slipped down till I was sitting, naked on the floor of the stall, the hot water turned to icy cold -- sitting in the shower -- then the tears began.
The tears began and they would not end for another hour... who was I?
I had no idea.
