1.a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future.“reality had not lived up to expectations”I saw a feather in the sidewalk today. Haha, funny but all day yesterday I felt crappy. Worse than crappy, shitty is more like it. The constant feeling of disconnection….with people, with purpose, with happiness. I’ve been living here in Portland for about 6 weeks and I continue hearing that it’s a “blink of an eye, longer if you’re sober buddy.” I know my friends here, especially the ones who have also moved here recently, know that better than I do but a WAVE of loneliness has fallen on top of me and left me getting to the point of wishes. Of the move itself, of words I’ve said to some people and not said to others, of anger towards former friends, feeling furious that they seem to have their lives all set and going as they want, at least looking on them from the outside is how I see it. Of regrets of a lot of things I’ve done and so many that I have not. Blah, blah, blah. I’m so lucky in this life: home in Portland, jobs I like a lot, plenty to eat and money to see concerts, drives to the beach kinda nearby and sobriety. Through all the shit that has happened with me, I stay sober. Life changes in a moment and if I keep my faith and belief in God and His plan for me, this “everything sucks” will surely change too, right?
I’ve seen a LOT of guys I think are just “everything” on a daily basis, for the most part by themselves, walking around certainly on the way to some place “just right,” going to meet their best buddy, girlfriend, or, at least in my mind, boyfriend. Whoever they are heading to, the person or persons will sure enough welcome him with laughter, handshakes or even better, a full hug and then the thing I miss most, a warm kiss. Lip to lip. It has been so long I barely remember what that feels like, except when it stays on my mind, which is every time see one of these guys on their way to another him or hims, waiting just for one of them.
“Hey, I’ve missed you man, you look great! How’s your day going so far?” It’s what they all say. I do remember that missing piece. Except now no one says it to me. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck….isn’t it time for bed yet?
I’ve met some cool people, had lunch and taken walks, done the texting or even better yet, gotten a call! Yep, it CAN happen, does happen, but “poor, poor me” I gotta get home, my cats have gotta be hungry and they are the best sweeties to live with and they love me back. A lot.
But, my 3 four-legged lil’ ones are busy on a daily basis and sometime they are sleeping and as much as talk with them they rarely talk back. A “meow” here, and snuggle there, but as night falls and as I read upon my bed, whatever I’m reading today: “AA Big Book,” Illusions,” “Simply Halston,” “Daily Reflections, “Drop the Rock,” “Here We Are Now,” “Last Night at the Viper Room” or “The Great Gatsby?”
They are all filled with the stories of people, actors, poets, singers and barons all going through life and making it, well most of then make it. Kurt Cobain and River Phoenix didn’t make it through until today but they were each full of so much life and loved so much, when I look and read about then today THEY seem to have made it, even though they left us. Wherever they went, I wish I was there. At least people would miss me like I miss the ones I know, knew and those I see every day.
My dad died yesterday. He’s been ill for a while and his death is not something I was planning on for April 15 but I did have an expectation of it. As per usual, expectations don’t quit. Haven’t seen him in several years, planned on going to Savannah to see and be with him soon, but, once again, I. Have. No. Control.
I have today, another day sober, another day seeing children and sometimes their Moms on the bus, on the train or walks together down the lane in front of my home. Going somewhere where someone is waiting on them to hug them each close, squeeze them tightly and laugh with them all.
I have today. I used to have a dad. Maybe he’s getting a hug from my brother Patrick who left this world 20 years ago. Somewhere, I suppose they ARE waiting on me. My neck needs a hug and my lips miss being kissed.
And I miss you, Dad,
It’s a night of slight rain and a touch of the chill that lies here in Oregon is outside. Walking home from my day I knew tonight was going to be THE night to sit in front of my PC keyboard, play one of my many song-lists I made on Rdio, and after a warm shower and a Marlboro outside, my new post would spill out of my head and onto theJohnnyspot. I have been hinting at actually writing properly for quite some time, months in fact. Yeah I’ve posted a few pieces here and there, ALL on here actually, but not sat down to compose my life today, to explain where, who and what I am today. Until right now.
