A Limbo Large and Broad

So here I am, stuck in one place but wanting desperately to be in a different one.

I decided probably early to mid summer to commit to moving to Connecticut and starting over there. I didn’t look for apartments, I didn’t look for another job, I didn’t do anything but save money and try to figure out how much the whole thing would cost. Then my brother drops the bomb: he and his wife really aren’t ready for my parents to come and visit (which they were planning to do around the end of July), much less read for someone to come live with them. Would it be alright for more to wait until December? With maybe five sentences my brother effectively crushed my plans. I was faced with the unwelcome task of finding an apartment within a month, preferably something cheap, and with as short a lease as possible.

Well after a bit of searching I found a reasonable place, I guess. A small (500 sq. ft.) semi-studio (bookshelves separate the bedroom from the living area) for only $330/month plus utilities/bills. And they allowed a six month lease (pretty rare in a college town) with minimal deposit and even the first month free. A good deal, right? I signed my lease and got my key yesterday. Using a friend’s car, I packed up a few boxes and happily took the first of my possessions over to my new, if temporary, home. Last night was when the doubt really set in.

At about 2:30, maybe 3:00 in the morning I woke up with an intense regret at having signed the lease. See, my original plan was to move at the end of the fall semester, around Christmas when my parents had decided they were going up to see my brother anyway, thus ensuring Christmas with the family, and even a little extra moving help if needed. With the new lease, I was stuck in the place until January 31st, a full month and a half later than I wanted. On top of that, if I broke the lease I’d have to pay not only the rent for the remaining months (which I expected), but also the difference between the rent I was paying and the market value for it (about a $50 difference per month = $250) AND the month they’d given me for free in the first place. All totaled, I think it comes to about $624, plus the rent for January and December since I have to give them sixty days notice. That’s a hell of a lot of money to spend when you’re trying to move across country, and when your place of work is closed for a month in late December/early January for winter break.

So a new idea came to me after all this information rushed through my head so early in the morning. The company that owns the complex offers a 30 day money back guarantee if for some reason I’m not satisfied with the management, grounds, construction, etc. This means I can get out of my lease if I fill out a form within 30 days. It’s a like a godsend for the indecisive. So I can get out of my apartment that I’m regretting, thereby possibly saving money. But I bet you’re wondering, where will I live? Am I doomed to wander the streets until December, living in the school union and washing myself in the public restrooms until my moving day? No, such is not my fate fortunately. You see, I can suck it up and go live with my parents or grandfather in a nearby town until I can move up there. Granted, this would mean I would have to open every morning at work (so I’d be at work around 5 or 6 am), but I wouldn’t have to pay rent or bills for those roughly five months. I could save potentially $3000, maybe more. Add that to the extra money I would have after expenses anyway and I could have a nice chunk of change saved up for my move. Besides, living with my grandfather, I could butter him up a bit and try to buy his very nice car from him for cheap. He’s legally blind, he doesn’t need it anyway. The only thing I’d have to pay for is the days I had the apartment, my use of the electricity/water, and of course food at home.

Don’t get me wrong, though, this isn’t exactly a wonderful option. My parents/grandfather do not have internet, and I know that will kill me. Also, getting up and being at work so early will certainly wear on me all too quickly, not to mention being away from my friends with no car right now to get to them. But I talked with them, and Susan has already mentioned that it wouldn’t be a big deal to spend the night every once in a while so we can still hang out and everything. It’s really the social aspect of leaving and living with my family that’ll kill me, but I figure if I can’t deal with it here, how am I supposed to handle it when I’m 2000 miles away?

So you’ve heard all of this, and you can make your own judgments. But there’s one more thing: I may have met someone who lives in Connecticut right now, only a half hour away from my brother’s place. He’s funny, smart, and passionate. We have a lot of the same interests, and he’s wonderfully mature for his age (22). While we haven’t been talking that much, there could definitely be something here. While of course I’m not going to base a big life decision like this on one guy I just met, it is something to consider. I’ve perused the personal ads around my bro’s place, and there are some very good prospects. A lot fewer hicks and rednecks, you know?

And that’s all the information I have right now. I’m going to talk to my parents about it either over the weekend or early next week, and I’ll be sure to get some information from the apartment complex on Monday, just in a sort of reconnaissance mission.

