The Beginning

Even with the surface barely scratched, the depths attempt to rise.

This is scary.

So I write a little bit, and it brings up memories.
Of course, these kinds of memories, emotional ones, I don't know if anyone wants to hear about.

But I'm hoping that there is a benefit, to me at least, that much of which I write about is in the past. It allows me to encapsulate events in one entry. Maybe I can then look from long after and see how that series of events might have affected the course of my life.

Is there a name for this? I hope it's not "A Book of Regrets" because I'll just stop right now.
I'm thinking it's more something that will help me be more comfortable with who I am, and then continue onward and upward.

There's another benefit to the online sharing of all this stuff. Other people. Other lives, similarly shared. Some for better, some for worse. Sometimes, one person's moment stimulates another's memory.

Just moments ago, I read an understandably emotional post by Daigle over at Snug Fit Bottom. It's deep understandable love stuff, and the good kind, I think. But I got really sappy sad for two reasons, one being the post. But it was the second reason that shocked me: He posted a song along with it.

I had long forgotten a weekend on a campground with 50-100 other schoolmates (co-ed) during junior high school. At that age, a lot of kids suddenly began noticing their emotional attractions, and on this weekend there was a lot of making out going on. It was that very weekend I also had my first pangs of mature affection and my first realization that I was, in this respect, unquestionably and utterly alone in the world.

There were two songs that bound up that weekend. The Beatles "And I Love Her" was sung and played by one of the teachers, in a fireplace lit room where all of us were sitting around together. That's where I realized my affections to one of the other boys.

The other song was when the teacher decided the boys should go serenade the girls after everyone had gone to bed. So all the boys stood outside the girl's cabin on a crisp starlit night and sang, with guitar, "Leaving on a Jet Plane". I was dying on the inside, because I knew something about this was all wrong for me. I was not part of this group; I just happened to be standing there with them.

It was, of course, me being gay and seeing it for the first time, though I wouldn't understand it or claim it for many years.

I was curled in a ball for a few hours crying. One of the teachers came in to try and help me. No one knew in the 80s to look for this, and I didn't know how to express it to anyone. I wish I could go back and help me through that night.

I am so glad Daigle was introduced to this song in the way it was intended.
For me, it dug up a memory I'd packed away in a box somewhere. I got sad for a sec, then I was pissed.
If I actually knew Daigle at all, which I don't, I would have casually thrown nasty notes his way for making me all sad, too.

But it’s good. Now I remember some of the first steps I had taken on what began as a very lonely path.
I've dealt with these issues for a long time. A long time.

Damn.

[Update] Right when I was writing this, Daigle actually up and comments on almost every one of my posts. Wow! Probably cause I left a comment on his post. Well, now that I at least hardly know him: "you fucking bastard, ya made me cry!!" ;) There, that's done.