[I wrote this in my journal today and thought I would put it out there to see if anyone here can identify.] In my romanticized memory of my childhood, I was a beautiful little boy. I was loving, curious, creative and focused. Adults loved me because I seemed like a small adult, embodying the potential they idealized in children. I loved my parents, especially my mother. There’s a photo of her from back then, sitting in a grassy field and looking idyllic. I wanted to run up to her and hug her and curl up in her arms. I felt isolated from the other kids. I lived in my own little world of books and imagination. I never had any interest in sports or typical children’s games. Of course I wanted to be included, but most of their activities and conversations made no sense to me. When I was very young (age 5-6) I had a friend in my apartment building, an Argentine girl about my age. We played Superman; I rescued her. Rescuing women has always been a theme in my life. I felt good about being the hero. I’m sure there was a darker aspect to all this; we all know that children can be incredibly vicious and entertain very dark thoughts. But the adult mind screens out the bad stuff and tends to romanticize childhood. I distinctly remember my first sexual experience. Two of my friends lent me a video tape of a cheesy 80s porn. They had been talking about masturbation and I’d been lying to pretend I was in the know. I watched the video and touched myself, figuring it out as I went. I remember distinctly the appearance of semen when it finally came out. I was totally surprised by this alternate substance coming out of my penis. But I got over that pretty quick and began a typical adolescent boy’s obsessive masturbation. I was fascinated by porn and the forbidden. We shoplifted Playboy and Penthouse; I downloaded porn when it was just ASCII characters. I did always prefer Penthouse since there were spreads with men in them; solo women or girl-on-girl was less exciting. The images of overt female sexuality that I saw were completely out of sync with my perception of girls. The girls I knew were distant and remote and achingly beautiful. I couldn’t reconcile the two. In hindsight I can see how much I idealized them. I remember desperately wanting the approval of older boys, like camp counselors. But I was always self-conscious about this; it seemed inappropriate or weak to want another man’s approval. The idea of sexual contact with a man never entered my mind. I had never heard of homosexuality, and the thought did not present itself. My fantasies were exclusively heterosexual. When I hit puberty (around the time of the first masturbation experience, probably age 12 or so), things started to change. I felt depressed and disconnected. I found it hard to get out of bed or focus on things. I had long, obsessive crushes on girls. I idealized and romanticized them as I had my mother. I wanted them to love me, and I would love and protect them. I’m sure I came off as stalkery or weird. I had no concept of what a woman wanted or how I should behave to gain their affections. I recall looking at all the popular boys and feeling envious of them, trying to understand what women saw in them. Maybe this was my way of of being attracted to them without owning those feelings. I dressed weird, but in no particular way that conformed to any style that I could identify (although the result was probably similar to a hippie). It was always important to me not be associated with any social sect, thought I desperately craved inclusion. There has always been a very strong anti-authoritarian/non-conformist streak in my personality. From an early age, it was clear to me that religion was bullshit, and eventually I felt the same way about politics, social rituals, traditions, and procreation. All these institutions seem oppressive to me, and I’ve always been amazed at how many people are hoodwinked into participating in them. This observation has given me a very dim view of human nature — how could people be so weak and stupid? I do realize that this perspective has the self-serving benefit of making me feel superior but, to this day, I treat those topics with a bemused condescension. At the same time, I found myself drawn to nurturing male figures — teachers, therapists, “wise men.” I have a profound respect for wisdom and individual judgement, which is my alternative to the groupthink I despise in general. Around girls, I felt a pressure to perform, to be a man, in a way that I didn’t really understand. It was always easier around girls who had boyfriends; I felt I could be myself around them since that pressure wasn’t there. My first girlfriend (age 16) was at math & biology camp. She was the blond valedictorian of her all-girls Catholic high school. She was dating another boy at the program for awhile — a taller, more masculine boy who I admired. But we talked and flirted a lot when he wasn’t around. Eventually she dumped him to be with me. I was excited by this new opportunity and responsibility. I also really wanted to have sex; it seemed like a major milestone that I should achieve, and I was proud that I got there before any of my friends. Even in that first relationship, the push-pull dynamic was there. I yearned to be with her when we were apart, but felt pressure and obligation when she came to visit. When I discovered we were both going to the same college I was disappointed; it felt like a yoke and a burden. I wanted to explore and be free, but I felt trapped by the relationship. We broke up a few months into college. I began drinking a lot more and became ever more isolated. My college (a fairly waspy school in the Northeast) was a weird place for a city kid. I moved into an off-campus house that seemed to espouse my non-conformism. It was there that I had my first realization that I might be gay. A gay guy in the house slipped me a crush note. I politely responded that I was flattered but not interested; this just seemed like the thing to do. But the thought invaded my mind. Soon I was having powerful fantasies of being fucked. I masturbated with various objects (mostly bottles) and the orgasms I had were intense and temporarily relieved my constant anxiety, but filled me with shame and confusion. There were never any real people in those fantasies, just me getting fucked. I basically split that part off — it was something I could not own. In my panic, I told my parents I thought I was bisexual. I wrote a letter to a girl that I’d had a crush on in high school telling her I was gay (probably as a way of explaining to myself why I had never made a move). I told my friends. I wanted others to normalize it for me; inside it felt anything but normal. The rest is history: reparative therapy, alcohol/drug abuse, half-hearted attempts to join the gay scene in NYC, more therapy with a nice gay shrink, an increasing distance from my male friends, the compulsive pursuit of women and the promise of intimacy and safety. My basic patterns haven’t changed much over the years: - The longing for intimacy and safety and warmth with a woman (mother?) - The disconnect from men while yearning for their approval - Being drawn to nurturing male figures — teachers, therapists (father?) - The split-off passive sex fantasies (which have since become more dominant — perhaps it’s bottom shame?) The collateral damage of this inner conflict has been largely invisible to others. It’s mostly what I don’t do — I’ve basically stopped engaging with life. I don’t go out much. I don’t read, I don’t draw, I don't exercise much. I just channel my energy into work and mindless pursuits like video games. Now, I have a wife who is an ideal partner for me in many ways; our marriage is very loving and intimate, and yet I’m completely stuck. The conflict is not resolved and I am forced to admit that I can’t really move forward until it is. It seems like the best course of action is to go and explore my identity/sexuality, but it’s not really clear how to do that. And the cost is very high: ending my relationship with my wife. I want to be her hero, just as I did as a little boy. Abandoning that cause is unbelievably heartbreaking to me, like Batman realizing he can no longer fight crime and keep his promise to the citizens of Gotham city.
"I felt isolated from the other kids. I lived in my own little world of books and imagination. I never had any interest in sports or typical children’s games. Of course I wanted to be included, but most of their activities and conversations made no sense to me." Nerdbrain I've felt that same isolation as I related to adults much more than other kids. Thanks for sharing your journal. I'm going to re-read it a few times to make sure I understand it more.