*     *     *     *     *

Hmm…  As I’m sitting here watching my friends (and a few random casual acquaintances) play a Star Wars RPG game, I can’t help but wonder if I really can leave them to live my own life so far away.  I’m only an observer in this game, not a player (not really my thing I guess), which tells me they’ll be fine without me.  But what about me?  How do you make new friends, especially close ones like those you have now?

Gaze anew at the heart that once was, for all answers are within.

I was once a very happy child. I ran and played outside with my friends all the time, and knew without a doubt that my parents loved me. I was loud and talkative, outgoing even, and always dreaming of some new fantasy world. Magic was everywhere for me then. My mother praised my accomplishments, and I accepted without thought my silent father’s assumed love and admiration. My brother was an older brother, bothersome but protective. Life was good.

I miss being that child sometimes. As with many people, when I hit puberty things became awkward. I quickly moved into middle school where there were a lot more kids, and suddenly I was conscious of the fact that I was different, that dreams and make-believe weren’t acceptable to this crowd. I had always been chubby, bordering on fat, but that hadn’t seemed too much of a problem before as I was always the smart kid who made perfect grades, and I was okay with that. I had my friends that I lived on the same block with, and that’s all I needed. But middle school brought changes, as it always does, and I became aware of social cliques, fitting in, and the inevitable desire to have a companion in an intimate sense. It wasn’t until late in I believe eighth grade that I knew “gay” was the word to describe me, and believe me, it was a bit of a shock. I had always assumed I was normal. I got good grades, went to church with my family when I was younger, fought with my older brother most of the time, and played with my friends whenever possible. But I liked girls as friends and companions. I found myself lusting after boys, later men, though at the time I couldn’t have told you what exactly “lust” meant.

I was shy in middle school, though I did make some friends, many of which I am still friends with now. I entered high school with those friends, and with them came back out of my shell again, at least a little bit. I became a bit more confident, sure in my abilities as a smart kid and a band geek. Yet I knew I was still on the cusp of groups. I was a smart kid, but didn’t do the geeky things like D & D or other rpg’s. Nor did I join the science clubs and do math for fun in my free time. I loved band, but also kept up with some of the more popular trends. My friends and I called ourselves “the outcasts” in jest because we certainly weren’t the popular kids, but we also didn’t fit into the other cliques, like the goths, nerds, jocks, or drama geeks. Even the band geeks thought we were different, and we didn’t care. I guess that’s what helped my confidence come back. There were people on the edge just like me.

But today, after just graduating college, I still feel as if I’m on the edge of groups. I never liked going to wild drunken parties, and I never had time for most clubs or groups. I got decent grades, and managed to keep the same friends I came to college with, with the addition of a few others. My only boyfriend was my last semester of high school, and I’ve only slept with someone twice. I have been boyfriend-less the entire time during college, with only a few real dates interspersed here and there. Now I feel as if I’ve been holding myself back for the stupidest reasons. I’ve always thought myself too heavy to fit in with the other gays on campus, the ones with uber-fashionable clothes and way too much time to spend on their hair or love life. And I never put myself out there enough to find any dates, so I know I only have myself to blame.

But I have come to an intriguing, somewhat disturbing realization as of late. I know now that my loud, talkative self hasn’t “come back” at all, but has become a facade to hide my insecurities. I am the guy who uses sometimes mean humor and sarcasm to hide his jealousy and contempt for both himself and those he sees as having rejected him. I find it hard sometimes to feel happy for my friends’ accomplishments because I want to accomplish things as well. I go through the motions of being upset about things or trying to comfort someone, but in reality I have no idea what to do in those situations, and I have a psych degree. It sounds cliche, but I need to work on loving myself.

Until very recently I didn’t know the main source of my insecurities, but over the years I’ve figured it out: it’s my father. Throughout childhood while my mother would praise me for every accomplishment, every good grade, my father was absent, always working and too tired to do much when he got home. I accepted this when I was younger as just how my dad was. But later, even in high school, it began to get harder and harder to get some praise out of my parents. Mom always loved my good grades, but they both rarely ever attended a band concert after about 9th grade, and they never came to a game or marching contest to see me march, though Mom went to almost all of my brother’s home football games. I began practically asking, begging for recognition. I would start to brag about doing well on a test or how well the band did at contest. While it wasn’t obvious to me then, now it seems as if this behavior should have been obvious to my parents. They should have known on some level that my talkative nature had changed from the ramblings of a boy full of ideas to the cries of a boy full of needs.