Where to begin has been beating my brain nearly unconscious since November 29, 2013. Thanksgiving… the next day precisely. I was run over while driving my scooter in downtown by a gal I adore, Carla. It was an accident and happened as we were leaving to grab coffee. She made a right, right onto me. My fab orange scooter that I drove for nearly 2 years did not survive. I did. Now, I was taken by life-flight to the hospital, Memorial Hermann in Houston, which I do not recall. I was placed on several floors over several weeks for the recovery, which I do not recall. I was moved into an actual recovery room and my Mother and brother, along with visiting friends were told “Not to expect much from him. He may never recover fully, or at all.” Funny, I do not recall that either. Even more funny is that is the 2nd time I was placed into a hospital room in Houston with a terribly bad diagnosis. First time was death, then brain damage, then survival.
That was when I was close to death by by my own hand….I drank myself there. But, God had different plans for me. I made it and recovered and 3 years later on June 9, 2014? No booze. No drugs. Well, how about that. Sobriety is a total life-changing gift I accept and thrive in. Today I was particularly ill-at-ease with the way things are happening in PDX but no matter. I’m here in “PDX” the famed city with Mt. St. Helens a little bit away. Where one of my fave directors, Gus Van Sant, shot “My Own Private Idaho” with Keanu Reeves and the fantastic River Phoenix. He was a man with troubles affecting his life but he did not make it to see today. I’m in Portland because of my love for River.
This occasion I was alive but not conscious for about 4-5 weeks. When I awoke, at least I recall awakening, I was perplexed. Where was I? “Wait, what happened to me? No, no…I am moving to Portland on December 15…the plans are all ready made…. “There is art and beauty I have to see in Portland!”
I was told that might never happen, that I had a lot of recovery to undertake. I might not ever be the same. Just be calm and patient, I was alive, so there’s that!
I was astounded. Didn’t anyone understand what I had been through before. That I was now 48 and had been through a horrible recovery from being a drug-addicted alcoholic now with time and with sponsees and a Sponsor and 2 jobs! It didn’t matter. All of my plans were now changed. I should hope, pray for my mind and body to recover and the scooter was destroyed so Ihad better have 24-hour care assigned to me now so if I ever did come back to myself, I would have the ability to make new plans.
“Fuck you! You have no idea what I’m about to do, what I have been through already” I thought and then said aloud. It was the beginning of a great lesson for me. Patience and the deep belief that God, yep, God was in control. I only had God to talk to every day, ha…all day, over and over again. In terror, in fear, in hope, in shame, in trust, in love and finally in understanding: God has a plan for me,(yes for each of us!) I was just not given the “What happens next” document that exists somewhere. Faith? I had that, I was that. So I began to wait.
I waited another 4 weeeks, before I was let out of the hospital and allowed to stay with a hired man. It was a disaster for reasons Iwill never speak of and I had no control over, mainly because my brother agreed on the idea and he is a lost man with no faith and no plan except for himself. We no longer speak, but anyway, I finally went to MY home in Montrose in February and I began living, working, and believing in God’s mysterious plan for my future. And guess what? HE came though for me. Just as He has and continues to do.
I worked at 2 different jobs, worked on my art and writing and began communicating with my friends here in Portland about my arrival. Tony Howard, Michael his husband, my teenage met when friend, Michael Reper and his husband Deric, Ria McClain…dear old friends in Los Angeles Jill Schwarz and her man Spencer and my dear dude Martin Chavez, knew I was heading west to begin my life again. My new Portlandia friends Tanner, Allison Fox and John also all knew I was going to not only going to make it but MOVE to Portland at the end of February. And I did. Tada!
