love? live. learn!

Tell a child from the day it is born that is wonderful, that it is loved, that it is beautiful, good, and important. While that child will not grow up to be perfect, it will, more than likely, grow up with an amazing sense of self and display many of the afore mentioned qualities—as long as there were actions that validated the words. Tell a child that it is worthless, stupid, purposeless, and revolting. While that child may not live up or down to each of those standards, it will struggle its entire life with feeling like those words were as good as prophesies. Trust me, I have seen it over and over again with the beautiful kids I work with.
Now, tell a society that a certain subset of the population is an abomination. Tell them that those people are damned, and damned for good reason. They are drug addicts, deceivers, liars, disease infested, whorish, unable to love one person truly, in short, evil—of course they are damned. Now continue to tell those things to an entire society when you are unsure which part of the population they will become. Is it any wonder that so many a homosexual person grows up with feelings of self-hate and revulsion? Is it any wonder that they feel they must sleep with anything that moves in order to feel something? Is it any wonder there are so few monogamous relationships in the gay community? It is any wonder that homosexual teens are winning the race in suicide? Tell someone that they must smother who they are if they are to be loved by God. Tell someone that God loves them, but, unless they change, that love will send them to Hell. Tell someone everyday they are hideous, broken, corrupted, evil, fucked. Now expect them to be well-adjusted, happy, and moral.

I met Carlos when I was twenty four. He told me he was twenty-six. I found out later he was really twenty-nine. I was still in therapy trying desperately hard to be straight. I had never had a relationship with anyone. I had decided that I wanted to know and find out first hand what a relationship would look like.
We had our first date. He stayed the night. He stayed for two years. After that, he moved back home with his parents. There was no courtship, no ‘getting to know you’ phase, there was nothing. Just two hurting, lonely men wanting to feel loved and special. Now there you go, judging again. Yes, he moved in on the first date. Blah, blah, blah. I know, those zany gay people. You think that doesn’t happen in the straight world? Let’s ask Brittney Spears, J. Lo, and Charlie Sheen. Oh, not normal enough examples for you? Well, who am I fooling? There is not one part of this that was normal, intelligent, or real. However, I had no frame of reference, and he had his own demons he was battling. He was a very sweet man, at times. He was and still is, to this day, one of the most talented artists I have ever seen. He could be great, if he ever chooses to.
I was in a delirium. I had a boyfriend. I went from twenty-four years of being single to having a boyfriend, not even a girlfriend, but a boyfriend. He called me sweetie. He was home when I got home, most of the time. He called twenty times a day. He let me take care of him. He told me he loved me.
Within the first week, I had to leave work in the middle of the day to rush him to the emergency room. He thought he was having a heart attack—in the middle of a screaming match with his mother on the phone. There were several times he thought he was having a heart attack. Apparently panic attacks can often resemble more deadly malfunctions. In addition, they also have the power to stop the entire universe and draw all the attention and importance upon the recipient. Starving children in Africa? Sorry, no food for you right now. There is a panic attack happening, go play with a mosquito. Maybe I should be more kind. I have had a few horrific panic attacks myself. They are scary; however, life still goes on when they are finished. He also started not feeling so well on our second day together. We had to go home and cancel our plans while he tried to sleep it off. I loved every minute of it. I had someone to take care of. Someone needed me. Someone who cared if I came home or not. After all, I had placed the sign in front of my condo five months ago and no one had answered until Carlos: “Available: short red-head. Doubles as a doormat. Flourishes with mental stress and manipulation. Will stay by your side as long as you consistently name call, take advantage and dictate. Full money back guarantee if not fully satisfied. Sign on bonus if you have the ability to be verbally abusive and make him apologize for brining it upon himself. Apply today. Supplies limited.” I had written in with rainbow glitter. Shocking it took so long to get a response.

