I’m sitting here, staring at my computer screen, knowing, more or less, what I want to say, but not quite sure how to begin.  It’s been just over two weeks from my last post and I think it’s pretty clear that I’m not in a good place right now.  I went to my therapy appointment the following Tuesday and told Deb a lot of the same things I said here, then.  At the end of the session, I handed her my check, and started to stand up when she said, “I feel like I have to ask you where you are right now, with your depression.”

I slumped back onto the couch and sighed.  After a long silence I simply said, “I don’t know.”  It was the end of the session and in truth, her question is the start of another conversation we didn’t have time for.  I really didn’t know quite how to answer her because I haven’t really figured it all out.  I’m sure, at least in part, I’m in denial about the whole thing, but what I know for sure is, I refuse to go back on medication and I’m not willing to go back to the Intensive Outpatient Program I did a couple years ago.  I’d like to think that this whole thing will pass, but I just don’t know.

“Do I need to be concerned about you?” she asked me.  I didn’t understand what she meant at first.  It took a minute to realize she was asking me if I was thinking of hurting myself… or someone else.  I have to confess that I was surprised by the question.  I would have thought that after four years she would know me better than that.  I told her she had nothing to be concerned about.

I don’t remember now what she said next that prompted me to say what I did, but I followed it up by saying, “I’ve had a few dreams in the last couple weeks about not being here anymore.” No sooner had those words escaped my lips before I realized that in the context of what she had just asked me that didn’t sound very good.

I’ve thought a lot about this blog over the last two weeks; what I should write about, when I should write, whether I should write…  The thought of just disappearing from the blogosphere has crossed my mind more than once.  Someone I follow on Twitter and who follows me back sent me a Direct Message that I assume was a response to my last post:

“Kev, your gift is writing. You are thoughtful and gifted.”

I didn’t tell him how much I appreciated the comment because, while I did appreciate it, I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t include something along the lines of, “Fat lot of good that does me.”

See, and this is going to sound arrogant but, I know I’m a decent writer.  I know that when I write it’s pretty good.  I also know that it’s not the kind of writing I would like to do and that I’m often hard pressed to find something to write about and that while I may be a good writer, the six people who routinely read my writing don’t make for a way to support myself or a significant improvement in my life.  (This is not to say that I don’t appreciate each and every one of you, because I do, but the six of you were around before my last post and my last post still happened so…  I hope that makes my point, because I’m lost now.)

The point is, I may have a gift for writing, but since I’m not able to support myself writing, having that gift doesn’t make my job better, it doesn’t make my job search better, it doesn’t make my personal, spiritual or romantic life better.  It doesn’t make me lose weight or give me motivation to go to the gym…  It doesn’t make my life better.  It’s just one thing that I do sometimes that gives me a modicum of pleasure, but at the same time it’s something else about which I’m dissatisfied.

I’m doing a really bad job of this.  What I think I was trying to say is I didn’t tell my Twitter friend how much I appreciated his comment because I couldn’t fully accept his compliment.  I’m sorry for that and I do appreciate it.

Considering the way my last post ended, and the fact that I haven’t written anything in the last two weeks the thought has crossed my mind that maybe those six readers have begun to worry that maybe I really did hurt myself.  Maybe I have just disappeared and that is that…

Except, for most of you, there is some other form of communication whether it be Twitter or commenting on your blogs.  For most of you, in one way or another, I have proved through other means that I am, in fact, still alive.

Those dreams I’ve had about “not being here”?  They weren’t dreams or fantasies of killing myself, or even of being dead.  They were about running away, disappearing, ceasing to live this life and somehow finding another one instead.

In the first, I dreamt that I went to a family reunion of some sort, I don’t really remember much, but I was very surprised when I met one of my cousins that I didn’t even know about and she turned out to be a famous actress/host.  In the dream we spoke for a long time and while I had the sense that I was making a fool of myself, big surprise, she was very kind and reassuring and really seemed to enjoy our talk and getting to know me.  The dream ended before anything specific happened, but I awoke with the sense that I was going to move to LA, live with her and her family, work for her for awhile and develop a whole new life for myself.

