Tales of a Bi "MWM": Finding The Ball

A few weeks ago I wrote a post and the next day announced a mulligan and started over. When I opened Word tonight to write a brief post, I found the missing “ball” and re-read my words. I was struck by the phrase “sadness bordering on depression”, not being satisfied with denying all the reasons I am depressed, denying the depression itself. Part of what I wrote made it into the “new and improved” model, but I need to resurrect the rest, with a little added commentary.

The past week or so felt like a war in my being, sadness bordering on depression, I reached a level of fear, almost paralyzing, and I whined like I have not done in a long time.

I feel better now. (Ah, wishful thinking.)

Last night was interesting in a strange way. I met a friend from several of my gay worlds for dinner and drinks. We went to a bar that caters at men my age and the while the piano player taps out show tune melodies, the informal choir belts out the words. I mean how gay is that? But I am ahead of myself. As we had dinner – an informal diner meal – I expressed my recent sense of confusion and depression. And as I explained it, the shear absurdity of my recent self became apparent. I am a gay man – yes, I can still be aroused by women and have quite the wandering eye, but that does not change the gayness.

The evening developed a sense of humor. At various times my friend – okay, my date, but more on that word later – would tease that being out with a straight guy would ruin his reputation. As we hung out, quite comfortably in a gay bar, he would tease me. And as we held hands and kissed he would tease me, each gentle barb being a reminder of who I am, where I was, and what I was doing.

And now probably three weeks after that evening and the telling of the story, I realize how much deeper the depression is than I was willing to admit to myself, no less others. I realize how on target my friend’s barbs were, how I could spend a night like that and still deny it all. I said more on the word “date” later: Carrie would comment on my date and I would say no just dinner or drinks. She was of course correct. A date by any other name…

And as I write this I remember the only post ever deleted, and in record time – mere hours. It was a simple picture that was worth a thousand words, taken with my Chicago friend on my last trip there. Spider saw the post and correctly pointed out I should consider how Carrie would feel if she opened the blog and saw it. The thought was correct then and my decision was judicious. But as I sit here tonight, as Carrie and Sis try to bang into my head the fact that my gayness is more than wanting to give a blow job, I feel a need to share it – not so much for any of you, for all of you have me figured out better than I know myself. It is as a reminder to me of why I must continue down this path.