How are you single?

I came out one night sitting down watching Dawson's Creek with my parents. There was this guy Jack who had just come out to Joey on the show. Mind you I was 16.  I just blurted it out "I'm gay" and then I burst into tears. At that moment all I could think of to do was flee, but my mom got up and hugged me and told me she had her suspicions. She had been in my bedroom and found some poetry I had written. I can't really remember what I had written, but I think it had to do with a man finding his lost lover or something like that. You see even at a young age, I've always been a dreamer when it came to love. My dad just sat there in a state of shock. He is who I was most afraid to find out, being very conservative and close minded, I didn't know how he would react.

I pulled away from my mother and ran into my bedroom. I needed time to compose myself. My face was wet, my heart was pounding, and I was shaking. It was the most impulsive thing I had done in my life, except for that fight I had months before.  At that time AOL had become the wave of the future and I had signed up for every gay chat you could think of, talking to other gay teenagers around the states, though for all I know I was talking to a pervert, but having NO ONE to talk to at the time I needed a resource. My dad came in to hug me and tell me he loved me and I would always be his son. I've never been very close to my father so to have him show affection was a bit strange to me...so I just shrugged him off and said, "yea ok dad thank you" and shooed him out of my room. I could hear them talking in the living room about me, but I didn't want to know what they were saying.

Ever since that day in 1996, I began my journey of dating men and the good and bad of relationships. I compare dating like a fight or flight response. If I'm seriously dating someone I enjoy being with I will be protective of that time I have with that person and fight for it to work out otherwise I will flee like the wind and in some cases it's because I just don't see it working or I close up my heart for fear of it being crushed. When I was a teenager dating was more fun and less serious. I was also naive and impossible to understand like any other teenager. I could fall in and out of love in an instant...well being a gay 16 year old, being in love was as simple as a hot guy smiling and saying hi to you. I felt like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing when she looks at Patrick Swayze and says, "I carried a watermelon," anyone who has seen that movie as much as I knows what I am talking about. In fact, come to think of it, I still act like that when I talk to a guy I think is incredibly handsome. Every bit of my confidence disappears and I say and do stupid shit.

Now that I am 14 years older you'd think I have learned my lesson by now and in some ways I have. I am no longer naive, but I do wear my heart on my sleeve and sometimes lose sight of what I want from a guy just because I find him physically attractive. I typically have great intuitions about men. If I think they are pricks most likely they are, but I will give them the benefit of the doubt (which I do with everyone I meet), only to kick myself a couple months later for having been right about them the whole time, but like I said I lose sight of what I am looking for just because when they smile I become jello.

Recently a guy had asked me, "How are you single?" Now I know this is supposed to be flattering and all, but it just annoys me. Like, thank you for reminding me that I am single. I will ask the last guy that I was interested in that question and we will see what he says. I'm certainly no saint and I never will lie and say I have never cheated or been ignorant with someones feelings. I most certainly have learned what an ass I was when the same thing happened to me. For instance, I never knew how selfish I could be by cheating until someone cheated on me. I looked at my ex boyfriend, my eyes beginning to swell with tears, and I said, "I am so sorry for the way I acted in our relationship."

Dating is one of the most puzzling things I have ever encountered in my lifetime. Really I find it mind boggling. Now, like I said, I am no saint but I'm never disrespectful, at least I really genuinely try not to be. I think everyone is attractive in there own way...Lid for every pot or whatever. My coworker always tells me I should write a book after some of the dates I have had or men I have dated. Between the guys who fall off the planet after a couple months, the ones who spend an entire date talking about how they aren't over their past relationships and look as though they are about to burst into tears (I wanna charge them for a therapy session), to ones who are flat out drunk when I arrive or high as a kite all the time. Now sure people might laugh and say maybe it was me...I was such a bad date or lay in some cases. I know my friends would cause they are allowed to be funny in that way, but I don't think so. I told my friend Kevin the other day about how I actually leave feeling so much better about myself as a person. Despite some insecurities I have, I'm a very level headed carefree fun person. If someone doesn't find me attractive or I'm not what they are looking for...big deal. I don't become jaded or defensive. That's life. I'll probably even try and remain friends with them or be cordial when I see them out, because there's no need to be a jerk.