The second dream was actually the very next night.  The details of this dream are quite hazy but what I remember is that I was in England on vacation by myself, but fell so completely in love with it that I decided I wanted to stay.  The basic content of the dream was me waiting to find out and ultimately learning that my visa had been approved and I had to find a place to live and a job.  (It doesn’t work that way, but it was a nice thought anyway.)  I remember a sense of wonderment and excitement.  There was no sense of fear of failure or worry about how I was going to make it.  There was just excitement about the new adventure and a strange certainty that everything would be fine.

Since then, I’ve had a sort of on-going fantasy, of what it would be like to just disappear.  Being the way that I am, it doesn’t take long to snap back to reality and start thinking of all the logistic impossibilities, but I dream…

I’ve written the beginning of that blog post in my head over and over again:

My bags are packed, my phone is charged and the gas tank is filled.  Backing out of the driveway, I take one last look at the house I’ve called “home” for the last three years and then I hit the accelerate, refusing to look back.  I’m going in search of me.  I don’t know where I am or how long it will take, but I’ll find me.  And I’m not coming back until I do.  A modern day wanderer, I’m hitting the open road, searching for adventure.  Who knows what I’ll find?  This is only the beginning…

And then I open my eyes and look around.  I see my possessions, my debt, my bills.  In my minds eye, I see my family, to whom I’m still connected, despite all the differences and complications.  I see logistical entanglements and issues that make the fantasy impossible.

I just bought a brand new car in November.  It’s a hybrid, which could make the journey a little more fuel efficient and it has a navigation system which could make the drive, yes, somewhat less spontaneous, but certainly safer.  But I just bought it.  I still owe…  a lot.

I wonder what the supposed wanderer’s of old would say about all this.  Those guys that drove along route 66 stopping in every town to work odd jobs and stir up trouble didn’t have laptops and iPhones, let alone hybrid motors and navigation systems.  David Banner didn’t have a car at all while he wandered from town to town trying not to get angry (’cause you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.)  And here I am wishing I could pack a few things into my Honda Insight and hit the road looking for adventure while surfing the net and writing blog posts, always a phone call away from safety and comfort should things get too hard.

There are numerous logistic impossibilities, but I dream…

Two weeks ago things seemed pretty OK.  I was starting to feel like I was OK in this world, like I had a chance at being happy… eventually.  I thought I had a grasp on life.  I thought I stood a chance at finally having some of the things I wanted.  I was a fool.

Two weeks ago, I received an e-mail from the facilitator of the coming out support group I’ve been going to (and I still use the word “group” loosely as it’s only ever been the two of us in the room.)  The e-mail was to inform me of a change in the schedule and that the meeting would be taking place on Monday nights going forward.  I can’t go on Monday nights.  I’m disappointed but a little relieved too.  The group really only serves a purpose in my life if it’s a group and it’s not.  Door closed.  I went home and watched TV and felt particularly lonely and vulnerable.  I wanted to drink.

Two weeks ago, I got a bonus in my paycheck.  Not a huge bonus, only a couple hundred dollars after taxes, but a bonus none the less.  I spent all of it and then some in a matter of hours… well, 24 to be honest.

That day, I paid a bunch of bills – in some cases over and above what I needed to pay – because I had the money and wanted to get ahead.  Saturday, I went shopping. I thought I knew how much money I had to spend and I thought I was staying within that amount.  I bought a new pair of running shoes, having gone to a running store that offers a service to analyze your walk/run and help you find the right type of shoes for your specific needs.  The shoes were a little more than I wanted to spend on them but it was OK, I had the money.  If they help, they’ll be worth it.  It’s been two weeks and I haven’t found out yet.

I went to Target for some necessities and while I was there I bought some  things I didn’t have to have but have been wanting.  It was OK, though, because I had the money and now I could.

I went to Albertson’s (I refuse to call them Lucky, which is now their name, because Lucky had lousy service when they were here before) and did my grocery shopping.  I went for necessary groceries, including things for  lunches at work.  I also needed some Triple Sec, an ingredient in a shrimp dish I like to make.  I left with all the ingredients for Long Island Teas, forty dollars worth of liquor.  Sixty-two days, out the window.