And their were giving, loyal and trusting friends, employers, even some people I didn’t know helping my new life begin. They all donated money, texts and phone calls to my recovery, to my fund when I was at Memorial Hermann, unconscious and in bandages with the “Yes, I am” mindset playing slowly in my thoughts, giving me new strength, hope and the “It Will” belief I needed.
There is much more to explain: the packing of my apartment with my former partner, Brian Potter‘s assistance, Lisa Benitez‘s kindness and hope, Steve Henry‘s breakfasts and belief . The text messages from so many people I love including John Beeman in Los Angeles and Rebecca Weinberg in Manhattan. The new representative who runs Bristol Properties here in Portland, giving me help to pay the deposit, clean and ready this apartment here in the Greeway building in Northwest Portland neighborhood around the corner from the Alano Clubhouse, where I attended killer AA meetings and met Tanner.
Patience was slowly, haha, coming through almost exactly as I was told I needed, except 3 months later came through after all. I do not know what the reason was behind my being run over and in the hospital in recovery for 2 months, the aftercare plan…I asked God why but was never given an answer. I was told “It will take you a lot of believing in my plan fro you if you really want to acheive your move west.” And I did want that, NEED that and hallelujah, I GOT it. Here I sit on a rainy, chilly Wednesday night, listening to a playlist with Rufus Wainwright, Elton John, Dawes, Allison Moorer, Ami Mann and so many more musicians I adore while I type hard onto my keyboard in order to release my mind from it’s business, many of it’s memories, it’s workout.
Portland, Oregon is a dream city with so much to see and do and attend with so may people I am just meeting and some of the aforementioned ones I have the pleasure of already knowing. This Friday night? Allison and I are seeing London Grammar here in Portland on their first tour ever. Totally sold out. But I knew they were a new favorite of mine, as I had listened to their album on repeat for the week I originally arrived in Portland last fall. Their glorious sound, during the nearly perfect week of weather, walking, meetings, driving and the absolute confirmation that I was meant to live here. Portland Oregon is my home today. And I love it. As much, possibly more than when I first moved to Houston in 1982. It’s the 21st century and I am ready for each and every newness that Portland is giving me. Scratch that. It’s God. He’s given me everything I call “mine.” And I am forever in gratitude with Him for it all. Even on a rainy night with the temperature in the 30s, I sit here and say “Thank you, God.” And thank each of you readers for sticking with me so far. I’m here rain or shine. Especially rain…awesome exactly on my head. But just wait till it’s sunny here for days! No bandages needed now.
From “A Day” back in 2013:
I’m surprised this is my first real post in 2 months. What surprises me most about my sabbatical was that so much had happened in the past 60 days. I normally would have run to my keyboard to update this blog.
It shoulda included losing a job & getting a new one; returning to an old seasonal job and a new understanding about the difference between my vocation (art and writing) versus my occupation in the (given/chosen):
service industry. Also a major trip to Portland, Oregon, that had ended up changing my life! I did end up meeting new friends there, seeing old friends and most welcome, finding a place where I don”t feel like a square peg in a round hole.
As if all of that wasn’t enough, I sold 2 pieces of my art to a private collector (with agreements on at least 4 more) for the first time ever. ♥♡♥
Prayer sisters and brothers? Short “Hi” after a good kid while. Heh. Prayerfully touching base on my February move to Washington state in Portland.
Um. Hmmmmm. How’s aboot “Puhlease” may you give me what you said you would back in December?
I’m readdddy to go and they’re ready too get meeeee.
I met with my Psychiatrist today and told him I knew I had changed, my thinking at least, because it has been over 2 months since I posted a new entry on my blog. “I’m so freaking happy, I don’t have anything to say. No one wants to read ‘Everything is awesome!'” “Maybe you should write about that” he replied. Maybe I will I thought. But then wouldn’t you know it, suddenly I had something to say. It’s almost as if I manifested my topic from thin air. Almost.
