I'm poor, but I get all the medications I need, my flat is warm, and my belly is full. And I live with my father, who is my best friend. It was so nice when Linda met him last week. I want to bring her into my world, and he is definitely part of that. My fear of crowds and people in general is quite strong, and other aspects of my illness are proving hard to overcome. It's likely that I'm less inclined to try than I once was, although I hope that isn't true.
I fear my father's death more than anything else. He is 74 and is to have surgery on February 16 that is not without risks. He has to die sometime, and when he does I just may decide to end my life at the same time. I'm fighting really hard though to not take that way out. At least for my brother's sake. If I lose it and become actively suicidal after my father's demise, which could be twenty years away or could happen tomorrow. So I should probably tell Kent that I may be in the nuthouse when that happens. That's better than death, I suppose.
The scar tissue on my scrotal incision is very thick and sore, but I'll live. I'm so lucky to have Linda in my life right now. I don't know where our relationship will go, but I hope we're together for a long time. She's a great comfort to me. I'm not like most people. I hate myself and never stop thinking about the past and future and can never really relax. You people don't have to deal with that, I know you don't. I was raped by a guy when I was 8 years old, his name was Scott McKenzie and he was 17. That has had an impact on my adult sexuality. Part of me wants a homosexual experience. I just don't get along with men, though, and I fear a homosexual encounter. Every few months I start approaching men on the 'net, nice and safe. I even exchange a picture, something innocent. Then when I get an offer to go out on a date, I just shut down. There is so much fear that I'll reveal that part of myself to someone, that desire, and in return I'll be mocked, fucked, beaten and left behind emotionally and physically. I'm just comfortable around women, and I find them generally as desirable as any young
man would...particularly one taking testosterone. But I can't ignore that there is a slight attraction to men. Maybe I have an odd fetish for a "normal" man, with all the working machinery. If so, that isn't the proper foundation of a healthy relationship, even a purely sexual one. There is also a chance that part of me wants to revisit that day back in 1980 when my "friend" fucked me, left me bleeding and sore, and then went on his merry way. Perhaps I want to go back and confront him, and by having sex with a man on my terms, as an equal, I would find some emotional healing.
But that's not going to happen. I'm a coward and I'm going to keep ignoring that nagging desire. It's a shame that I can't connect with one half of the world's population because of a little rape. I'm getting so emotional, thinking about the male friends I've shut out over the years because of some hidden inclination to avoid their company. And when I do keep male friends they are usually at least 25 years older than I. What's that all about? So I find a reason to pick a fight with any potential male friend, usually something political will do. There's always some transgression I can use to push them away. It's so fucked up, I'm so fucked up. I'm sure that Scott, the guy who fucked me as a child, thinks that what he did was somehow good for me. Or that it was just part of growing up, innocence lost. Except I was many years too young and it wasn't consentual. Details. What a bastard. What a fucking bastard. I think I could kill him.
I wish I could stop thinking and measuring myself and worrying and just never relaxing for a second. I just want to live a small life with people I love around me, to one degree or another.
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