The Last Time I Fell, pt.3 - end

OK, my friends.

One more post from "Serious Sally" and then we can just play around for a while.

But I had to complete what I started.

And yes, again, it is long.

However, it is the end of this story, so you all can rejoice!

To skip the sappy stuff, you can jump to my interviews of Sixshooter, Spider and Cement Brunette. Coming soon, interviews with: Joseph, JJD, and Jeff (in crayon).

--
(part 1)

(part 2)

I can tell you, this part is the hardest to piece together.
And the hardest to tell.

Because I don't understand all that happened, why I did the things I did, and didn't say the things I didn't. It's more stretched out – no one defining incident.

Over a full year, a new reality developed. How I got from beginning to end made sense as the year progressed, step-by-step. But at the end of it, I found it was impossible to understand, looking back from the end, how I’d gotten here.
--

Perceived Rejection
After we had our conversation, and he knew I was gay, I felt raw. I was uncertain what to do next. He was the first person I really shared this with. He held my secret.

It could have all been a good thing.

But here is what began to happen:
We didn’t really talk about it at all, afterwards.
I think he was uncomfortable - and so was I.

But this allowed my mind to wander.
For so many years, my mind was very good at wandering.

And here it is:
As supportive as he was that night, I felt telling him I was gay revealed weakness. Now when he looked at me, talked to me, I began to sense he had put me down a peg in his respect. I was lower than before.

I don't know if any of that was true. But without any further discussion to tell me otherwise, I began to believe it.

And confirming my fears, he became more distant over the weeks and months.

I didn't consider why he was quieter or moodier.
I was selfish enough to know it was all about me.
I only saw him being uncomfortable when I was around, so it was obviously because I was gay. Was something bothering him which had nothing to do with me? I couldn’t imagine what. I was gay and that was bad enough. It had to be that, right?

That's how wrapped up I became in my "problem" – I couldn't see anyone else's.

And from this perceived rejection and judgment, I became angry.

And this anger mixed with a deep affection was something I was used to.
I felt it in the past with my former unreturned loves.
--

It’s safer if he is not there
And so, I began to walk down the road I'd traveled so often.

With my past "loves", once I knew they were not going be part of my life, I couldn't look them in the eye again. It hurt me deep to be in their presence.

So to protect myself, I cultivated the art of Selective Elimination.

And it worked this way:
In a room full of people I know, the person in question was no longer there.
In my mind, I erased them from the room.
That's the game I played to feel safe again.
The guy I feel so strongly about and hurt by is… just… not… there.
It was not conscious. It was automatic. Reptilian.

What was is like to be treated that way by me?
Suddenly and completely locked out of another's existence.
Only a lucky few know.
My high school crush might have noticed.
The Kid definitely felt it.
And now I was doing it to a friend that I cared so much for.

And it’s sad. Because it never made me feel any better. I had just grown used to this deeply flawed defense mechanism, the only one I had.
And deep inside me, there was someone who cared, always calling out, “Don’t do this thing. Talk to him. Please, please, stop.”

So here I was condemning him to this treatment.

And it was new for me, since I wasn't in love with him. I just cared about him more than anyone else, but was even more afraid to show it. Cause, ya know, I'm gay.

But, love or no love, I did that to my friend – who was fast becoming a stranger.
--

We are nowhere
Months pass. We are distant.

Somewhere, somehow, we talk once… I don't remember how we started… I wanted to re-connect… He sort of did too, but too much time had passed… I remember him saying:

"I don't know if it will be the same any more."

Which struck pretty deep.

But nothing changed with me. I still don't know why.
Someone to whom I opened up a part of my life, as I had no one before - and I couldn't just sit down with him and tell him what my deal was.

And at this stage, I don’t think he cared anymore.

So it turned into a daily sadness. When I'd see him come and go, I could already sense the loss. I couldn't understand how we'd gotten from that night of understanding, not all that long ago, to this…this world of deadness.

It probably would have lingered on and on for me.
We were nowhere… He had his life, I had mine.
I just regretted that we were not in each other’s world like once before.
--

A desparate time for him
Then, a smack in the face to me.

But, for him, a deep depression.
A cry for help.
Brought to a place I never expected him to be.

I had no idea.

If I'd been part of his world I might have seen it.
But I had no idea.
And I did not know why.

In a brief and awkward moment, he said it had nothing to do with me. It was a family thing.
And I understood how foolish and selfish I had been.

Because, in all these months, I had worried about me-and-him, but had stopped caring about just him.

Something in the world had been tearing him apart.

But I was too blinded by what amounted to self-hate to see it.

Sitting alone in my room, I stared blankly at the wall.
How did this happen?

I understood that this time would have been the chance to return the favor he’d shown me long ago. Blasted my way in his room, locked the door, and forced him to vent at me, shout out whatever was going on in his life, family, loves, hates, whatever was eating him. Let him yell or beat me to a pulp but I wouldn’t leave. That’s what I should have done.

But by pushing us so far apart for so long, I’d lost the right to do that.

No one saw it coming.
I should have, in a different life.

So, in sympathy, in penance, and in selfishness, I acted in a way I never had before and, though for different reasons and with more determination, only one time since.

