Michael's Story
I will never forget this one time when dad took me to Kindergarten
on his bicycle. It is my most early memory of interaction with him
(or lack thereof). He took me into his big strong arms and put me on
the ground and held my hand as we walked into the kindergarten
together.
Then he just walked off.
I cried and was sent home because of the sadness/rejection I felt.
Little did I know why poor dad was so closed off emotionally. Back
when my dad grew up, he never had so much as a hug from his father,
who only talked to him when he wanted to say something critical. He
grew up feeling like a sissy in front of the others because of some
of the messages he received early in childhood, eg 'boys don't cry.'
Having learnt to be ashamed of expressing the emotional truth of his
pain at having been denied love and intimacy from an excessively
critical father who placed value only on his son's ability to have
'kids;' dad had children that he was not adequately prepared to
raise properly. I just wanted him to hold me.
After the bike ride incident I think I instinctively recoiled away
from dad in order to not feel the sting of what I perceived to be;
being 'rejected' by him. As a consequence I think I drifted further
and further away from my own masculine heritage, especially seeing
as I was living with mum mostly; as they were divorced. I never felt
like I belonged closely with dad.
When I hit puberty, I remember feeling absolutely terrified when I
saw my friend's developing genitals as we were using the urinal
during sports. This now, to me, validates that I was drifting
further away and becoming increasingly alienated from my perceived
'rejecting' source of masculine identity (my dad); which recurred as
the shock of seeing my friend in this way, even though boys going to
the toilet together and even comparing each other's 'manhood' is
supposed to be a normal thing, it was something I found intimidating
at the time; I missed out on feeling comfortable enough with myself
(and him) to be able to experience this potentially celebratory
aspect of life.
Perhaps I just so badly wanted to feel safe enough to be able to
talk 'brother to brother' about our developing into 'adults'
together, yet held back because, having drifted away from my
masculine roots, It was almost as if inside a memory was triggered,
as if I was being reminded that I had never felt a sense of
belonging around dad (or other men), as if something must be 'wrong'
with me. As a result my journey through physical development was
mainly a lonely, scary affair. Seeing my friend like this I felt
almost as if I was a girl being indecently exposed to a man.
This was also the beginning of that alienated feeling I had around
my peers.
When I first started to feel very sad and alone in life, as a
teenager, as though something were missing; I did not know what to
do so I went to a community counselor. Had I not gone there, the
then vulnerable me might not have been guided to the 'young and gay'
group where I met the person who was to rape me under coercion.
Combined with the fact that he had refused to wear a condom, and
that he was indeed very rough with me; he had also explained shortly
after penetrating me, how he'd recently attempted suicide because of
his certainty that he might very well have aids. I remembered how,
after the incident just after leaving his house, I had briefly
thought something like 'what if he did have aids?' I had then told
myself that I was being 'unrealistic,' and immediately purchased
some alcohol to 'blot out the memory' (kill some brain cells.)
Of course I had not seen him for months since it happened, because I
was too busy living in that strange dreamland of self-verification
and drugs, (you know that brief and fleeting sense of relief
/achievement, that you have finally 'made it,' that you've had sex
now and are now part of the crowd, you are now a 'man' and 'worthy
of existence,' that all people who base their self-worth on such
accomplishments feel?) I had forgotten all about it (running way
from myself.)
I remembered the bleeding and how I had to yell 'stop' several times
just so he would get out of me because of the pain. Although
thankfully my AIDS test came back negative, the trauma I experienced
during this 'window-period' left emotional scars.
I never fully embraced homosexuality as an identity. I always knew a
human being's genitals do not determine who they are. I did still
lack the need I had for 'masculine' love, and wanted someone to
hold. After spending one or two years briefly wallowing around in
the mire of superficiality and the constant judging that compose
'homosexual life,' adjusting my appearance by going to the gym hour
after hour just to feel barely acceptable, only made me feel worse!
Rigorous soul searching led me to a simple answer: "Homosexuality is
based on sex and not love values." I also realized that
homosexuality has turned something that is supposed to be sanctified
and private (lovemaking) into something that is not just morally
degrading, but also something that is as brief as a handshake, and
as meaningless as an empty stare. So it was time for me to get in
touch with my own source of love, not sex; if I didn't want to be so
desperately unhappy all the time.
Although this is not exclusively limited to just 'homosexuality', it
is by default the always and unfailingly 100% intrinsic part of
homosexuality. In my opinion the act of real lovemaking involves a
man and a woman, wanting to give nothing but pleasure to their
partner and expecting absolutely nothing in return; so that children
can grow up into stable surroundings with two parents that love each
other. Real lovemaking to me, does not involve two people using each
other to feed their man-fuelled sex-addiction, a retarded growth of
increasingly lost and lonely vicious-circle desperation borne out of
arrested man-to-man-intimacy development. That is why it should be
illegal, I think.
I read a book (The Way home or face The Fire - A.J.Hill) describing
the three different kinds of sex :
a) sex -pure animal lust
b) sex with feeling
c) love
No amount of the first two could ever equal the third!
My rage is mostly towards the so called 'professionals' of the
system, and the stupid articles that I see in my local newspaper,
trying to portray homosexual adolescents as these poor, injusticed,
brave and noble people. I feel sick when I see the pro-homosexual
youth outreach workers being portrayed as 'noble fighters for the
underdog' and I feel like crying. To me they are like wolves hiding
in the scrub on the side of a paddock filled with sheep.
I have never had much success with people politically and have since
decided that people have to decide what they want to believe for
themselves. I can only recommend stuff to myself. Aside from this, I
believe that homosexuals can not be 'changed.' If, because people
are out there, doing it, they are only doing it to themselves and I
realized that; even though I may feel very strongly about it, I
don't have to take this personally. Maybe sad, but this, only my
opinion, is the only way people can learn and change; by themselves.
No one likes to have their belief system attacked, to be told "What
you do is wrong," but unfortunately many people are being led astray
and I believe I can only be there for them by permitting them to
learn from the natural consequences of their actions, and letting
go, as painful
and sadistic or 'resigned' as that plan may sound. Knowledge and
defense only, never attack; which makes it worse. The way I see it,
in terms of 'fighting' for what I believe to be right, so that
homosexuality can be properly and widely recognized as the 'negative
support' that it truly is, all
one can do to dissuade it is by either setting people a good
example, or by shunning them to make them ashamed of their ways and
then loving them into changing.
I know that all I have to do is continue to be me - I believe
homosexuality is a bad lifestyle for my own good - and I certainly
do not condone it for anyone. People latch on and tune in if they're
ready.
In terms of 'straightening myself out' I don't really believe that I
need to change at all. For me it was simply recognizing the core
issue of why my own father was not available for me at the time, and
having compassion for him, instead of remaining the little kid
inside who, because he had never really understood, out of no fault
of his own had distanced and defended himself against further
perceived rejections from dad and drifted even further away from
him. It was time for me to return.
Michael
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