I feel like I’m on the verge of either a breakthrough or a breakdown.
Pieces and fragments of me are whirling and colliding all around me in an attempt to form a more fully-realized version of myself. I’m truly coming into my own and it’s painful and it’s terrifying and thrilling and everything that life is and should be.
Part of the reasoning behind this dating column was my urge cum compulsion to make sense of some of these disparate elements since love and its pursuit are intrinsically tied to this formation of self. Sex and writing have always gone hand in hand for me, so it was also a pretty natural transition.
Without fail, the creative process makes me horny. Though I’ve yet to figure out if the opposite holds true. In experiencing a flowering of creativity, I in turn become crazed for sex. Not until that need is satiated will I feel whole as an artist again.
By now, I know what I want for my career, I know what I want in a man, I know more or less what I want out of life, but I’ve hit a wall. I’m living in a constant state of frustration. Though it feels like I’m doing everything I can, I’m still not where I want to be in my career and I have yet to find anyone who is willing and able to fit into my life. I’m not whole as an artist or a person, but I feel the pieces coming together.
But after yet another night of doggedly pursuing the next great headless torso to make me feel less lonely for a little while; to make me feel desired and beautiful and sexy because I don’t know how to feel those things on my own, I’m closer to the verge.
I’m a victim of my own desires, but nights like this always make me question why I continue to be a slave to those desires. Running around town buying chargers from Duane Reade and 7-11 then sitting on the floor of Port Authority at 4 am to charge my phone so I can resume my one last ditch attempt at a hookup isn’t my idea of a good time. It’s my idea of pathetic.
Above all, it was frustrating because here I was — yet again — trying my damnedest to make something work that is flawed from the outset. I wanted a hookup, but hookups are easy. What I really wanted was to believe in someone behind a profile because they fit my ideal. I inevitably would’ve gotten attached to him and he would inevitably disappear.
As I strive for my own ideals, I worry that I might lose some of the pieces and fragments yet it’s the struggle to realize my ideals that informs who I am. I just don’t know if the struggle is worth it.
Is it enough to know what you want, even if it may not be right for you? Is it enough to put your dreams — flawed as they may be — out into the universe and to work and to want for them with all your being? When is it enough?
Anyway. I just needed to write this out before I went completely insane. I’ve been manic for the past few days an drunk for the past few nights as this tumbled around in my head. Now here are some gifs and puns about the whacky, soul-crushing world of gay single life:
THE INCREDIBLE,UNDATEABLE GAY: ON 10 THINGS SINGLE GAYS NEEDS
Ah, dating. It’s a jungle out there, full of all types of unseemly wild animals: bears and cubs and wolves ready to snatch you up on the way to Grandma’s Haus. In order for a gay to keep his head above water and his knees plastered to the floor, he’s going to need a few essentials. May I present to you the Single Gay’s Survival Kit.* Here are 10 things every single gay man needs to get through the living hell of dating before finding the sweet, sweet release of heaven — i.e. being rich enough to have rent boys on retainer.
*Patent not pending