I went home, fixed a drink and started putting my new purchases away.  I fixed dinner, ate, watched some TV and went to bed.

Sunday, I woke up, feeling a familiar kind of not great that I haven’t felt in a while.  I went through my usual routine of catching up on Twitter, checking  Words with Friends, and looking at my e-mail on my iPhone.  Every day the bank sends me an e-mail with my available bank balance.  When I opened the e-mail, my heart stopped.  I fucked up.  I mean, I didn’t just mess up a little…  I FUCKED UP!!  I had completely forgotten about two sizeable expenses, and  my bank account was going to be hundreds of dollars over-drawn, the business day after I got paid… with two weeks of “sucks to be me” to follow.  AND I had my weekly outing with Lil’B to deal with.  Fortunately, I’d already bought the passes to the day’s entertainment, but that wasn’t the entirety of the day’s expenses.  After I dropped him off, I returned everything I could to Target and hoped for the best.  I was able to put off the two sizable expenses  to the next pay check and when it was all said and done, I didn’t over-draw my account.  On the other hand, I’ve had $12.19 in my checking account for thirteen days now and that’s not a good feeling.  When my pay check goes into the bank at midnight tonight, more than half of it will already be  accounted for.

One week ago, I got ambushed with my annual review.  I say I got ambushed because my boss said we were having our “Individual Monthly Meetings”  which we have about once a quarter, and I didn’t know he was giving us our  evaluations that day, until K came into my office with hers to show me, even  though I didn’t really want to see it.  It was full of the usual fluff bullshit about what a great job she’s doing (even though she’ll be the first to tell you she  doesn’t do much) and how she’s always so willing to take on extra duties even though she has a very heavy workload (which she doesn’t have and has never gotten the opportunity to take on extra duties EVEN THOUGH SHE HAS ASKED…)

My boss waited until 4:00 in the afternoon to do mine.  When I found out we were having our meetings this didn’t surprise me, when I found out we were getting our reviews and the other two were being done in the morning, I became suspicious.  He started out by saying that he had wanted to give me a “Successful Minus” but that the policy is if the employee gets any “Partially Successful” ratings than the overall rating has to be “Partially Successful”. (The choices are Unsatisfactory, Partially Successful, Successful or Exceptional.)  So, on a review with seven questions I got five Successful and  two Partially Successful, giving me an overall rating of Partially Successful. The two items on which I was rated Partially Successful:

Teamwork: Provides meaningful contributions and actively participates in team and Labor Management Partnership activities.  Works effectively through disagreements using conflict resolution or  interest-based techniques.  Emphasizes team goals over own interests.  Works cross-functionally to deliver the highest quality service and results.

And,

Openness to Change and Development: Reflects on own performances identifies areas of improvement and actively seeks and uses feedback.  Progresses toward personal development goals.  Seeks guidance from others and quickly adapts to changing  environments and direction.

Where asked for specifics he wrote:

Kevin needs to be a more active team member and show more  initiative.  He is reluctant to answer the office phones when we are short staffed and help out more in keeping the office area organized.  He needs to make more of an effort to adapt to organizational changes.  When the responsibility for moves and office  reconfigurations was taken from him, he resisted assuming additional responsibilities such as the Green Program.  He was not very  successful in organizing building green teams and promoting the RBO Green Initiative in the building.

When presenting my review to me he made a point of saying, “This isn’t that bad.”  Several times he said, “This isn’t that bad.  I don’t want you to be discouraged by this.”  Finally, I told him, “I’m not disappointed, John.  I’m pissed off!  This is bullshit.”

You see, I’ve never been “reluctant to answer the phones when we are short staffed.”  The fact is we have two employees in our office whose job it is to  answer the main phone lines.  They are both union employees and I am not.   It is a violation of the company’s contract with their union for a non-union  employee to do any work that is designated to be their job.  Obviously, sometimes that has to be set aside and assistance has to be rendered, but it should not be a rule of thumb.

