Introduction
Being gay in an almost entirely straight and often times homophobic society is a challenge. It is important for gay men to understand that we do not have to accept the shame and self-hatred society wants for us. This is especially important when we are still struggling to identify who it is we fall in love with. We also do not have to accept gay culture. We can be individuals. We are men who happen to fall in love with men and so much more. Finding out who we are as gay men specifically and as human beings in general is a challenge. Here is the way I have let go of the roles I thought society made for me and the ones I made for myself.
Chapter One: The Root of Suffering
The root of our suffering is that we tell ourselves a story about ourselves, our lives and the way the world works and then buy it. We build an image of ourselves and of the world. When we do this, someone or something will come along and knock it down.
The root of my suffering was what I told myself about my own world. I personally was going to have a wife and kids, a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and 1.7 dogs.
Then came the day when Scott Mayborne walked to the front of Earth Science class in tight jeans, and I was in love. My next thought was, “My God, I’m one of those.” End of story about myself and about my life. The truth began and the pain was in the contrast. To go from a white picket fence to drugs, bathhouses and HIV was a shock. Not that the original white picket fence was like The Donna Reed Show.
Actually, the signposts of my sexuality were there long before the eighth grade. When I was very young, before I went to school, I was fascinated by Tarzan movies. There were old Tarzan movies on television on Saturday afternoons. I remember that I liked looking at Tarzan and, before I understood that television was not three dimensional, I used to get as close to the TV as I could and try to look under Tarzan’s loin cloth… Enquiring minds want to know… I don’t think I really knew what I was looking for, but I knew for sure: Tarzan was very interesting!
It’s entirely possible that my father saw some signposts when I was young because he began sending me to things like the scouts, soccer and karate lessons at a young age. Later, when I came out to my family, both my parents indicated that, although they were crushed, they were not surprised. My father did everything he could to get me to butch it up. He was making me play sports and my sisters were dressing me up in their clothes. I wasn’t pleased with either role. I wanted to play in the mud and be left alone.
When I went to elementary school, the troubles began. I was a whirling dervish! I couldn’t sit still in first grade. I remember chasing after the other children with whatever weaponry was available. There were a few incidents with brooms and yardsticks. Finally, my first grade teacher became so exasperated that she used a combination of duct tape, masking tape and humiliation to keep me in my chair. Who could blame her? The lunatic had taken over the asylum! I was a hellion. These kinds of things started happening with my sisters too. There was the time I clocked my oldest sister with a putter. She was annoying me. She had it coming! She was winning at miniature golf. For some reason, my parents started sending me to child psychologists and behavioral specialists and then about two years later, those visits stopped.
About this time, my classmates began to torment me. I will always remember the first time I was called a queer. I went home and asked my mother what a queer was. Her answer was fairly enlightened for the time. She said, “Well, a queer is a man that loves other men.” At six or seven, I had no concept of sexuality, so I didn’t equate love to anything sexual. All I could think was, “I don’t understand why that’s a bad thing,” but I could tell from my mother’s tone of voice that it wasn’t good. I started to learn the importance of flying beneath the radar. I learned to blend into the woodwork by the time I was in the third grade. My primary goal became: don’t get noticed. My first suicide attempt was in the fourth grade, there were many more to come.
This was the period when I began to feel like there was something wrong with me. I started to hide from my peers and my own life by retreating into my fantasy world. I had begun building a wall around myself that would later prove to be a real hindrance in my relationships with others. Much like any other person or animal, I felt pain and recoiled from it. Many animals do this, but we humans seem to be good at building psychological walls around ourselves. The sense of separation from my family, my peers and the world started to haunt me.
My parents were strict disciplinarians. They could be violent at times. They didn’t hesitate to break out a belt, paddle, broomstick, or occasionally a fist or two, when they wanted to make a point. They weren’t equal opportunity abusers though. My father was tough on me and my mother was tough on my sisters. I always thought my sisters had it rougher than me. After all, my father never broke any of my bones or used scalding hot water on me. The same couldn’t be said about my mother’s violence against my sisters.
Like so many others, I began my journey into illusions at a young age. By the time Scott Mayborne walked to the front of the class, I had plenty of reasons to hate myself, but when I realized that I wanted to spend my life with this boy (or at least a few sweaty hours!); I was convinced that I was the lowest form of life. Not only was I strange and had no friends, I was a queer.
Each of us makes up stories about who we think we are. These stories come from our families, our peers, our culture and ultimately ourselves. Many parents try to shape us in one way or another. Often, without realizing it, we begin to believe that, since we don’t seem to be who our parents want us to be, there is something wrong with us. Often this is compounded by our teachers and peers – eventually, by us.
Many philosophers and religious leaders have attempted to address the human condition, but none as eloquently as Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha, or Jiddu Krishnamurti. Each in his own way starts with an honest assessment of life: Life is ephemeral, insubstantial, impermanent and therefore unsatisfying. Nothing in life can bring lasting satisfaction or happiness. No pleasure is lasting no object is permanent. The Buddha taught this as the first of Four Noble Truths in the Pali Cannon. If my sense of identity is dependent on something that is destined to change, there can be no lasting satisfaction: life will be unsatisfactory. In Freedom From the Known, Krishnamurti said, "If I am all the time measuring myself against you, struggling to be like you, then I am denying what I am myself. Therefore I am creating an illusion." This describes what I longed to do with no success. I wanted desperately to be like my peers, but could not seem to figure out how. Later, an honest and realistic assessment of my life led me to realize that, without question, life is unsatisfactory. This sense of dissatisfaction (or, if you like, ‘unsatisfactoriness’) is deepened when I try to push it away by denying it, accepting it or chasing pleasure in an attempt to ignore my situation. The more I attempt this the more intense the suffering becomes, until it becomes completely unbearable or until I numb it in whatever way possible, which makes me completely dull and spiritually comatose.
