Xander9009
New member
My Sob Story (first post)
I don’t have a sob story. When you’re done reading you won’t be tearing up and trying not to cry. When you’re finished you aren’t going to be dropping everything to come and meet me to help me through.
Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world could possibly feel like this. However, most of the time I understand that’s nowhere close to the truth no matter how strongly I wish it wasn’t. I don’t want to be the only one to feel this for the sake of being unique. I would just feel a little better knowing it wasn’t rampant. I’d feel better knowing that for the most part, life is better than this. I’m not some drama movie and I’m not a gut wrenching story waiting to happen. I’m a 20 year old guy in his room in his parents’ house in the middle of a 2,000 person town in Indiana typing away on his bed in nothing but shorts at 12:25 in the morning in early October.
I’ll put some ---‘s ahead so you can skip there if you want.
My story, simple as it is, starts when I was about five years old in Texas. I remember when I was five or so and I got a toy for Christmas. The toy, which I still have, was an action figure riding a motorized skateboard in a black and orange jumpsuit. It was simple for the most part, but I liked it. I liked that it was orange and black. The colors, which I remembered from a couple months prior, were Halloween, my favorite holiday now. I liked the motorized skateboard. It reminded me of electricity and motors and gears. I was five so I didn’t really understand that all quite yet but I was old enough to know they were cool. I liked the action figure, especially since his jumpsuit was two parts and I could take his shirt off and have him ride his cool skateboard shirtless, ‘cause he was cool like that.
Now, we’re going to jump to when I was ten and living in Indiana. We lived in an apartment complex with 50-60 apartments and I had two best friends, a pattern I seem to clutch to forever after. First I was best friends with John and Keith. We played make believe games and ran around. Then, I met Shayla. We became good friends and John moved away, leaving me Keith and Shayla. Then, Amanda moved in and Keith moved away, leaving me, Shayla and Amanda. Amanda had an older brother named Brett. He was friends with my sister. I had a crush on Brett, though, at ten, I didn’t have any idea what it was. I just knew I thought he was more interesting than I usually found people who weren’t my friends. Finally, they moved away and so did Shayla. Tyler moved in.
I feel pangs of guilt every time I remember him because I only remember one thing about him. I remember that when he stayed the night at my house he peed in my bed. I was probably eleven at this point and probably should have had the tact to leave it alone. Sadly, I was compelled to get to the truth of the matter when he said it was sweat and that he had a nighttime sweating problem. I didn’t believe it and had to know if my suspicions were correct. I didn’t realize I was might be hurting his feelings until my older sister told me to think about it when she heard me tell someone about my ingenious deductive skills. We moved out very shortly after that and I always felt guilty for not being able to apologize since I didn’t see him again and I still do.
This is a rare instance. I don’t feel guilt. I don’t usually feel emotions the same as other people. This much I know is true and I know it’s not just me thinking I’m unique. I’ve had people stare blankly at my descriptions of my own emotional perceptions. Not from disbelief, just from utter confusion, which they told me about. My emotions are strange and my opinions are stranger. If you punch me in the face for bothering you and it’s not really my fault I won’t get mad at you. I won’t be angry or upset. I won’t have my feelings hurt. I won’t feel betrayed. I might be annoyed. Mind you, this is not speculation from someone whose never been punched in the face. This is experience.
If I explain something to you and you don’t understand even though it’s simple I won’t be annoyed or think you’re stupid. I’ll jump to the conclusion that I’ve misinterpreted it and go through it extensively in my head until I’m sure I’m right. Then, I’ll assume I explained it poorly and go into great detail to great pains to explain it correctly, understandably and in depth. Then, when you don’t understand it because I’m explaining too many steps and you just want the answer, I’ll be frustrated. Not that you don’t understand, just that you only want the answer. I might, on rare occasions, give you the answer, but I wouldn’t hold my breath for it.
There are two things that can quickly and effectively move me to tears. I’m a stoic person and I don’t cry. I can on one hand the number of times I’ve cried since I was ten. The first thing that will do it is music, if I let it. I can hold it back and just enjoy the music. But, I can also let go of everything that constitutes me and want nothing more than to cry at how much I love sound and feeling the vibrations from sound and everything to do with music.
The second, which I have far less control over, is when someone fails to follow logic. If I explain that ‘A’ is ‘A’ because ‘B’ is ‘B’ and you respond that ‘A’ isn’t ‘A’ because 1=fish then I’m going to frown and explain that 1 cannot equal fish. If you believe 1 equals fish then you’re going to disagree with me. This conversation is going to end when I abruptly tell you to stop talking. I’ll sound like I’m being rude, and partly am, but my tone is that way because I’m turning tears to anger so I don’t start bawling at your lack of logical understanding. This has moved me closer to unwanted tears than anything else in my entire life. That was in a conversation with my rather intelligent best friend (of two, of course).