But see, K has no problem covering all the phones when Bertha is out of the office.  She has no problem placing calls on hold to answer another line and very rarely needs assistance with the phones, and when she does?  I give it. Bertha, on the other hand, doesn’t feel like she should have to cover the  phones by herself and doesn’t try very hard to do it.  When she is clearly over-loaded, I do help her with the phones, but I do not lunge at the phone every time it rings, just because she’s the only one here and she happens to  be on the other line.  I told John this and explained that the only thing I am  “reluctant” to do is accept answering the phones as one of my primary  responsibilities when I am not in the union and when the other non-union  employee in our department is not expected to help, at all, ever.   I told him the problem isn’t with my willingness to help, it’s with who is determining when that help is needed (Bertha) and how willing that person is to do her  best.  To his credit he agreed.

I also told him I didn’t even know what “and help out more in keeping the office area organized” meant.  The only answer he could give me was that our backroom (which I have nothing to do with except that the coffee maker, microwave, refrigerator, printer and fax machine are back there) is always a  mess.  I asked him why that was my problem and why it should be my problem when the department Secretary (K) doesn’t do anything about it?  I don’t do anything to contribute to the mess back there, but no, I don’t do  anything to clean it up either and why should I if I’m going to be the only  one?  Once again, he agreed.  He actually removed these two items from my  evaluation before submitting it, not that it had any impact on the overall  rating.

With regard to the “Green program”, I was given the ambiguous task of establishing a program to promote… well, being “Green”.  The Recycling  program that I created six years ago is suddenly not good enough anymore  and I’m supposed to come up with something new and better.  I began this process and found out that my companies National Purchasing Department  was in the process of establishing a national contract for waste hauling and it  seemed to be in the finishing stages.  The outcome of this process would  impact our operations and so I stopped working on the program pending the outcome of the contract negotiations.  I hate spinning my wheels.  I explained this to John quite some time ago and he agreed that it was the right thing to do.  Beyond this, I really had no idea what he wanted the “Green  Program“ to be or what it could do.

The reality is I’m not a “Green” person.  I recycle at home because we’re “supposed to” and because the city makes it pretty simple.  I do not believe that the “necessity” of going Green is real.  I do not believe that this planet is  in such dire straights.  I do not believe that it’s important.  This does not  mean I won’t do the job that’s assigned to me, but it does mean that I’m  probably not the best person for it because I don’t know what’s available or  doable, or worthwhile, or financially feasible.  Every time John and I have  met and talked about this, there have been things discussed that hinged on  him providing me with some pertinent information or other and every time  he has failed to provide it.

I also told him months ago, that I’m not particularly passionate about the topic and wasn’t sure I was the best person to do the job.  It came up that my “counterpart” at the other building, who took over the moves and furniture  responsibilities from me last year, had also been working on a Green  initiative and had, apparently, done a good job with it.  I suggested that if he was passionate about the concept, and if he wanted to do the Green Program  for both buildings, I would be willing to accept taking over the moves function for both buildings from him in exchange for him taking over the  Green Program for both buildings.

I’m not arguing that the task didn’t get done and I’m not arguing that it was a “failure” but I am arguing how much responsibility I hold for it.  Don’t get me wrong.  I have no problem accepting criticism when it’s accurate and justified…  This is not.

I’m pissed, and this just serves to remind me how much I hate this job and working for this man and this company.  It renewed my determination that I must find something else.  The economy is turning around finally.  I thought maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so impossible to find something else.  But in the meantime, I hate coming to work and I hate being in this environment.

Essentially, my review was unfavorable because I don’t do two other peoples’ jobs well enough and because I can’t read the mind of an unreliable,  scatterbrained boss and because I’m not privy to a considerable amount of  information that applies directly to the work I’ve been asked to do.  I don’t blame the two people whose jobs “I don’t do well enough”.  It’s not their fault that John is passive aggressive and used those excuses to criticize me for God only knows what reason.

Nonetheless, I was in a very unpleasant mood when I came back to work last Friday.  I wasn’t interested in taking it out on anyone, but I also wasn’t in any sort of mood to pretend to feel something I didn’t.  When I received an instant message from K, at 8:30 in the morning asking me, for what felt like the zillionth time, if I’d had a chance to try out my new shoes, I bristled.  In the course of a split second I felt angry and defensive at the question; realized it was because I was anticipating having to defend myself; realized that I might be wrong about that, but didn’t really feel like I wanted to find out;  considered how I might reply to the inquiry so as to not be rude, but still not  open the door to further conversation; and realized that there was nothing I  could say that would make us both feel good so the best thing was to not say  anything at all.