Two months is the longest I have gone without writing since I started “Come Undone” and while true I am one who is more easily inspired by chaos, strife, sadness and struggle, at some point I have to, as in MUST sit down at the keyboard and write. The dam in my mind that holds back my thoughts feelings and creativity is breached and I have to let it all out, lest it crack and break and flood my psyche.
Halloween and the days before and after stir up too many emotions in me not to. Tonight marks 20 years since River Phoenix overdosed outside The Viper Room an event that impacted me on multiple levels. Yes, I had once made the pilgrimage to The Viper Room, into the very stall where he had gotten high just before collapsing. Still, I could not know how deeply until this year when I began to search for “My Own Private River” in Portland, Oregon. More on that later.
Tomorrow marks 23 years that I was first diagnosed HIV+ a day I thought meant the end and tomorrow is 1 year since I met Robert, “My Poet My Captain” (the subject of so many posts here).
that was a new beginning for me, my life, my thinking. I have to say I expected this to be our 1st anniversary, and I suppose in some ways it is, just not how I thought. “So true to life, darling” as they say in “The Way We Were.”
But what really sparked me finally sitting down tonight was the idea of manifesting what one wants into being in one’s life. Countless books have been written about this ancient theory, most famously “The Secret” and I recently traced the roots of that book back to “The Master Key,” a 24 part serial written in the early 1900s. But again, it’s much older that that. Wisdom is as wisdom was.
Example. Today I met with a perspective client about creating and producing a social media campaign for her jewelry business. Over a two and half hour lunch, we talked about her evolution as an artist, how she felt led to create and how her work speaks to her about the form it takes, something I completely relate to. Muses come in different shapes and sizes and speak to us through various ways. I was relating to her my own story of writing and making art for the last 25 years, only because I love to, with no thought nor expectation of ever making any money at it.
How so many artists feel guilty about making a real living from their craft. I was just getting ready to mention a longtime artist friend of mine, John Palmer, who has a program where he mentors artists to properly market themselves and step outside the “starving artist” model. Before I had a chance to tell my client about him, I excused myself to run to the restroom. On my way, I stopped to say hello to one of the waiters, another buddy, who I had sat with a few months back and shared my experience in marketing myself to perspective employers, when who should walk past me towards the restroom? Yep, John Palmer, the man I had just been thinking and speaking about.
After a quick catch up, I returned to my table and mentioned what had just happened. My client said “Oh, do you follow Esther and Jerry Hicks, too?” “No” I replied but mentioned The Master Key and our conversation moved into the topic of manifesting what you want. I said that in my 12-Step Program we learn that it is by giving away the knowledge and serenity we have that we get that very same peace returned. “Love thy neighbor as thy self” I said. “It’s really all the same thing, isn’t it?” she said.
As my day went on I started thinking about manifesting. I am helping a friend on his journey into recovery and I had just said to him “Don’t focus on what recovery can give you, rather what you can give others, how your own experience can help. Then “The Promises” will come about for you through the honesty and work you do.”
I have been wondering if “My Captain” will also thinking about me on the eve of our first meeting. Just as I had never seen him before we met (unusual in this case as I often run into people that I know and that I don’t**) again and again in this “smallest big city” I live in, I have not seen him since our final texts.
I began to wonder if I could manifest seeing him tonight or tomorrow, without reaching out to him? Our breakup had been painful, jarring, reality shifting on so many ways, just as our meeting had. Even though another man stood between My Captain and I (at least in his mind) destiny and fate don’t much care for human plan and schemes. So, as my thoughts wandered back to last Halloween, I started to feel. Melancholy and regret, a touch of sadness, heavy sighs. It’s been a while since I felt the “mean reds” and I decided to forgo a meeting. Silly as I always hear answers to how to deal with my feelings, to be reminded that I gave my life over to my Higher Power and that self-pity and self reliance only causes me trouble. Instead, I took control and went to a neighborhood bar, not to drink, but to find a different sort of drug. Someone to relieve me of my feelings of loneliness, even if only for a few hours. It isn’t something I do much anymore, but hey, I’m still human. Very much so. And I was beginning to reel from the waves of sadness washing over me.
