So after what I thought was an isolated incident, I rarely ever put the time or energy into my depressive feelings. I mean, being called into a room and commanded to commit suicide in front of your parents is a lot for a teenager to process and also served as a very good strength-building tactic. Looking back in retrospect I see that was my parent's goal. That said, my journey thereafter was rather interesting. I rarely submitted to the deep feeling that was trying to call to me. Usually when there were instances of heartbreak that's what would bring me down. Being a newly outed homosexual male in a big city to fend for myself and figure it out was a disaster in and of itself but I managed. I think. I'm also a Pisces, so matters of the heart are no easy feat.
I remember I met a German man, he was the first one I met. I remember our first date lasted 11 days. Andreas was his name. He introduced me to a lot of his culture. He embraced me and made me feel special. When I met him he had just broken up with his boyfriend because he caught him and another man fucking in his apartment. I was the rebound and didn't even know it, but it was a fun 6 months while it lasted. I thought I was in love, it was kind of my first free relationship with a man. Needless to say when I was told by him that he was taking his ex back, it was devastating. Enough to start to feel a familiar depth of emotion which happened to surround around my sexuality yet again.
I honestly didn't no how to cope so I chose not to cope at all. I literally sulked for only a few days before my sister told me to get over it and that he wasn't worth it. That's kind of the running advice in my family...get over it and move on. So, that's exactly what I did. In fact, that's what I always did...and then I met Brendan. Who was what I thought to be perfect until things very loosely unraveled and rather quickly. Brendan was a meth addict living with bipolar and manic depression. I had NO idea what meth was at 19 years old back in 2001. He was manipulative, unpredictable, extremely abusive (physically, mentally, and emotionally) and I stuck with it because I thought I could "help" him and I was solely capable of changing it and I also believed that he really loved me.
That very confident mentality quickly turned around into something disgustingly vulnerable. I started allowing even more of that very bad behavior and didn't even try to understand what was really happening. I allowed myself to forget who I was and what I stand for chasing the love of a man. So much so that I allowed him to beat me up...and down. I still ask myself to this day, how could I let that happen to me? I let it go on for a little over a year and a half until I realized that I had enough. I was the one supporting my sister through her physically abusive relationship the best that I could. I'm the one who told her to go crazy on his ass. It was time for me to practice what I preached and I beat the living SHIT out of him after he had a manic episode and accused me of trying to sleep with his friend.
The day after that day everything changed. He flipped the script on me like I was the crazy one and I was the abusive one. That combined with the past year in a half of being a victim bred anger. An anger like no other. An anger that practically everyone is very familiar with to this day...It was that anger that shook him so much so that he abandoned ship. He packed his shit and he left the entire house empty with nothing there but my shit with only a month left on the lease. Even though he hurt me to no extent, being alone, walking in that door to nothing brought that feeling back and this time a little deeper...more empty. I kept remembering what a great friend used to always tell me in times of heartache, "Don't be sad, get mad. You will be able to climb over the wall so much faster that way." I would cling so hard to that for my comfort. So hard I don't think I've yet let go...
Til next time...
Harvey.
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