I set about trying to find some good job postings to respond to and there were a couple of listings for Project Coordinators that seemed like they might be viable.  So I responded to them, realizing that the worst case scenario is  that nothing ever comes of them.

Somewhat to my surprise and relief, K didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day.  Since I was in such a foul mood and anybody who saw me would know it, this seemed like a good thing, until 5:01:22 when she was on her way out and she stopped short in front of my door, turned on her heel and accosted me.

“So what seems to be the problem now?” she asked hostilely.

“Nothing that has anything to do with you,” I replied, sullenly.

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard to tell with you these days,” she told me in a huff.  “I asked you a question this morning and you…”  Blah, blah, blah.  I don’t even actually know what she said after that.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” I replied in a way that was clear I really wasn’t sorry and that she shouldn’t be making a mountain out of this  particular mole hill, although it was clearly already too late.

“Yeah, well.  Things have been weird between us for a while now, so I just thought I’d take this opportunity to tell you that I’m just not going to talk to you any more.”

I glared up at her.  “I just got through telling you that it’s got nothing to do with you, but it’s clear that something is going on, so NOW  REALLY FEELS LIKE THE RIGHT TIME FOR THIS?”

“Nope,” she replied.  “I’m just telling you.”  And she stormed off.

I have a tendency to assume that I’m to blame for these things.  I tend to look at it over and over and find all kinds of ways in which I could have done something wrong that I should be sorry about.  But you know what?  Not this time.  K’s question was insignificant.  It was asked over technology which is notorious for failing at the randomest of times.  She doesn’t know if I even saw her question, let alone what my motivation was for not answering.  She made no further attempt to ask it.  If she really was my friend she would have picked up on my OBVIOUSLY BAD MOOD and either steered clear, or God  forbid, asked me if I was OK.  But she didn’t.  She sat at her desk all day long  and fumed over the slight that she perceived I had sent her way.  And then instead of realizing that I had something going on that she clearly didn’t know about or understand, she lashed out at me.

The last time we had a “falling out”, it sort of got better.  She’s right, things  have been “weird” between us, because I couldn’t let us fall back into the  same old patterns and she was trying really hard to do just that.  But we had found a place to be friendly, if not truly friends.  This time, we’re done.  She’s too much work (and I probably am too).  She’s too high maintenance, and really not worth the effort.  But no matter how better off I might be, this was still a really bad time for her to pull that stunt.

Tuesday, I got a call from a recruiter for a reputable property management company that I’ve applied to more than once.  She had a Project Coordinator position to fill and wanted to discuss my background with me a bit further.  The outcome of that conversation was the same as dozens of others.  I don’t have any practical experience running projects and I’m not qualified for a position like that.  Those, by the way, are her words, not mine.  So, I get it.  I’m never going to be a Project anything.  I’m not qualified to do anything I like and I can’t make enough money to live doing anything I am qualified for.  I’m cornered in this shit-hole of a job, without even any viable options  outside of my department.  I’m totally and completely trapped.

Through all this, I haven’t really had it in me to go to the gym.  I still have the greatest of intentions, but getting up so early in the morning has just been unthinkable and going after work hasn’t even been on the agenda.  Apparently, I now think of myself as a morning gym person and going in the evenings isn’t really an option, except I haven’t been going in the morning.  I did go for my Monday night session with Tawaiin though.  I paid for it after  all; I should take advantage of it.  But I wasn’t in the mindset of being there.  And my body wasn’t interested either.  I struggled a lot with what he had me  doing and by the end of the session, I wanted to deck him.  I felt like he was  pushing me, mentally, too hard, and I was not pleased.  Add to that the fact that its Easter/Girl Scout Cookie season and I’ve been eating some very  delicious chocolate-y things that, of course, I should not be.  I haven’t really gained any weight (yet) but I haven’t lost any either and he’s supposed to  take measurements and weigh me in next Monday.  I assume, that’s not going  to go well, and I’m not looking forward to dealing with it… which only makes me want more chocolate-y things and more liquor-y things.