I walked in and looked around, spotted a few possible interests and sat down. I thought about other times I had been here, other conquests that were intended to take away my pain, if only briefly, and walked out onto the patio. As soon as I passed through the curtain, I saw 2 men sitting a few feet away. One of them faced away from me and one looked up and right at me. I froze and turned at the same time, walking back inside. “No way” I thought. Unbelievable, really! The man who looked up at me was not Robert, no, it was the man who had stood in our way. “The Thief” the angry, violent man-child who sowed chaos into his own life and into everyone around him. Especially me. Specifically towards me. “Well, that is a TYPE of manifestation. I was close…” I sighed.
I sat my drink down on the bar and walked out. Man-child had long ago threatened to wipe the sidewalk with me the next time we faced each other and I was not taking any chances tonight. The other man, sitting with him, whose face I did not see, “was it My Captain?” I wondered as I drove away on my scooter. I wouldn’t know.
I felt like God was gently reminding me, not to take such drastic measures just to ignore the way I felt, I could and I should be writing about all of this I realized, that this was the cracking of the dam I worried about. The anniversaries that fall tomorrow are intense, escape is “old behavior” and I needed a reminder. And I got one. I was also reminded of the pain and anger and resentment I had against “The Thief.” And the work I need to do, to let God do, to move on and finally away from all of them. And moving far away was indeed coming soon, but not yet. Manifest. Be careful what you want for.
As I rethought the need for a meeting, I drove up towards my fave coffee shop to grab a joe to go. As I crossed over a nearby street I saw a man on a bicycle heading toward me. It was dark and not until he was passing under a street light did I see his face. Unbelievable, really! There riding past me, was the same smiling, handsome man on the bike I seen at that very crossing at least 5 times in as many months. As always, I smiled, he smiled as we passed each other and as I drove away, I looked back to see him looking back. Just like always**. The thought “Manifest” whipped through my mind, and I whipped around and drove after him.
I caught up to him and said “I’m sorry to bother you but this is about the 5th time I have passed you at that same crossing, at almost the same time, over the last 5 or 6 months.” “Yeah, I know, weird huh?” he replied. Introductions were made and I learned his name and that he was coming home from work at a hospice. In fact I knew where he worked as recently a friend of mine had lived his final weeks out there.” I mentioned his name and he said “Oh, yeah, of course” and touched his heart. And at that moment he touched mine.
I told him that I had just been thinking about manifesting people into ones life and alluded to seeing The Thief. I said “And then I run into you, again? I just couldn’t let you ride away this time.”
What does this all mean? I know many people say “Oh yeah aren’t coincidences like that strange?” It’s fine if that what they believe they are, I used to get angry that they couldn’t see the deeper meaning to the synchronicities in my life. Actually, the meanings were “higher” not deeper, but I digress.
Sometimes these synchronous moments were small, like when I spot the white feathers on the ground in front of me right when I am having a moment of doubt, of fear. From California to Colorado to Portland, the feathers I keep seeing are my “you’re on the right path, don’t give up” signs. “Surrender? Yes, but keep going” God says.
Sometimes big, like pushing through a challenge that in the end changes my life in ways I could never have foreseen. Recently I was ready to throw in the towel on an art donation because I didn’t have the money to buy the canvases, yet “somehow” canvases were donated to me and I not only sold the donated piece but I sold two pieces on my own. The first 2 pieces I ever made a profit on in all these years. And how other people had ordered pieces to buy, too.
Or how running out of a place I really should not have been in, heading to a meeting I really needed, to hand over my feelings of disappointment, sadness and fear to a God who always comes through for me, led me across the path of a man I wanted to know and I had finally met. On the eve of anniversaries that beguiled and bewildered me.
