October 1999

When I wake up every morning and slowly slide out of my bed, I think about what it would feel like to wake up in another boy's arms. I wonder how his skin would feel, how his hair would look. I wonder what he would say to me in the cold half light of the dawn. All these thoughts rush through my head and I sit, naked, on the edge of my bed and wish that I wouldn't have to wonder any longer; that I could really know what being that close to another boy feels like. I find myself wishing, as the cold washes through me, that I was with so many of the beautiful boys who have drifted past me. Wishing that I could know the full depth of another boy's love and understand what it means to be in love with a real flesh and blood boy like me, not infatuated with pictures in a magazine.

All of my friends say, "Oh, you'll find the right one some day." The more I think about how alone I feel, the more that possibility seems to fade. The darkness in the back of my soul wells up and speaks, " Ugly! No boy could EVER love you. You're just plain and boring." I know that these poisonous words of self-hatred are not true but it is hard to win a fight against that cold, implacable voice. The more I let the depression take over, the angrier I become with myself. It's a vicious cycle that feels like it will devour me some days.

Lately, things have been less tumultuous. I am starting to accept that I am valuable and that when my time is right, a boy's love will find me. It can be a difficult, obstacle laden road to walk down but I am realizing that I would never want be anything but gay.


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