In the midst of all this, I had two back to back nights of dreams.  Really lovely things that made me feel warm and gooey inside and happy to be alive… until I woke up and realized that not only were they just dreams, but they were about as far from ever being reality as spontaneous self propelled human flight.

I’m done.  I’m just so done.  I don’t want to do this anymore.  I don’t want to fight this anymore.  I’ve spent so much time and energy believing that there must be something better out there and it’s just a matter of finding it…  There’s not.  I know that now.  There’s nothing in this world worth sticking around for.  Except, wouldn’t you know it.  I’m too much of a wimp, even, to rectify that.

I’m just–

I don’t know.

As I write this something is happening, about which I should be happy… But I’m not.

Someone I care very deeply for, is experiencing, what his hopefully, the best day of her life, the fulfillment of a long standing desire, the beginning of a whole new phase of her existence.  She’s getting everything she wanted and I  should be thrilled for her.  …for her.  For her, I suppose I am happy, it’s just really hard to see.  That happiness, for her is grossly eclipsed by the sadness  and the loss that I feel for myself.  It’s over-shadowed by the selfishness I’m feeling and it’s completely drowned out by the disgust I feel for myself for feeling this way.

My dearest, closest friend, in all the world, is getting married right now and I’m not there and I’m not happy.

For a long time, I thought I might be in love with Heather, or at least could be, given half a chance.  She’s the only woman I’ve ever felt that way about and for a time, when I first accepted I was gay, I thought she was the  exception to the rule.  Like, somehow, if she was only in love with me, gender and genitalia wouldn’t matter to me, we could be happy and live a long beautiful life together.  Who knows, that might even be true, but she isn’t in love with me and never has been.

In recent times I’ve learned a few things about myself and my life.  I’ve come to realize that my feelings about Heather are based in something else  entirely.  I do love Heather and I believe she does love me, but the reasons  for that love aren’t based in romance or physical attraction.  I won’t presume to speak to what her feelings are based in, I can only speak about my own.  Heather is unlike anyone I have ever known, and the reason that my  relationship with her has been so important, so vital to my existence, isn’t  because we’re soul mates, it isn’t because we’re meant to be together, it isn’t  because she’s my “one true love”.  The reason our relationship has been so important is because of who I am when we’re together.

Heather is the only person in my life who has wanted to know me.  She’s the only person who has paid attention and made the effort to get in, to break  through the walls.  Heather is insightful.  She knows when I’m not being  honest, even with myself and she pushes me to dig deeper.  Heather is the  only person I’ve ever known who has never judged me nor condemned me, never made me feel like I was “less than”, always encouraged me and accepted me exactly where I was and for exactly who I was.  There are things about my relationship with Heather that are nearly impossible to put into  words.  When I’m around Heather I feel like a better person.  When I’m with  Heather I don’t fear being honest (or at least not as much as I do all the rest of the time.)  With Heather, I feel like I’m “enough”.  With Heather, it’s OK for me to be who I am, how I am, where I am, and however I feel.  In Heather’s eyes, I’m worthy, just because I’m me.

The thing is, when I’m with Heather and someone else all of that disappears and I’m the same fearful, insecure, unwanted, unworthy, closed off, walled up man that I am all the rest of the time.

When I moved to California twelve years ago, I thought I’d never see Heather again.  I didn’t know that her Grandparents lived relatively local to my current location and that she came to visit them every year the week of Thanksgiving.  So when she called me the first year and asked if I wanted to get together with her, I was ecstatic and jumped at the opportunity.  I spent much of the day with her, her infant son and her parents, which was fine because I know and like her parents.  We had dinner at her Grandparent’s house and after she and I were able to go off alone together and spend the evening, just the two of us.  It was great and I was just sorry that it couldn’t  happen more often.  Every year since, I have gone to San Jose the day after  Thanksgiving to hang out with Heather, and at least part of the day, some  portion of her family.  Some years it was even just the two of us.