Manifest. The Law of Attraction. Surrender. “It’s all the same thing really.” And once again, the “coincidences” keep coming and I keep going. Grateful for another day.
i wish we could go camping by a lake
i wish you weren’t my first thought when I wake
i wish you would call me when you’re blue
i wish i knew how to quit you
i wish i made you laugh till you cried
i wish we could go on a vacation to the mountains
i wish we were at a party and i caught you staring at me
i wish i woke up with you every day that ends with the letter “y”
i wish you would visit me at work without checking
i wish on morning’s i woke up alone that you’d text that you miss me
i wish we had a favorite climbing tree
i wish i was the one you called when your belly rumbled hungry
i wish we could sleep in when the skies are grey
i wish you had never been hurt by him
i wish you were my best friend
i wish i could ease your fears
i wish i had known you in high school
i wish i could hold you when you cry
i wish i smelled like your cologne
i wish we lived in our own home
i wish i knew your mom and dad
i wish you’d be there when i am sad
i wish we’d share our morning runs
i wish you kissed my neck in that spot
i wish we’d get caught in a rainstorm
i wish i was your morning kiss
i wish you’d miss me like this
i wish i didn’t have this list.
The hairs on the back of my neck started to stand up when I got out of bed this morning. Something sweeps over me now, since I’ve gotten sober, when there’s a full moon. I didn’t even know it was, I didn’t see it, I felt it. Tonight I felt like a ship that has become unmoored but remains in the harbor, still anchored down but knocking really hard over and over, against the dock. BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM!
As I do when I feel like this, I rode around on my scooter for a couple of hours tonight, all over Houston through the Medical Center, Downtown, Midtown, Montrose, the Museum District, Rice University, with my earbuds in and playlist I have called “I AM A PHOENIX.” Read my various playlist track listings and you’d know a lot about me. Talk about a window to the soul. If anyone ever did read them. If anyone cared to, which they fucking don’t. I made tapes for guys when I was younger. My friends used to tease me about it. “Have you made a tape for him, yet?” Even then music said things better than I could, so why not listen and get to know me? Know what I wanted to say.
“I AM A PHOENIX.” As in rising from the ashes. Returned from the dead in a burst of glory and flame. See, I maintain this absolute belief that I and everything in my life will be alright. Not perfect, hardly. But that despite every tear, every morning I wake holding my pillows, all the sleepless nights, the movies seen alone, the dinners eaten by myself, all the miles traveled, all the stupid shit I’ve done, that, yes, Love (capital L) will rise again in my life. And I will rise up to meet it. Like a Phoenix .And it is going to last. God knows I am ready. But God ain’t telling what His plans are. Natch.
I can’t for a moment entertain the idea that it’s not all going to work out, that nights won’t be lonely forever, that every morning will be started making the bed up with someone, instead of leaving it unmade because it’s only me getting back in tonight anyway. Because, if I fail to hold it onto that certainty, even for a second… well, I am afraid of what I would do, what would happen. I visualize those moments of wavering faith like the cityscapes folding into themselves in the film “Inception.” The whole fucking world would just begin to implode and cease to be. My music keeps those thoughts, those Universe-imploding destruction’s, at bay.
Someone can only break your heart if you give it to them, and therefore your permission, so I own that this shit, this unmooring of my ship while holding onto the dock is all me . But I also know I am not alone, I hear it in the words of other believers, I read it in the hopeless romantic-written books and I see it in movies. I saw a fantastic new film last night, “The Spectacular Now” based on the book by the same name. It resonated with me as much as “Perks of Being a Wallflower” did last year. One of the lines (and there were many) that I loved, that hit me between the eyes was “You know, you’ll always be my favorite ex-boyfriend, Sutter. No one will ever take that away.” OUCH.