My best friend told me that he hates dating. I enjoy it. I figure if it doesn't work out at least I was able to meet a potentially nice guy and possibly make a friend out of it. I mean that's how I met my best friend. We had a very awkward short drink at a bar and really had nothing to say to each other, but the next day we chatted and him being new to the city and me being the nice charming guy that I am *wink* *wink* I thought I'd befriend him and let him know that there was at least one guy in Boston that wasn't so bad. Well he came into my life at such a great time because it was right after my ex had broken my heart and I felt abandoned by many of my friends. I seriously don't think I would have been able to make it through that summer without him.

Do I want to be single? No, but I also certainly don't want to be in a relationship for the sake of being in one. I've been there, done that... What good does it do?...I mean the sex will start to be dull and I'll just start fantasizing about other men that I'd much rather be with. The grass will always be greener somewhere else. The relationship will inevitably fail. I could say that being single means I have the freedom to do whatever or whoever I want, but someone recently told me, after I was being pouty and whiny, that you know you've met the right guy when you don't have to sacrifice anything at all, that's when you know it will work. Now I believe him for the mere fact he is happily married with a beautiful adopted son. I've decided to live by this. My friends all laugh and say to me, "Craig stop rushing it. Stop looking." I totally get it and I'm not out to rush anything, but many of the gay men I know have no desire to start a family, they don't even want to date. They are perfectly content with with themselves and having casual sex. That is totally cool if it works for them, but it isn't me. I mean I love sex and I will have it when I want it, but I want more than a quick lay, a short cuddle, and then awkward, "Aright I'll see ya."

I've always been a dreamer when it comes to love. I'm Christian from Moulin Rouge. Seriously I could be singing on a rooftop screaming "Love is a many splendid thing....." I mean I won't, I am not crazy, but I could. People laugh at me..think I really am crazy..but I don't care. I want to find real love. As much as I am an optimist, I'm most definitely a realist as well. I'm an optimist in the fact that no matter how many times I stumble my way through dating or fall hard on the concrete that is love..and believe me I have been broken...I dust myself off and keep on going. I wouldn't say I'm actively looking, though my friends would say otherwise and they yell at me for it. I always believed I'd find the right guy the old fashioned way. I like hearing love stories of how people met...maybe it was young love or maybe at a party after being overseas...something sweet. I don't want someone to ask me how I met my husband and I'd have to lie because anything would be better than saying I met him on an iphone application where most guys go to hook up.

"You two look so cute together. How did you meet," Says random stranger
"Well, my husband asked me if I was "looking" on this iphone App Grindr, " I say.

My ex boyfriend and I met on one of those sites, but it was nothing like the above. On our first date I told him to meet me on the Lagoon Bridge in the Boston Public Garden. I thought maybe if we hit it off and we end up together I could propose to him there...where we first met. SEE I TOLD YOU! I'm a sappy lovestruck dork. But I'm happy being that way. Anyways not having any clue about the Boston Public Garden, he was at TD Garden...wasn't exactly the meeting I wanted, but hey on our second date he got it right. It's a shame we didn't work out as he was the most loyal and sweet boyfriend I have ever had and sexy as hell....but something was missing that I couldn't fix so I ended it whether it was the right choice I don't know. Ironically the one guy I did fall in love with a few years back took it upon himself to blow some dude in a  bathroom on our vacation while I waited for him outside. I guess that is just the way it goes.

My favorite finale of any television show was Six Feet Under...I must have watched it thousand times..sobbing. Truthfully..I sobbed. I felt like Claire the day I left for college, but what really touched me was how David saw his late husband, Keith, playing football, right before he passed away. Something in that moment made me lose it...because I want that so bad. Real love...but I won't settle for anything less. I want a family of my own. I want to teach my son or daughter about life, and love, and happiness. I want to leave a legacy behind.

Anyways "Why am I single?" Because as open as my heart is, there is only one guy who can find his way in, and I just haven't found him yet.

“It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.”

My decision to start blogging partly stemmed from an experience I recently had involving my inability to open up and trust someone. By the time I was ready to open up, it was too late. Someone else was able to do what I couldn't and I missed my chance to possibly grow closer to this person.

