OK, it’s really time to forgive. It’s so fucking hard to forgive someone you have loved. I don’t know if it’s the right thing? We had such an intense time together.
I dealt with the unresolved financial aspect today but it gave me zero pleasure.
I think..why the fuck should he get away with anything. Here it comes again..the wave of resentment.
I wish on more occasions that I care to admit that I could remove every single mention of him on my blog just like he wanted but now look..the pages are covered with him. Mentions and pictures and insults. I know that it must have hurt him terribly. For what?
Because I loved him. Because I don’t want to love him. Because I want to let him go..forever and this seemed like the only way.
I broke my promise to celebrate every moment of his new gay life.
Two people come together for what ever reason and try to make something happen. The moment the heart is engaged it becomes treacherous.
Toby and I went out last night to WeHo where I thought I wanted to be happily surrounded by own kind. It was GHASTLY! I LOATH mediocrity! Jake wasn’t mediocre. He wasn’t deliberately cruel. He was just confused. I should have known better..but why should I? Why should I know just because I am older? I keep thinking about The Velvet Rage. How we become who we are shaped in a hostile world. Having to invent ourselves as we go along.
I don’t know the answers…why should I?
I tried to be there for him, to help him but I couldn’t help myself..I fell in love. So, every time I eat a tomato I think of him because we bought those beautiful tomatoes in the market in Sanary and ate them like peaches.
Every time I sit opposite another man on a ‘date’ I compare them to him. Every time something good or bad happens I want to share it with him..yet I have no right. I never had any right. You see, he always made it perfectly clear after he left her that he wasn’t leaving her for me. The damage was already done. I was already in love, I believed him when he wrote to me telling me how much he loved me.
Even though I urged him to get honest I think it suited me that he wasn’t. When he finally told her I was in SHOCK. It seemed like the most brave yet foolhardy thing to do. There were other ways of telling the truth. But that’s just my fucked up head getting in the way. He did the right thing.
When I told John the Saturday morning he told her he was gay we both looked at each other in SHOCK.
As we became more involved I couldn’t just continue with things the way they were. I couldn’t bear listening to him tell me about other men and not be profoundly hurt however generous I wanted to be.
I didn’t want it to end but it had no future and if it had no future I couldn’t continue.
I need either to be on my own or to share my life with a man who gives equally, kindly, compassionately.
This will make you laugh: I met a man (my age) at dinner the other night who wanted a date but cancelled after reading my blog. So, it’s just me and my blog.
As for the money? I don’t care about the money, I just care that he’s not getting away with anything. Then of course..I do care. When I am feeling angry or resentful I care so much about the fucking money.
It’s 110 degrees in LA. At the end of the week we return to sultry days and chilly evenings.
Where are the grand romantic gestures? Should I have moved to NYC ? I simply couldn’t. I couldn’t shift my life east because I loved him so much. I always knew that I would eventually have to let him go.
Now look, these pages are littered with every mean thing I could have written about him. But inside my crazy head every mean thing I think about him is balanced with a good thought, a lovely memory, a kind gesture.
I just don’t want you to think I am weak, laying in bed this morning and trying to conjour up good thoughts of Jake, wanting to remember all that was sweet and let the loathing go.
Toby and I went into Weho last night. It was a cluster fuck. The Abbey was throwing a birthday party for its owner. We left a few minutes after arriving. It was shirtless night there. Just more flesh. More male bodies, shaved chests, cropped hair..like walking onto the set of an endless porno shoot. Aspirations reduced to one thing: cock.
When I craved, in the 1980’s, more openness for our gay culture so we were not hidden from those who might harshly judge us..did I ever imagine this:
From the sidewalk we could see into Mickey’s where half-naked men gyrated on podiums with dollar bills stuffed in their knickers. At East West more half-naked men on podiums wearing cowboy hats trying to dance unsuccessfully to country and western music. In Fiesta Cantina karaoke boys sang moody songs very badly and worst of all, just a few doors away in Rage a man was being bound and gagged in the entrance of the bar and hoisted above the audience by a vile, tattooed queen in leather.
I, like the dumfounded straight people around me, looked in at this horrible spectacle. I felt sick that this carnage was the public face of our ‘culture’. The freaks, the mediocre, the wet brains, the fools..and (however beautiful they were) all so ugly..so inauthentic.
That we had all fought so hard to be taken seriously…and crave marriage and equality.
I let the little dog out of the car and he ran like a lunatic around the West Hollywood park and I felt as if in some small way my faith could be restored in the world.