Now that you have some background information I’ll try explaining my situation now, my reason for typing tonight.
-----------------
I’m gay. I’m on the verge of declaring myself bisexual, which I did to my two best friends, Charlene and Lydia, when Lydia told us she thought she was bi. I prefer guys to girls but I’m not entirely uninterested in women. This is not my coming out story. I repeat: this is NOT my coming out story. This does, however, involve who I like so if you’ll end up queasy at the mention you should probably go read another story.
I’m lonely. I’m sitting here in bed typing because I’m lonely. I’m wishing I had someone to sleep next to, to be near, to share my bed with in the most innocent of ways: simply knowing he’s there- because I’m lonely. I had a girlfriend when I was six. I had another girlfriend when I was 17 and 18. I’m single now and wishing I wasn’t. My coming out story consisted of, “Mom, dad, if I ever get married it’ll probably be to a guy. Mom said, “Ok.” No tears, no fights, nothing for me to complain about. So, that’s not my reason for being single. I had quite a few girls, some pretty, some sexy, some hot, some attractive, some with great personalities, some with mixtures of those, flirt with me and even a couple of gay guys, one of which I actually gave my number to (at his request) and I still talk to… as friends. It’s not a lack of my own appearance. It’s not them.
I cannot manage to wrap my brain around the idea of me being with a guy (or a girl, that’s even worse because I “need” to be the one in charge, but I’m too apathetic for that). I always come back to thinking of whether or not he’s going to expect me to be the “girl” in the relationship. Then I realize we’re both guys and there isn’t a “girl” in our relationship. Then I start thinking about how soon he’d expect sex and how that’s going to go since I’m a virgin. Then I realize I’ll be a virgin until I have sex so I can’t focus on that. Then I start thinking about how I’m 20 and living with my parents with a low-income job; high pay-per-hour, but not many hours, and I want to wait until I’m stable. Then I realize I might live at home with a low-income job but I have a vehicle, I have a job-some kind of income, I have stable friendships, my family and I get along great: I’m fairly stable, just not exactly how I want to be forever. I start to think about problem after problem and realize each time my worries, while not unfounded or pointless, aren’t really significant and I could overcome them if only I could TRY.
But, the worries don’t go away. They stay. And, they stew. And, they rot.
Stereotypical gay guys don’t stay in a relationship very long. I want a long relationship. I was just about asleep when I was jerked awake by thoughts of my mother and father interacting with my nieces and nephew and I realized suddenly: I’ll never have grandchildren. I’ll never have anyone calling me grandpa. I’ll never be “Dad”. We could adopt. We have options. I might end up with a girl. BUT, I’ll never have grandchildren or children because I can’t manage to shake the feeling I’ll be alone forever. The worries are always there.
They’re always wearing away at me. They’re building up all day and waiting for me to sleep so they can spring up and taunt me. I don’t cry about (though I don’t exactly smile). It’s just an everyday thing. It’s what I feel every time I lay down to go to sleep. I want someone next to me so I don’t feel alone. I want someone there so I can feel his heartbeat and feel his body heat. I don’t want my best friends there but they don’t seem to understand that, at least not both of them. I say I’m lonely and she hugs me. It’s admirable and I appreciate the thought but I’m no less lonely after than before the hug.
In the end, I’m lonely and I know why more or less. I just can’t bring myself to fix it. I could try harder but I’m so afraid of not being successful that I feel like not trying is better. At least I know the misery down that road. I know the truth, though: I won’t know until I try. I’ll never be happy until I’ve tried. I just can’t seem to manage it. I can talk to people. I’m great with people. I’m one of the most successful people I know at interacting with others. I just can’t manage to make the leap from “Hi” to “Want to go to a movie?” I can’t flirt knowingly (or even accidentally; I’m too self-conscious for that).
It’s 1:33 in the morning now, still sitting in my bed. I’ll try to sleep again and I’ll succeed eventually. I’ll get up in the morning and go do some work just like everyone else. I’ll laugh and I’ll smile. I’ll be happy just like always. Everything negative will roll off like usual and my mom will wish for the thousandth time she could manage that bit. And eventually I’ll go to bed and feel this all again. I’ll be sad while I’m going to sleep but happy a few hours later when I wake up to a new day. I’m not depressed, really. Just lonely.
-----
It’s not the most compelling story ever. It’s not the most well written. It’s not a sob story. It’s not unique. It’s not amazing. It’s not horrible.
There are a lot of things it’s not. But, it’s true and it’s mine and it helped.