I was laying in bed one night upset with myself for not having the ability to be me and I realized that I don't even know me. I could stare at my reflection for hours and not really know the person looking back at me. It's a strange feeling that I don't believe I can fully describe, but I came to the realization that because I don't know me...no one else really has either. My whole life..my parents, my brother, boyfriends, friends... has anyone gotten to really see me for who I am?

Due to my experiences growing up, I think that I have become so afraid to be comfortable in my own skin and it does not have to do with anything physical. I am comfortable with my body...it's about who I am as a human being that I am disconnected from. Our mundane lives get in the way of us having the ability to dig deep inside ourselves...at least in mine. In my own life, I feel like everyone I know has only scratched the surface of who I am. Some have just not wanted to get to know me and I think that's a shame as I pride myself on treating everyone equally and I'm a caring guy. It isn't enough for me to go about what I see as a transparent everyday life. I want to have a deeper connection with a least one other person in my life. Hopefully someday that will be the man I marry. In the meantime, I want to have that connection with myself. Blogging has given me the opportunity to step back and write about my feelings and my experiences, allowing me to understand myself better and to allow others to get to know me on a deeper level.

“It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.” Andre Gide. I found this quote online the other day and I fell in love with it.

The feedback I received from others regarding my last blog was very touching.  I'm not sorry for what happened to me in my youth because it caused me to test my inner strength and it has carried me through. When I take the time and think about what qualities I consider are my strongest, my inner strength, is the one that I always pride myself on. No matter what shit happens to me on a daily basis, I can take it. I don't let fear or sadness take control of me. I will give myself a moment to take in that emotion and let it overpower me but I will force it out as quickly as it came in. I'll never be a pessimist...it is just not in my nature and as much I look back and think about how I had some really fucked up times in my life there is always someone out there who has it a lot worse than I.

There was a time in my life where I resented my parents for making so many wrong choices in life and I was so envious of my friends who had parents that could actually support them through College and beyond. I didn't want everything handed to me, but I wanted some help when I needed it. I don't blame my mom as much as my dad, because many of his choices caused our family problems, but I was so angry at both of them. Now that I am older and mature I look at what they sacrificed just to give my brother and I the little that we could have and I respect them a bit more. Growing up I lived in a one bedroom apartment in Yonkers. My parents didn't have a bedroom, they slept on a mattress in the living room and my brother and I shared a bedroom. First we had bunkbeds and then as we got older that bedroom pretty much was split in half. You could tell which half was mine by the Zack Morris and NKOTB pictures I had on my wall from Teen Beat magazine.  This lifestyle was normal to me and I just assumed living in a house was a major luxury I'd never come to know.

When my mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, I was about 10 or 11 and when I reached my teenage years I was embarrased to be seen with her. How selfish was I....right? I just wanted a mom who could walk normally and we didn't get stared at whenever I had to help her walk with her arm around mine. It was a struggle in school and a struggle at home especially by 15 when my Dad left my mom for another woman. It was just me having to take care of her, taking her to rehab, helping her around the house, helping her up when she would fall. One time I had come home from school after a day of mental abuse to find my mom laying on the bathroom floor because she fell and couldn't get back up. By the time I reached 18 I felt guilty for leaving for college, but even more guilty for parts of me not caring. I needed out. The point is despite the mental and physical pain my mom has endured for so long which led to depression at times, she has remained strong. That has to be where I get my inner strength and I hope one day I can carry that inner strength on to a child of my own.

"You should have killed yourself, queer."

When I was 7 years old, I had asked my mom if I was queer. Of course I don't remember asking this, but she told me about it when I was 16, the night I came out to my parents. She had asked me where I had heard this, shock and fear in her voice.
"The kids in the school yard," I said
"Do you know what queer means?" she asked.
"Not really, I just like playing with the girls at recess," I responded.

When a caterpillar has reached it's full growth potential it creates a cocoon known as the pupa where inside it begins the transformation to a butterfly. One of the most beautiful and delicate creatures I believe to be on this earth. It was as if I was doing the opposite. I was this beautiful soul inching my way deeper and deeper inside myself, growing scared and hating the world and myself. I hated the world for not allowing me to just be myself and I hated myself for caring what the world would think of me.

