I mentioned something last [occasion of updating]. If you read it you might have thought it odd how bent about I was becoming due to a “friend” and wondered if I am a totally unstable maniac. I am but that’s not why I said that. In fact it was, to me, a love sort of thing toward the masculine pronoun’d friend. And right now you might be saying hey i didn’t know you were- and first of all yes you did, and second it isn’t how you might think.
Perhaps I might be gay in some emotional capacity, but I have no fondness for very gay imagery any more than very “straight” imagery.
My open-mouthed grimace of disgust is not a thing that I bother to fake, much less while alone, yet I know it well.

While my infatuation was going on, I greatly wanted to say so publicly, but feared to, worried that the target might be embarrassed, or would not fully reciprocate it. And when it was over (meaning a year before I understood that it was) I again feared to say something because I had never made it relevant, and also because he might change his mind if I kept quiet and it would not be over, but it would definitely be over if I brought up my grievances, I thought. Rather convenient for him, I now suppose, who continued to confide in me some rather difficult things for another few months after I felt I had personally ceased to matter before he found another to take the job and I was reassigned to stable chores. For convenience let us call him “W.” It’s probably not difficult to find out what his actual name is and that it is devoid of Ws and yet he must be called something and that is the letter I chose.

It has nothing to do with this image; he only answered about 3 of the 47 or so calls I made during the relevant time period and I’d have been as fortunate to get such a frank summation of which behaviors of mine were undesirable.

Though the exact contents vary by the season, I have been having cyclical arguments in my own mind fairly consistently for the past two years as the relationship gradually dissolved into nothingness and then continued in motion to re-form into something unpleasant and indescribable because I absolutely could not let go of it. It may be the case that I must display such unbalanced vitriol and misanthropy in this place to totally ensure that not W or anyone would ever wish to deal with me again. I will be better for it, as will they.

I think the section below is mostly from 2009. A pity there is no date on it and the only image referenced prior to my finding and putting it here is from before even then (and I have forgotten who I stole it from). I kept something of a like, dislike-themed journal in a text file but neglected to record any dates. It is interspersed with personal messages for W, or pieces of them, which I never sent, prior to my devoting a separate file exclusively to messages I did not send once I no longer had anything to say to myself. Those are harder to read, because first of all just the way people talk when they’re in love is disgusting whoever either of them is, and then imagine how much more daft and infantile this is when only one of them actually is in love. But the sight of myself treating W in a merely diplomatic, sometimes reverent manner is now even highly upsetting, as is the thought of my not unloading every bit of honesty, of love or of distaste, at the soonest possible opportunity. For in the end I never had a chance to do either, which means I have to tell “you” or it will never go away, and I can’t do that without trivializing the issue with ludicrous edits and pictures, because I would think it boring otherwise, and I won’t post something that I think is boring!
Unless I absolutely have nothing else. Guess which today’s is? Thankfully I need to know somebody can read it more than they actually have to.

On Sunday, my mother asked me if I ever thought that I might be gay. I wanted to say I was worried that I might not be! But that is not what I really worry. I worry that I might be one or the other. “Gay” is a synonym for “homosexual.” I am not sexual. I do not want to be. I think naked people objects are horrible. I can experience love for people without that being a requirement. It is a stronger desire for companionship than a mere friendship, and that is why I thought it was love, but you can’t tell people that without them demanding a stronger confession. Nobody believes it. The only way I’m sleeping my way to the top will be if I take some Rufinol on a ferris wheel. That joke might be pretty gay.

Have I CONSIDERED it? Certainly, when you’ve had antagonists angrily informing you that you are for more than half your life you must have considered it.

Whatchoo lookin’ at, fag?

It had been deduced by some of my behaviors that I loved a man, and from some old biological evidence that I myself should have been one by this point. It may also have been considered that I went to a “furry” convention last year (the year before 2010), even though by and large I find that embarrassing. That is relevant because we met there. I was so glad to do so that it triumphed over my embarrassment for the first time in my life that I can remember.

No, of course I’ve known I’m “different” for a long time. I find “faggot” offensive because it’s a hostile word, and I find people who willingly embody the stereotypical “mmm-hmm oh thnap” connotations of the word embarrassing, much as I regard the “man up, toss me a beer uh oh THE GAME is on” oafs at the other end. This does not constitute me “coming out” of anything because it doesn’t make my life any easier. I do not feel liberated. I feel just as behind schedule and under-achievy as before.

Being GAY would be easy! Not as easy as being “straight,” but it’s easier than it’s ever been at any point in history. There is a clear cut niche in society for it that more and more non-gays are perfectly alright with having be there (and they’ll be ridiculed if they let it become apparent that they aren’t). There are entire towns for it. There is gay FOOD. There are gay PETS. If I were a gay, I could enjoy the highest rated program on television. All of these are stereotypes, but if I were gay I could get offended by them!
If I were gay I could pretend that many of the nation’s highest ranking celebrities were pretending to care whether or not I was legally entitled to marriage. And yet just as with furries, as with the aspies whom I’ve aborted at least two articles about, I do not feel one with the gays. I may share some of their fights, but I do not belong with them. I want to belong to something, but I have yet to find a thing that will have me and that I similarly wish to be had by. Many people do not find this in life, but force themselves to go along with whatever seems like it might work, and that may be my destiny.

In fact, I have more out-coming to do before I will feel any relief, THAT one isn’t going to happen except by accident (unless me from the future goes ahead and puts a potentially pertinent picture that I haven’t even made yet above this paragraph), and anyhow at that point I will still be a be an under-achievy behind-scheduler. I have odd fondness for things which do not exist which I cannot tell anybody about. Thankfully, their feelings cannot be hurt. And before you skip to conclusions, I do not spill fluids over the comics I upload here. But if I did that would never be the point and you wouldn’t know when. I really shouldn’t have said that.

The person that I appear to be “gay” at is not gay. I told him that I loved him, in a letter that I wrote (on real paper even), but I had to add disclaimers to the effect that it was largely deprived of meaning… I wanted to deprive it of the meaning that I did not intend, but I lost more than I wanted to. I wanted to say “I would like to see you every day and know everything about you,” but that’s weird. It’s like the “uncanny valley,” with artificial representations of human beings. It’s endearing up to a point and then it gets really creepy if it goes too far but doesn’t quite connect. The “valley” is the drop in tolerability between “sort of real” and “real” when viewed as a two dimensional line graph. That’s why nobody likes Cyclops. He’s the only one that’s really into being such an uncanny ex-man. I like his stupid poses in the unwinny-ble Super Nintendo X-Men game, though.

He (no not Cyclops (as far as you know)) knows I “love” him in the letter but I cannot casually insert “I love you” into conversations. I assume. I don’t want to risk it. I have historically been oblivious to when my own tolerability has run out, and now I take so many preventative measures that those become even less tolerable.

For example, though this memorrhoid continues, I am taking the measure of temporarily concluding it here instead of trying to edit the second note into comprehendability. It will be less effective when I do show it because I’ll have to spend three paragraphs setting it up again. And so I have failed. Who has won?

It would be the first time!

This continues!