Here as I stare in the deep darkness that is the mirror of my soul, surrounded yet again by the pain of conflict between heart, soul and mind, I find that the time has come to release inner demons and acknowledge the truth of myself, in order to bring some meaning out of my existence. In the faintest of all hopes, that it would have some measure of hope for others.
I am by no means a great man. Far from it, I have flaws, demons, regrets. Although I have tried to live, to exist in such a way as to help others, I have failed many times in that endeavor. Truth be told, I am tired. Tired of the façade of being. Tired of wearing mask upon mask in the vain hope of fooling not others but myself. I am not a good man. I have failed far too many, for me to even contemplate the saying. Thus my history relived and pains revisited.
I have never been what some would call normal or average. Some have said that I should never have been at all.
At the age of three, after contracting two illnesses at once, I should have died. Yet I survived, changed. At the age of four, once again I should have ceased living. Not even the bursting of my appendix could end me. From that point onward I knew I was different. Aside from lacking the ability to eat most foods, my intellect was far above others. At five I understand in great detail the events of the world. I did not “fit in” with others. Until the age of 11, I was told that I would die before adulthood, from being different. The term “freak” was a common in my life. At the age of 15, I found myself surrounded by piers who could not grasp what I understood. As I graduated high school at 15, in defiance of my foretold demise, I was bombarded with social moralities. I was told that being what I knew I was, was sinful and wrong. At the age of 16, within a month of entering college, I found myself teaching subjects that I knew more of than my professors. Although I was being true to myself, the stigma of being what I was did not find words of encouragement. Yet I survived. I dared to trust. One trust however betrayed me. And although some may find it humorous, the fact remains (details not needed) that I was a victim of rape. Yes I a young man was raped by a woman. Still I survived, yet finding more and more the need to wear masks upon masks. For over 20 years, I continued doing so. Keeping my true self caged. Holding back both desires and demons, I did so out of love. The love of one woman, in who I saw hope. Yet even in that I failed. All it took was my failure as a father and I broke. Failing to see the pain in my daughter’s eyes after she had suffered a severe concussion. Failing to see the warning signs that she like me was suffering. I was broken. I began to fade from this world. Yet in my broken state found a new hope. One that caused pain to the woman I love (who was in pain from being disabled by sickness), then happiness. Here too I failed. I failed the woman who had loved me. In the end, that new hope broke me further, causing pain not only to myself but to all. Yet I survived and sought the good out of the situation. The truth of who I was, was now know to the woman I love. I thought that I could begin to heal. I believed that I could be myself with those precious few who loved me. However fate is cruel. My Daughter and the woman I love found themselves in a car accident my Daughter (the eldest of two daughters) was once again the victim of a severe concussion. And the woman who had loved me even broken, now herself was broken. Once more the masks returned. Once more I could not be true to myself and in so doing failed again.
As to why tell my story. Perhaps in the hope that one person at the least will learn from it.
I have made many mistakes, the greatest of which, was letting the world and the social norm impress upon my younger self to feel shame at the stigmata of being different. When I was younger, to love more than one person at a time was viewed as being amoral. If you were a woman doing so, you were in all eyes a slut, a whore. For a man it was either being a player or a manslut. It was easier to be gay or a lesbian than it was to openly admit to being polyamorous. So I kept what I was to myself. Oh I did tell the women I would be with that I was a manwhore, a far more accepted term that no one would question. After all I was the “bad boy” that women wanted. So there you have it. The truth, I am a Hetro Polyamorous man. One that has caused pain to those he loves. All of this the end result of my failure all those years ago to make a stand and be proud of who I was. If only I had plainly told the woman I love all those years ago…. But no, I chose to hide behind a mask that was more accepted by society. Now, my life begins to path to grey and hope fades more each passing day, and here I find myself hoping that my truth will at the least help one person chose not to fall victim to the norms of society and instead by proud and accepting of who they are , be it straight, gay, lesbian, bi, trans or poly.
As for those precious few that have my love, and to the one woman who has loved me far more than any other, all that I can express in words is my regret for the pain that I have caused. No matter what the night brings, My Love will never lessen for you.