When I was 12, I began to start fully realizing that my affection for other boys was much greater than it well should have been, but who was I to turn to with questions? My older brother? He'd probably call me a freak and tell my parents there was something wrong with me. My only male friend, Eddie? That would probably lead to me having no male friends. I went to Catholic school...could I turn to a priest? Ha! We used to have a priest come and talk to us in class and he would allow us to ask him anoymous questions by writing them down on a piece of paper and putting them in a hat. One question someone had asked was if masterbation was a sin and he replied, yes. Well that just made me want to jerk off more. At the time I had a thing for Gavin Rossdale from the band Bush. I thought he was so hot. I would pull it every night listening to Glycerine....fact is I had no one to go to but the TV and the only guy I knew on television that was a homosexual was Pedro Zamora from MTV's the Real World and well he passed away from the AIDS virus. So at 12, being young and naive, I assumed that if I was a homosexual I too would end up with the AIDS virus. It was that point on that I decided I just couldn't be gay. I'd do whatever it took to shut out any feelings I had towards other boys. This was reinforced by a male school teacher I had in 7th grade who asked us if we would ever eat food cooked from someone with the HIV virus. I remember it like it was yesterday. In what context this had come up I do not know...health class? I can't remember. I do remember him telling us he wouldn't and I thinking that was absurd, but I was a gay 13 year old with no guts to stick up for what I knew to be right. This may be why I am so opinionated now.

To say I was a scared and lonely child is an understatement. One of my favorite movies as a kid was an American Tail. I used to sing "Somewhere Out There" out my 8th story apartment building window in NY and envision another boy my age going through the pain I was. We would find eachother some day and live happily ever after. My God wow I lived in a fantasy world!

In 8th grade, I thought, "Ok Craig you survived the name calling and the every so often push and shove..not such a big deal. No one ever really followed you home to "fuck you up" even though they threatened too." "The next 4 years in an all boys Catholic HS...that is gonna suck."...and did it ever.

The first day of my freshman year..it poured. It was a gray and dismal day, almost as if the weather felt my angst. I walked to my locker soaking wet attempting to not draw attention, which was an epic fail when I slipped falling flat on my back spilling books, pencils, and pens just about everywhere. Nice going! I ignored the laughter at that moment, but I wouldn't be able to ignore the events that happened for the next four years of my life.

I used to sit at the front of the public bus I would take home from school with my discman on full blast trying to drown out the guys calling me names from the back. Sarah Mclachlan's Solace was my album of choice. I grew to love the song "Into the Fire." Into the fire/I'm reunited/Into the fire/I am the spark/Into the night/I yearn for comfort. This was an everyday occurence. I dreaded the bus. I hated even more that it was a public bus because random people who sat on that bus every day and would just listen to this scared shy boy being picked on and no one ever came to my aid. The one time I attempted to sit in the back I won't forget...

There was one empty seat in the back and this guy Jaoquin had his feet on it. I looked at him and he ignored me. He was lounged out reading a magazine. "Can I sit down," I asked. My heart couldn't have been beating any faster. "I don't want a faggot sitting next to me," he said. I had for the past 10 years put up with the name calling, the shoving, being spit on, gum in my hair, vandalized lockers, stolen belongings...I finally saw red and all of my fear turned to rage. I smacked that magazine from his hands and the moments after were all a blur. I had my first all out fist fight and although I was scared shitless I had found a new sense of pride in myself. As the rumours around school grew regarding our fight so did the rumours of me being jumped by a group of guys one day soon after.

I stood in my bathroom with a sharp kitchen knife curious to feel the knife cutting away at my flesh. How much would it hurt? Maybe it would be quick. I had placed the knife to my arm and made a small incision. OUCH! HOLY FUCK! What the hell am I doing! I wasn't sure if I was afraid of dying or just a sissy to the pain. I wanted too much out of life and I had survived 10 years of this crap, what were two more years? That was of course hoping College would be much different. I wanted to be loved by someone, I wanted to have sex, I wanted to get married, I needed to take care of my mom who had Multiple Sclerosis...my dad had left my mom for her best friend and my brother was away in Boston. Who would care for her? I wanted to be whoever the fuck I was supposed to be, I wanted to be ALIVE. I had taken that knife to school the next day just in case the rumours were true. I needed to defend myself.