Heather met Joe several years ago and she fell pretty hard for him.  She would come with her family for her annual trips to visit the Grandparents and while Joe stayed behind, they texted and telephoned pretty regularly.  Heather spoke frequently and fondly about Joe.  She told me all about him,  sparing very few details and giving the bad with the good.  I didn’t like him.  I was sure this was a short term thing, it couldn’t possibly last.  The important thing was that we were getting our one day a year together.

Four years ago, Joe came to California with Heather.  She wanted him to meet her Grandparents.  She wanted him to meet me and for me to meet him.  She wanted to show him the sites in California.  Suddenly, our one day a year, some portion of which would be just the two of us, was gone.  I didn’t have  any alone time with my best friend.  Joe had the nerve to be a nice and  likeable enough guy, which pissed me off immensely, but it didn’t change the  fact that he was in the way.  Suddenly, I had to share Heather with him and  that was not cool.  But Heather told me that they planned an every other year arrangement where he would come out with her one year and stay home the  next, so all was not lost, we’d still have some alone time.  This arrangement didn’t sound especially permanent to me and I was OK with that.  Likeable or not, Joe was in my way and I was having a hard time accepting that.

Joe didn’t come to California the next year, but he did come the year after that.  The following June (2009), he asked Heather to marry him and a count down to my worst fear was realized.  I’m afraid things will never be the same between Heather and me again.

It wasn’t financially or logistically possible for me to be at the wedding.  I didn’t have the money to pay for air fare, let alone a rental car and/or hotel.  I could have stayed with my mother, but frankly, I didn’t want to, and even if I did, I couldn’t be sure that I’d have access to her car today.  My only reason for being there would be Heather’s wedding, at which I would probably get all of five minutes to talk to her and the rest of the time, I’d be all alone, with no one I know to talk to.  It just wasn’t feasible and Heather swears she  understands and doesn’t mind. What we haven’t talked about, though I truly  believe she also knows, is that it’s too hard for me.  Weddings are not, in my  mind, the joyous events that everyone makes them out to be.  Weddings, for a bride and groom, are the start of something new and hopefully wonderful.  For everyone else, weddings are the end of something.  I’ve seen it happen  more than once.  People with whom, I felt I was close, had a one on one relationship with, meet someone and fall in love, get married and suddenly everything changes.

Weddings are an end.  They are an end of individuality, an end of freedom, an end of independence.  Maybe I’d feel differently about that if I were the one losing (or giving up) all those things, but as a third party who is none the less effected by that end…  Well, I don’t like it.  Women are worse than men, but  when a person gets married, she is no longer an “I”, suddenly she’s a “we” and it doesn’t even matter how you, the third party, feel about it:

(ring, ring)

Her:    Hello?

Me:     Hey, it’s me!  I’m in town for a couple days, thought you might like to get together for dinner or something?

Her:    Yeah, that sounds great!  Let me just check and see when we’re free.

Notice that “Me” didn’t ask if “you two” would like to get together.  But it doesn’t matter what “Me” wanted because “Her” only hears “you two” even when “only you” is what “Me” meant.

And there’s something else.  I’ve never been to a wedding where I wasn’t  jealous.  I know, that’s terrible for me to say, but it’s true.  Weddings mean love, and happiness, and acceptance, and joy, and support… And I don’t get any of that. Never have, never will.  And that was all when I thought I was  straight and “allowed” to get married.  NOW… Now, all of that is out of the  question!  And wrong as it may be of me, I can’t find it in me to be joyful  about someone else’s blessed event when I’ll never have one of my own.  I’m not just hurting and sad because this day is a reminder of what I’ve never felt worthy of, but now I’m bitter too, because even if I were worthy, I’m simply  not allowed… Not that any of that is Heather’s fault and I’m not blaming her, but the simple reality is it doesn’t matter who’s wedding it is, the implication is all the same.

This wedding is what Heather wanted.  This man—this life is what she’s set her  sights on for quite some time now, and the fact is, I am happy for her.  I just wish I was strong enough to let that be enough and I hate the fact that I’m  not, that I’m being so selfish as to not be able to set aside my own feelings and be joyful.  I’m angry that the pain and misery I’m feeling about this is so  strong, so powerful that I can’t experience anything else.

And there’s more.  There’s so much
more….