I have a fantasy. Have always had the same one, since I was a child. Whenever I have a moment of identity crisis, wondering what I'm doing with myself in terms of meeting people and romance, I use this fantasy as evidence that I do, indeed, want what I have told the world I want. Screamed it at the world, even. Embarrassingly so, at times, like I'm playing a broken record of "I really am gay, I can prove it!" despite the physical urgings waxing and waning in a constant flux of confusion. It really removes any sense of balance 'discovering myself' might have afforded me, but the fantasy remains.
An older man, not too much older, with only enough problems to be average in a very attractive, boy-next-door way, with all the dumb luck of the plucky hero. He rescues me, an often less-than-savory younger male who finds himself in a damsel-in-distress situation. There's nothing sexual about the many scenarios I've played out in my head about basically any man that enters my life, no matter the capacity and sometimes I don't even have to find him attractive. His fitting into my fantasy world of being rescued makes him alluring. His helping me fight in a do-or-die brawl with an evil, slasher-type third party figure, where the tension is always building and someone else has the knife every second... There's other kinds of rescue fantasies, but lately his becoming more than my savior, but also my partner whom I sometimes save myself, gives me hope. Realistically, I will never live my fantasy. Unless my life turns into a neverending horror thriller, my rescue fantasy will never be manifested. I don't really know how to take that, because I don't dream about cuddling or kissing or walks in the rain. Those things... cursory to me, mostly. Pointless shows of affection to post a status update about, to rub in other peoples' faces that yes, I am in a relationship that is better than your's.
That's what terrifies me. Am I only romantically inclined toward a person for the chance that they might fit into my protection fantasies at some point? And until then, I just have to muddle through all the gushy romance stuff? It sickens me to hit all of these locked doors in my life, all of them with an engraved plaque that reads "Oh look, another complication for your confused identity." Just when I think an out, a way to live life like SOME group, even if that group turned out to paint me as firstly, just quirky (singers, women) nerdy (outcasts, video game enthusiasts) and then eventually, what I thought was my final trial to entering normalcy, sexually deviant (homosexuals). But no, I've just gotta take as many shady detours as I can. I am not doing this. My body is literally effing with me. All the time.
I don't want to be normal. That's too much to ask for at this point and I'm not sure I could ever really adapt to that lifestyle. I want to fit somewhere, not in the sense that I'm joining a group of people, but in the sense that I can feel like what I'm thinking and feeling and experiencing can be explained by something. Instead of what has become a running joke in my life, "Are you gay?" and then my subconscious reply "No I just like a bunch of different strange things about men, and sometimes I feel like I'm overcompensating for not fitting in with guys to begin with, and sometimes I wonder if I've become so enraptured with being different that I just think I am, and sometimes I just don't care." It isn't even about homosexuality. It's about being sure of something in my life, being certain that what it seems like is what it is, no questions asked. Anything.
I'm searching for a certainty, not another stupid idea of how things should be that suddenly gets thwarted by that thing called life, which, by the way, reassures you it's NOTHING like the movies as soon as you start thinking you've seen something you're going through at a theater once.