It was homeroom and this guy Joe, another guy who found pleasure in my misery, was throwing spit balls at me and whispering the word faggot just loud enough for others to hear but quiet enough for our teacher to not. I turned around and told him to shut the fuck up. Well that our teacher did hear. Her name was Ms. Vaz. She was probably the age I am now and who I felt I could confide in, because she seemed pretty cool and she wasn't a religous affiliate. She was pretty and strict, but sweet and endearing at the same time. She pulled me aside before I tried to run to my first class...."What's going on?," she asked with sincere eyes. It was the first time anyone had asked me if something was wrong. I looked at her..my eyes swelling up and just said I was tired and really just wanted to end it all. She told me to head to my first period and by my second class I was called to the Dean of Students office. He had my backpack and my knife. "OH MY GOD...This is it," I thought. I just broke down sobbing uncontrollably. My parents were called in and I was forced to explain it all to them. Why had I brought a knife to school? Did I want to end my life? What was this all about? Am I gay? I luckily wasn't expelled due to my being a good kid with a clean school record. I was forced to see a psychologist that day and be evaluated before going back to school though.

I don't remember the ride to the hospital but I do vaguely remember being asked to spell earth backwards by some psych intern or something. What the fuck would have happened if I couldn't?! I was scared to death sitting there with my parents, tears in their eyes, as they watched their youngest son being checked out for clinical depression. To no one's suprise it was determined that I was fit to go back to school and so I did. Now everyone knew...not that I was gay, but that I COULD be. But I still swore to everyone I wasn't. Oddly enough I think that maybe had I just come out in school I wouldn't have been bullied anymore. It's as if they were trying to push me to my breaking point, but I would not bend. I just wanted to make it through High School so I could breakaway from this god awful prison that was my life and be free. I did come out shortly after that to my parents and friends, but remained a secret to others.

In gym class I had found out it was rumoured I had slit my wrists in the men's bathroom and was escorted out of school, put in an ambulance and sent to the hospital. The sick part is I thought well good maybe now people would feel sorry for me. Maybe even leave me alone. Nope. A classmate of mine, Frank, said in gym class "You should have killed yourself, queer."

I Was Here

I sing a lot in my car. To the point where I am bellowing out notes that probably sound like a cross between a cat in heat and a boy fighting puberty. Despite the predicament of my horrendous singing voice, I have come to terms with it. I have been laughed at many times by those next to me at a red light, but it doesn't bother me much. I bellow out these notes believing that if I sing them loud enough someone will hear me and I don't mean those unfortunate individuals to my right or left. I mean those I am singing to. That my words will telepathically reach them and they will know what I am feeling. Lately I have been singing to noone but myself. I have been singing what I believe to be words of wisdom.
I have spent the past month soul searching. Really trying to dig deep as to what type of person I want to become. To some it is quite easy as though they were born with a road map. I am not aware of such a road map. What I am aware of is my inability to find happiness within myself. In my career, I have never found my niche. In love, I look to others for approval or not feeling good enough, most likely throwing away some incredible men. In friends, I seem to never find my footing. It has led me to believe in many ways that I am going to die one day looking back and never feeling fulfilled. Which is a really shitty thing to feel at the age of 30, but when your life has been filled with so much dissapointment it's hard not to feel this way. I could blame my parents for never succeeding in life and therefore never being able to provide me with many options, I could blame those who bullied me from kindgarten through HS for crushing my self esteem or those friends who never seemed to stick making me feel worthless....OR I could blame myself. It is MY life after all...I sometimes feel like my reality is thwarted by fantasy, but I have decided to lift that veil from my head and try and see things more clearly.

My promise to myself:
I have got to get a hold of my life.
I have got to stop seeking approval from others.
I have got to stop feeling like I am in a race to love

I live in my head which has gotten me into trouble. I'd like to say I am not an anxious person, but I am. Everything concerns me. I wish I could be one of those people who just doesn't give a shit, but I will never be one of those people. I stress out over the littlest things...and I have realized that much of my stress is largely due to my inability to be happy with myself. I have to constantly remind myself that I am in charge of my own life and I need to stop giving that power to others.

Music has become my inspiration and one song has really struck me so deep that I can listen to it over and over again and cry and cry and cry. The message is so great and so powerful. If I could on the day that I die whisper these words and know that they are true than I WILL be fulfilled.

I was here
I lived, I loved
I was hereI did, I've done, everything that I wanted
And it was more than I thought it would be
I will leave my mark so everyone will know
I was here