The Mark of Infamy

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My father said he would kill me if I ever turned homo.  I was 14 years old.  I wonder how much this has affected my sexual development.

That evening I swallowed half a bottle of aspirin.  I knew they were painkillers.  I was not in pain.  I think I was foreseeing the pain that was to come.

I didn’t know much at age 14.  I knew practically nothing of personal identity and even less about sexual orientation.  I was simply me.  But I learned something important that day:  A homo doesn’t deserve to live.

I didn’t think I was a homo.  I hardly knew what the word meant.  In my teenage mind, the word homo meant “like a girl.”  I was a boy.  So to be “like a girl” was abominable.

I could have been a thief, a liar, or even a murderer, and my father would have forgiven me.  But if I was gay, I deserved to die — to be killed by my own father.

To be bisexual was even worse.  That was the ultimate disgrace, the most perverted thing on the face of this earth.

I was bisexual.

The mark of infamy was on me.  I didn’t deserve to live and I didn’t deserve to be happy.   And if I was to ever succumb to my sexual desires, it would be the end of me.

I don’t think I ever got over it.  Even now, decades later.  My father is dead.  I am free but I am not.  He left something in me.  The mark of infamy.  I wish I could pluck it out.

How can I be bisexual and proud?

I AM proud of myself.  But I am not proud of myself in regards to THEM — my family.  Bisexuality is not something to be proud of according to Christianity.

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Vanity

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I can’t believe that you are still trying to impress me.  After fifteen years of living together, you are still doing it.

I am not at all impressed by the fact that you are trying to impress me.  It’s not funny anymore.  It’s sad.  Stop telling me how wonderful you are, it only makes you look awful.  Don’t tell me how much your boss and your friends admire you.  This does nothing for me.  I don’t get it.  Do you think this will make me love you more?

You are so proud of yourself.  This is all I hear coming out of your mouth.  How much progress you have made, how much money you make and how many compliments you’ve received today.  It makes me feel sick.  It doesn’t make me want to hug you.

Show me your vulnerability instead.  Allow yourself to be weak and flawed in my presence.  This will impress me, because it’s reality.  The truth is what impresses me, don’t you see?

I know you want to be loved, but you’re doing it wrong.  You’ve been doing it all wrong since the beginning.  Vanity is not what will make me want to remain friends with you.  Not even your smiles.  I want to see you cry.  I want to see you recognize and regret every single word you have ever said to manipulate me.  Your words don’t impress me, they disgust me.  Be real, be defective like a normal person.  Show me the insecure side of you and I will take you in my arms to protect you.

As long as you play strong, as long as you act great and speak in vain, I will not want to be near you.  I wish you would understand this.  I wish you could realize this on your own.  Because if I tell you, I know what you will do.  You will pretend to be vulnerable just to impress me again.  It won’t be real and it won’t work.  It has to come from you.

When will you stop trying to impress me?  I can’t take it anymore.  When I see you coming, I want to run and hide.  I know what you will say.  You are so predictable.  I know how marvelous you are already.  I know, I married you!  But each time you tell me how perfect you are, it’s like you are telling me how much of a loser you think I am, because I am the opposite of you.

I know, I should love a person as flawless as you.  I should, really.  But there must be something wrong with me because I hate you.