I went to meet Douglas during his lunch hour from the bank he managed. We ate at a Noodles and Company. Douglas has been one of my dearest and most trusted friends for several years. We both have similar family backgrounds based around church and Christianity. We also had spent the majority of our lives battling our sexuality and doing everything possible to be healed and discover our true, God-given heterosexuality. Douglas had even gone so far as to have had an exorcism to free him from the demons that bound him. Either there are no demons or their lease upon his soul is not yet up for renegotiation. He is the type of person who at first glance, most people think of as shallow. He is pretty. He has done modeling. Therefore, brain-dead and soulless, or so you might think. We would discuss philosophy and emotions for hours. We would go out to eat and explore our lives with each other. We would watch “Friends” at my home until we both were asleep on the couch. I would watch in bafflement as Douglas switches from a dignified banker to a ridiculous goofball who makes elephant noises with his mouth to startle people. He has always been a consistent dose of sanity and joy in my life. Once I started living with Carlos, my time with Douglas (and everyone else) came to a near screeching halt. This lunch was almost like seeing a person who you used to know so well, but now felt a melancholy sense of loss around. I was the one who had changed, not him. I could feel him trying to find his old friend in this shell who looked like someone he used to know.
We were nearly done with lunch when my cell phone rang. It was Carlos. I almost answered, but Douglas and I were wrapping up our conversation and then he was going to show me his new branch. It would take five minutes, tops. I had already taken so much of my friendship away; I could not be rude right now. It went to voicemail. We pay for lunch and he begins to show me his new branch. The phone began to ring again. Carlos. I started to get nervous. I knew this was not good. He was going to be so mad. In one of my rare defiant moments, I again did not answer the phone. He knew I was having lunch with Douglas; I had told him. He could wait two more minutes. Still I could not focus on anything Douglas was saying. I just wanted to get to my car so I could call Carlos back before some damage was done. I rush through the last few minutes and nearly sprint to my car. Please don’t let me be too late. Please don’t let me be too late.
“Hello!” My voice sounds cheerful and pleasant. Not a trace of the panic that is happening inside.
“What were you doing?” Harsh, angry.
“I just had lunch with Douglas, remember. It was really nice. We have not got to hang out in so long.”
“Whatever. I’m not stupid. You were not having lunch. You didn’t even answer your phone. You didn’t even have it on you!” Click. Dead air.
Damn it!!!! I knew it. I was too late. Tears are coming. I call him back. “What do you mean I didn’t have my phone? I just didn’t answer it. We were about to wrap up and he was showing me his new branch. I didn’t want to be rude, so I knew I would call you back in just a few minutes.”
“You and your dumb ass friends. They are so fucking white. I can’t stand Douglas, or any of your gay friends. Either way, you are such a pathetic liar. I know you were fucking around. Either with him or with someone else. You’re an ass!” Click.
He would not answer his phone. I call again and again and again. Still no answer. I am completely panicked. He is going to leave me. Why didn’t I just answer the damn phone? This could have all been avoided. I am such an idiot. I drive as fast as I dare to get back to the condo. I pray he is still at home and that he will talk to me.
I run up the stairs to my condo and fling open the door. He is not in the living room. I tear into his bedroom. He is in bed.
“What are you doing? Why the fuck are you even here? Go off to one of your boys. Go fuck one of them.” His face to the wall.
“Carlos! What are you talking about? I am not cheating on you. I was with Douglas. I am sorry I did not answer the phone. I am sorry. I wasn’t trying to ignore you.” I sit on the edge of his bed, tears streaming. I touch his arm to have him face me. He jerks away and sits up.
“Fuck you!” The look of disgust is one I have seen many times from him, and it only hurts worse every time. “Do really think I am this stupid? You are just like my last two boyfriends. They said they loved me and were fucking around on me too. You are just like them. Lying, worthless piece of shit! Fuck off and get the fuck out of here!”
“Babe, please. Just listen to me. I am sorry. I have never cheated on you. I don’t want to. I couldn’t even do that. Please just calm down.”
“FUCK OFF!!!”
“Why are you so mean to me all the time? Why don’t you trust me? Everyone trusts me. Everyone knows I don’t lie. Ever! Why is it that my boyfriend, of all people, is the one who doesn’t really even know who I am and know that he can trust me!?!” Sobbing.
“Just go fucking die and get away from me!”
He never stayed angry for too long. While not done intentionally, he never really liked to see me cry, and if I cried long enough, he would come around and believe that I was not lying and cheating, or at least say that he believed. He considered his jealousy to be a product of his love for me and his passionate Latino blood. I was white and could not feel emotions as truly and deeply as he could. He always loved my red hair and my pale white skin. I also think I he hated my pale white skin. At least, it kept me from being as good of lover and person as he was.