When I Need A Pick Me Up, by my friend Ryan King

Monday, July 13, 2009

Okay. Okay.

So yeah, my heart's in my throat. How does that happen? I LITERALLY feel my heart beating right at the level of my sternum, right below my Adam's Apple. Because I just sent The Letter to My Super Hero giving up The Last Reveal about me. You know, the whole sex thing? The whole "me" and "not being as straight as I wished I were" thing?

Yeah. And if my impressions of My Super Hero is accurate, this won't go as horribly, horribly horribly maddeningly horrific as it could be. He won't feel deceived and lied-to about me. He won't think all this has just been one big same-sex crush and an elaborate scheme to create a big jerk-off fantasy (which it never ever has. My Super Hero embodies the ideal for me--the me I want to be, removed from all corruption and molestations and illicit seedy porno sex). He's the innocence of reading comics at nine, dreaming about justice and fairness and how to be a hero and a man. He's married and all that, but that's not who he is for me. For me, he's the recapture of a childhood I'll never be able to have had. He's my escape when the world is too brutal again.

So why did I do this? Why did I tell him? Why didn't I just keep it out of all conversation, as I have been doing? Well, because we're friends, he and I. I mean we really get on really well. And sometime I have just not been there for him because of my struggles and my ups and my downs, and sometimes I feel like I've let him down so much and I just wanted him to know why. I thought that because of all he means to me and because of all he's done for my mind and my spirit, I felt he deserved to be let in. That he deserved to be trusted, I guess. Yeah, that's it. He deserves to be trusted with this.

Still, I'm just so scared that despite everything I've tried to be, and everything I've wished for and all the purest motives this bent frame could conceive of, that I'll be misunderstood and rejected. That my heart will be broken and that I'll no longer be AFOMA. And while he'll have the right to turn away from the secret-keeping little perv that I am, since it is HIS life and he gets to decide who HE wants in it, it would just crush me. It would be just so awful.

And I would survive. And I would find new supports, or call you guys up and cry on your shoulder until we both drowned, but .... I would recover.



Oh God. Please. Have mercy on me. I just hate all this. Why did this have to be me? Why couldn't I just be like anyone else?

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