I don’t have a sob story. When you’re done reading you won’t be tearing up and trying not to cry. When you’re finished you aren’t going to be dropping everything to come and meet me to help me through.
Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world could possibly feel like this. However, most of the time I understand that’s nowhere close to the truth no matter how strongly I wish it wasn’t. I don’t want to be the only one to feel this for the sake of being unique. I would just feel a little better knowing it wasn’t rampant. I’d feel better knowing that for the most part, life is better than this. I’m not some drama movie and I’m not a gut wrenching story waiting to happen. I’m a 20 year old guy in his room in his parents’ house in the middle of a 2,000 person town in Indiana typing away on his bed in nothing but shorts at 12:25 in the morning in early October.
I’ll put some ---‘s ahead so you can skip there if you want.
My story, simple as it is, starts when I was about five years old in Texas. I remember when I was five or so and I got a toy for Christmas. The toy, which I still have, was an action figure riding a motorized skateboard in a black and orange jumpsuit. It was simple for the most part, but I liked it. I liked that it was orange and black. The colors, which I remembered from a couple months prior, were Halloween, my favorite holiday now. I liked the motorized skateboard. It reminded me of electricity and motors and gears. I was five so I didn’t really understand that all quite yet but I was old enough to know they were cool. I liked the action figure, especially since his jumpsuit was two parts and I could take his shirt off and have him ride his cool skateboard shirtless, ‘cause he was cool like that.
Now, we’re going to jump to when I was ten and living in Indiana. We lived in an apartment complex with 50-60 apartments and I had two best friends, a pattern I seem to clutch to forever after. First I was best friends with John and Keith. We played make believe games and ran around. Then, I met Shayla. We became good friends and John moved away, leaving me Keith and Shayla. Then, Amanda moved in and Keith moved away, leaving me, Shayla and Amanda. Amanda had an older brother named Brett. He was friends with my sister. I had a crush on Brett, though, at ten, I didn’t have any idea what it was. I just knew I thought he was more interesting than I usually found people who weren’t my friends. Finally, they moved away and so did Shayla. Tyler moved in.
I feel pangs of guilt every time I remember him because I only remember one thing about him. I remember that when he stayed the night at my house he peed in my bed. I was probably eleven at this point and probably should have had the tact to leave it alone. Sadly, I was compelled to get to the truth of the matter when he said it was sweat and that he had a nighttime sweating problem. I didn’t believe it and had to know if my suspicions were correct. I didn’t realize I was might be hurting his feelings until my older sister told me to think about it when she heard me tell someone about my ingenious deductive skills. We moved out very shortly after that and I always felt guilty for not being able to apologize since I didn’t see him again and I still do.
This is a rare instance. I don’t feel guilt. I don’t usually feel emotions the same as other people. This much I know is true and I know it’s not just me thinking I’m unique. I’ve had people stare blankly at my descriptions of my own emotional perceptions. Not from disbelief, just from utter confusion, which they told me about. My emotions are strange and my opinions are stranger. If you punch me in the face for bothering you and it’s not really my fault I won’t get mad at you. I won’t be angry or upset. I won’t have my feelings hurt. I won’t feel betrayed. I might be annoyed. Mind you, this is not speculation from someone whose never been punched in the face. This is experience.
If I explain something to you and you don’t understand even though it’s simple I won’t be annoyed or think you’re stupid. I’ll jump to the conclusion that I’ve misinterpreted it and go through it extensively in my head until I’m sure I’m right. Then, I’ll assume I explained it poorly and go into great detail to great pains to explain it correctly, understandably and in depth. Then, when you don’t understand it because I’m explaining too many steps and you just want the answer, I’ll be frustrated. Not that you don’t understand, just that you only want the answer. I might, on rare occasions, give you the answer, but I wouldn’t hold my breath for it.
There are two things that can quickly and effectively move me to tears. I’m a stoic person and I don’t cry. I can on one hand the number of times I’ve cried since I was ten. The first thing that will do it is music, if I let it. I can hold it back and just enjoy the music. But, I can also let go of everything that constitutes me and want nothing more than to cry at how much I love sound and feeling the vibrations from sound and everything to do with music.
The second, which I have far less control over, is when someone fails to follow logic. If I explain that ‘A’ is ‘A’ because ‘B’ is ‘B’ and you respond that ‘A’ isn’t ‘A’ because 1=fish then I’m going to frown and explain that 1 cannot equal fish. If you believe 1 equals fish then you’re going to disagree with me. This conversation is going to end when I abruptly tell you to stop talking. I’ll sound like I’m being rude, and partly am, but my tone is that way because I’m turning tears to anger so I don’t start bawling at your lack of logical understanding. This has moved me closer to unwanted tears than anything else in my entire life. That was in a conversation with my rather intelligent best friend (of two, of course).