I don’t blame them for their mistakes, because I do think they did the best they knew how. They love me, and always have, or so I believe. Mom I have no doubt about most of time, though she can be rather selfish and lately hasn’t been as supportive as I’d like her to be. But Dad is ever the silent type. He teases all the time (not to me, but rather while talking about me to others) that I talk all the time, and that he’s gotten very good at tuning me out. What he doesn’t seem to realize is that every time I try to talk to him about what’s going in my life with my friends or anything, it is me desperately trying to get him to talk to me about anything. I work with my father right now (yes I know, pathetic), and he is my manager. We see each other quite a bit, so I have a lot of opportunities to say things to him. I’ll go into his office to talk about what’s going on in my life, how I’m looking for an apartment in town or saving up for a car, or anything, and most times I don’t get a word of response. While I realize we are both at work and busy, it wouldn’t be that hard for him to acknowledge me and give me some sort of fatherly encouragement. For example, as you readers know I’m apartment hunting, trying to make a budget to get a place and buy not only a car but furniture to go into my new digs. I know my parents can’t really help financially as they’re short on money, so that’s not my problem. But when I mention it to Mom she gets upset or worried and tells that she doesn’t think I should live on my own, that I should have roommates again (and work with Dad until I go to grad school apparently). She gotten clingy to the point of suffocation sometimes, and in a way I understand it, as my older brothers live halfway across the country in Connecticut. I get that she wants me nearby, but I know that she doesn’t realize how much she hurts me I get no reassurance from her.

At the other end of the spectrum, Dad gives me almost no reaction at all, and when I finally do exhort a response from him, it’s usually of the sort that mentions how much money it costs to have your own place, or how I don’t need a car (even though I’m a college graduate trying to start a life on my own). One of my supervisors (a guy right below my dad in the managerial hierarchy) has said that Dad has told him how proud he is of me, but I find it hard to believe him. Would it be so hard to get some love and encouragement from him? Only yesterday I found myself thrilled that I found an excuse to work next to him and actually have a conversation. Even at the time I thought how pathetic it was that I was so happy just to be talking to the man I see five days a week at least.

I believe that these father issues are what directed me to like older men, though I never got so far as to go after anyone near my dad’s age. Older men (say around 30-40) have always had an appeal to me, as they are more likely to be put together, to be more knowledgeable, and more likely to have their life in order. Thankfully, I’ve become more and more open to relationships with men my own age, though I’d still prefer to be the younger one (and the shorter one if possible, but that’s erroneous.) These issues are also responsible for my constant need for reassurance in a relationship that I am loved or at least well-liked, and why I get so attached to a man or develop a little crush on a guy as soon as he says something reasonably nice to me. At least now I have an idea was is behind some of my issues, so I can tackle them head on. I crave love and affection from a man, so I end up formulating wild fantasies in my mind involving the most recent available man that has come into my life that was nice to me. But this desire for affection has crippled me into fearing rejection as well, so I end up sitting home on Saturday nights hanging out with my roommates, all of whom are female. I have no gay friends to speak of (that aren’t lesbians of course), and have no idea where I’m going to meet someone now that college is over, at least for a while.

I know I want love, a long term relationship filled with affection, intimacy, and trust. But I’m also afraid that my weight, or my looks, or my mean jokes caused by insecurities, will keep me from finding that. (I’m also keenly aware that I’ve been sounding very whiny in this post, especially in the section directly discussing my parents’ behaviors, but please bear with me. Everyone needs to be self-indulgent and whiny at times, especially on their own blog.) My new task has been to get me to love myself once more. I will stop eating emotionally, and I will stop making excuses not to go out, or go to the gym, or meet new people. I will be sociable and kind, and be genuinely happy when a friend succeeds. I want to go back to that child I was before whose greatest thrill was seeing someone laugh and smile, who loved nothing more than to play, dream, and love.

I know that answers to my problems lie within in me, in that child’s heart that was once mine to care for. Can the reality I want be that which is hidden inside of me? I’ll keep you posted.

-Liridon