This one goes out to the delightfully disobedient and wise David duChemin. He kicked my ass about part 1 and demanded the rest.
I have a confession. There is a voice in my head of a bitter, shallow gay man and I’m addicted to it.
He is devious and demanding of my attention, always whining about what we lack. He whispers seductively of those with slender builds, bubble butts, six pack abs, overflowing bank accounts, nice houses, rich friends and fame.
He hates that I am broadly built, a kind way of saying I’ve always struggled a bit with my weight. And that my thighs are the size of a baby elephant in leotards.
If only you would eat less carbs.
I know that the shallow and whispering gay man just wants to be loved. He needs to be wanted. And I also know that this is me. I yearn to be wanted, loved and desired.
You need different genes!
Or at the very least, some jeans that hide those thighs!
I know that none of these superficial things truly matter, and yet I want them. Shit, I covet them.
But wait. Before you jump on the jealous gay man voice, you should know it is far from the only voice in here. It’s a fucking party!
The Beast
A grumbling beast slides in the depths. He is of blood, magic and the sword.He avoids the angry, shallow gay man at all costs for he hates small talk and screams and melts like a dying witch when forced to converse with people who can’t handle being called out on real issues. The gay man avoids him right back.
The beast is large and ponderous, yet strikes with alarming speed at the heart of the matter, our purpose, and the heart’s calling. He generally surfaces in my drunken rants and late night conversations with fellow travelers.
With him in my blood, I want the hard answers. No, the impossible questions. I become drunk on the dreams of others and yearn to explore the obstacles, limiting beliefs and delusions that plague us all.
He gives me the strength I require to rend the whispering shallow man to pieces, devour his insecurities and salt the earth where he was born.
And then I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
Can you not go to the gym just once a month?
You’re going out wearing THAT?
The beast retreats. He will not attack. He knows we are one and the same. Instead, he returns to the depths to search for what has been locked away.
The Child
For before the gay man and the beast was a child.
A child who stared with loving fascination at the world. A child who did not care that one day he would see the world through thick glasses and wrinkled folds of skin.
He listened to his heart and lived to give love and acceptance to those around him. And to run and jump into every body of water, screaming with joyous abandon.
This boy cherished being alive and didn’t worry himself with lesser things.
Only I’ve lost track of where I locked him away. I had no choice! He lived by the heart and this hurt too much to bear.
So the beast searches and I catch the shallow part of me watching, hopeful.