While I don’t know if anyone considers me their favorite ex, what struck me about that line were the many men in my life who might say that, who could say that. The guys who have for one reason or another, been unable, unwilling to commit to me. To get onboard. To run the streets with me like Holmes and Watson or Lestat and Louis. I’ve seen them move on from me and do it with others and that tells me, it’s me. One of them told me once “Johnny, your love is big and scary and I don’t think I can stand up to your expectations of me, of it, of us.” Ouch, again. I always thought an unfailing belief in someone, believing for them that they can stand up until they are able to believe it themselves, was a good thing. All my exes? They do not see this as such a good thing. It’s a scary thing. Ouch.
But what has become really clear to me recently, is that while my love may be “big and scary,” my ass is in hot demand. My ass is worth a return visit. My ass isn’t scary at all. Oh yeah, I got guys beating down my door for a piece of that part of my anatomy. They don’t get it, but they want it. My heart, above my ass and to the left? Not so much. And you know what? It’s been that way since the man on the beach took it when I was 10.
“The Spectacular Now” is the story of 2 high school seniors, one, Sutter, the ‘Ferris Bueller‘ of his school and the other, Aimee, the virgin sci-fi, anime geek who falls under his spell as he tells her she is beautiful and later takes her virginity while she looks up at him, so wide-eyed, so innocent and untarnished? As she encourages him to dream, pushes him to stand up to his mother and find his father, I saw myself. In both characters. Oh did I mention Sutter is a teenage alcoholic, just like his father? That Sutter doesn’t want to think about the future, much less plan it because he’d rather live in “the spectacular now” instead of facing his fears. “I don’t remember a time I wasn’t afraid” he says. That line laid me out. I lived that way for decades. Not anymore.
Watching Aimee fall in love with Sutter, focusing on the ways he enables her to change the course of her life? Hanging her star on his wagon, making plans to leave their small town with him and start again in Philadelphia, all while he has no intention of going? More ouch. The film is funny and searing and brilliant, a twisted, heartfelt but ultimately warts and all take on the sunny, quirky, all’s well that ends well John Hughes‘ films I grew up with. The geek gets the girl and they go off to college together. Right? Yeah, right.
The other thing I thought about during the film, was even though I did have the tender, look up into the eyes of the boy I was in love with losing-my-virginity-moment, my innocence had been taken from me long before then. My life as a kid was sexualized from 4th grade on. Then by that man on the beach. By the bus driver at my middle school when I was 14. By my high school tennis team coach when I was 15. And you know what I learned from those moments with those men? That my ass was something wanted and that if I gave it up, maybe one of them would look down and notice me. Each of those times, there I was below him, really just wanting him to love me, to choose me not for my ass, but because he loved ME.
And, as I sat watching the film last night, I could see that I thought if I gave my heart, my attention, my identity or some other “thing,” that in return I would be loved. I thought about when I was in 8th grade I got my very first job so I could save up $100 to buy my girlfriend at the time, a diamond ring. IN THE 8TH GRADE. I thought about not using a condom sometime, somewhere in my early 20s because I didn’t have enough self-respect to say no and getting HIV, all because I was wanted. I thought about when I wrote a hot check in San Francisco to buy my boyfriend a bracelet and an engraved box, which I filled with rose petals. About the umpteen times I have put me aside for the person I was “in love” with. Emphasis on those quote marks.
No one made me do anything I didn’t want to. I WANTED to express my feelings, to engage with someone, to see his face light up when he realized I had been listening when he mentioned a favorite band, movie, TV show, comic book, kind of flower or some shirt he saw in his favorite shop. But after watching the movie last night, suddenly I knew why. Because I am looking for a man to do the same thing for me. To hear me, to listen, to see through my fears and flattery and still stand by me. With me. It’s about paying attention. It’s about noticing who I am before I am underneath him. Calling just because, not because he has to, or should. It’s about being a man wanted…a wanted man. And not just for my ass. For my big, scary heart.