I played at taking the steps which he had, thankfully, avoided.
--

I play
In my room, I broke open a bic razor onto the carpeted floor of my room.
I sifted out the metal shards from the plastic fragments.

And I passed the tiny blades over my wrists.

I scraped them over and over and over, lightly at first, more firmly as I adapted to the stinging. I became able to barely let some blood run…

Which was enough for one night.

And for two more nights, I repeated.

There would be no scars at all. But for the days until these lines on my wrists fell off with the other dead skin, they were visible to me.

They were a reminder.

I had fucked up.
--

I fall
So then, what could make this story worse?

Well, as the next months passed, these were the connections that formed in my head.

I cared so much for him, I wanted to know what was wrong.
I cared so much for him, I wanted to just know him better than I had.
I cared so much for him, that knowing he might dislike me for who I was made me angry.
The only others who caused this conflict in me, were those with whom I had fallen in love.
So I realized, I had fallen in love with him.
--

I crumble
So even as he is coming back to normal, I freshly find I am back to not being able to look in his face, talk to him, acknowledge his presence.

It’s worse than before. I love him. I want to hear about his deep feelings. I want to be there for him.

One rare time, he is lying down in his room.
I force myself to knock on his door.

“Can we talk?”
“What is there to talk about?”
What should I have expected him to say?
I really don’t know how I got it out – did I actually say “I love you”?
I don’t remember.

I only remember the response, as I was crouched down on the floor near his bed.
I saw him look away down the bed, out the window and say,

“I wish I could help you.”


I dragged myself up, heaved myself to my room, closed my door, curled in my bed, and, of course, sobbed myself to sleep. Which was good, since through this whole bad year, I don’t think I had ever let it out until this moment.

And it must have been bad. For the first time ever, I woke up sobbing. I felt like I’d been crying in my sleep. And maybe I was, because I could swear I heard him yell through the drywall that we shared,

“I can’t help you!”

But I might have just been dreaming.

Weeks later, I’m insanely playing the loudest music I had at the loudest setting.
In between CDs, I thought I heard my name and then, “talk to me!”

Which I chalked up, once again, as a product of a fevered imagination, and put on Nails’ Pretty Hate Machine.
--

I am gone
In my own recovery from these days, I took steps I should have taken long ago.

I spent my last few months of college finally, at long last, talking to other gay guys, and for the first time, going out to bars and seeing that there were other guys out there. Drinking, dancing, laughing. All gay!

No bullshit to deal with! (ok, I was naive)

And suddenly, I felt like the world had opened up to me. All this time, there were so many guys out there where we could at least skip the part about “I wonder if he has the same feelings I have… Can I ever tell him?”

While this “going out” phase did not ease my feelings for my old friend, they did lessen the sting.

One last night of contact:
It’s a Sunday night. A big night at one of the clubs in town. One of my new friends picks me up at the house.
My other housemates are sitting watching TV, because, fer chrissakes, it’s Sunday night. Who goes out partying on Sundays?

As I’m flipping on my jacket about to go out the door, my old friend calls out.
“So, where are you going?”
And it was darkly asked in an unusually level voice. Not menacing. But something.
Like he had resentments, too.

Somehow, I was surprised.

But, my superpowers held firm, and I never looked at him when I said,
“Out.”
--

The way is shut
Many months later, long after I had graduated, just a while after I really had tried to off myself, I had the freak chance to see him one last time.

I think he never knew – or so I hope.
My folks happened to stop at a strip mall to pick something up at a Kinkos. I waited outside.
And there he was inside the copy shop, doing some project for himself. Working on the computer, getting up to look at a printout for whatever we was getting done.

Just the way I remembered. Tall, black leather jacket, blue jeans, black boots, intense look – always intense.

And I felt the old pangs of regret.
But, I had been learning the art of suppressing painful emotion, keeping it in a chokehold until safe and alone.

Walking in through the glass doors was not even an option.

For me, the way was shut.
--

Afterword
I said somewhere back that I did not want this site to be a “book of regrets”.

But here, in this longass story, is what I can easily say is my biggest regret.

Almost nothing compares in the feelings of wrongness I have for this.

This was someone I really cherished. Someone who I thought could have kept a real and special bond with me. And I let it fall.

I do indeed regret that.

And in that regret is a realization that I’m only having as I write this:
I was not 'in love' with him.

From beginning to end, I loved him as I always had.
I loved him so deeply, as a true friend does, though now only in legend.
In the ancient days, a deep and true friendship of love, admiration, devotion, and loyalty was considered a blessing.

In reality, the only similarity to being 'in love' was that I wanted a kiss, real and true.
Because, that’s how my strongest connections are made.
Through a kiss.

But, today, all of that is considered “acting gay”.
And so, of course, with him I did not know how to act or what to think.
And I found myself with love and anger at someone who had only been good to me.

And so it ended.
--

I am hoping that you now have a happy life. And that you have someone who loves you and admires you, tolerates and corrects you, encourages you and humbles you, pushes you away and pulls you into their arms. Someone with which to share your life.

If you have that, I’d be happy.

My only wish is that I could have been with you as a friend on your journey there.