Now that you have some background information I’ll try explaining my situation now, my reason for typing tonight.
-----------------
I’m gay. I’m on the verge of declaring myself bisexual, which I did to my two best friends, Charlene and Lydia, when Lydia told us she thought she was bi. I prefer guys to girls but I’m not entirely uninterested in women. This is not my coming out story. I repeat: this is NOT my coming out story. This does, however, involve who I like so if you’ll end up queasy at the mention you should probably go read another story.
I’m lonely. I’m sitting here in bed typing because I’m lonely. I’m wishing I had someone to sleep next to, to be near, to share my bed with in the most innocent of ways: simply knowing he’s there- because I’m lonely. I had a girlfriend when I was six. I had another girlfriend when I was 17 and 18. I’m single now and wishing I wasn’t. My coming out story consisted of, “Mom, dad, if I ever get married it’ll probably be to a guy. Mom said, “Ok.” No tears, no fights, nothing for me to complain about. So, that’s not my reason for being single. I had quite a few girls, some pretty, some sexy, some hot, some attractive, some with great personalities, some with mixtures of those, flirt with me and even a couple of gay guys, one of which I actually gave my number to (at his request) and I still talk to… as friends. It’s not a lack of my own appearance. It’s not them.
I cannot manage to wrap my brain around the idea of me being with a guy (or a girl, that’s even worse because I “need” to be the one in charge, but I’m too apathetic for that). I always come back to thinking of whether or not he’s going to expect me to be the “girl” in the relationship. Then I realize we’re both guys and there isn’t a “girl” in our relationship. Then I start thinking about how soon he’d expect sex and how that’s going to go since I’m a virgin. Then I realize I’ll be a virgin until I have sex so I can’t focus on that. Then I start thinking about how I’m 20 and living with my parents with a low-income job; high pay-per-hour, but not many hours, and I want to wait until I’m stable. Then I realize I might live at home with a low-income job but I have a vehicle, I have a job-some kind of income, I have stable friendships, my family and I get along great: I’m fairly stable, just not exactly how I want to be forever. I start to think about problem after problem and realize each time my worries, while not unfounded or pointless, aren’t really significant and I could overcome them if only I could TRY.
But, the worries don’t go away. They stay. And, they stew. And, they rot.
Stereotypical gay guys don’t stay in a relationship very long. I want a long relationship. I was just about asleep when I was jerked awake by thoughts of my mother and father interacting with my nieces and nephew and I realized suddenly: I’ll never have grandchildren. I’ll never have anyone calling me grandpa. I’ll never be “Dad”. We could adopt. We have options. I might end up with a girl. BUT, I’ll never have grandchildren or children because I can’t manage to shake the feeling I’ll be alone forever. The worries are always there.
They’re always wearing away at me. They’re building up all day and waiting for me to sleep so they can spring up and taunt me. I don’t cry about (though I don’t exactly smile). It’s just an everyday thing. It’s what I feel every time I lay down to go to sleep. I want someone next to me so I don’t feel alone. I want someone there so I can feel his heartbeat and feel his body heat. I don’t want my best friends there but they don’t seem to understand that, at least not both of them. I say I’m lonely and she hugs me. It’s admirable and I appreciate the thought but I’m no less lonely after than before the hug.
In the end, I’m lonely and I know why more or less. I just can’t bring myself to fix it. I could try harder but I’m so afraid of not being successful that I feel like not trying is better. At least I know the misery down that road. I know the truth, though: I won’t know until I try. I’ll never be happy until I’ve tried. I just can’t seem to manage it. I can talk to people. I’m great with people. I’m one of the most successful people I know at interacting with others. I just can’t manage to make the leap from “Hi” to “Want to go to a movie?” I can’t flirt knowingly (or even accidentally; I’m too self-conscious for that).
It’s 1:33 in the morning now, still sitting in my bed. I’ll try to sleep again and I’ll succeed eventually. I’ll get up in the morning and go do some work just like everyone else. I’ll laugh and I’ll smile. I’ll be happy just like always. Everything negative will roll off like usual and my mom will wish for the thousandth time she could manage that bit. And eventually I’ll go to bed and feel this all again. I’ll be sad while I’m going to sleep but happy a few hours later when I wake up to a new day. I’m not depressed, really. Just lonely.
-----
It’s not the most compelling story ever. It’s not the most well written. It’s not a sob story. It’s not unique. It’s not amazing. It’s not horrible.
There are a lot of things it’s not. But, it’s true and it’s mine and it helped.
