A Tale of Two Choices: Continue This Fucked-up-ness…or Revel in Being Out and Queer and Single
Note: I’m reworking material on addiction…merging into a chapter on gender and sexuality. Find Part 1 of this latest thread here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here.
A week after being dumped by the first woman I ever dated, I resumed an on-again, off-again, ridiculously fucked-up relationship with an ex-boyfriend for another round — seeking, I suppose, connection, touch, something familiar.
I had met Phil shortly after coming out as queer, as a first-year grad student camping out on a Walmart futon. He was nine years older, lived next door, and was way out of my league in general hotness.
At once elated and confounded by his attention, I expected it to falter fast. I expected him to see that I wasn’t hot or even normal and studied all the time and had a running addiction and an eating disorder and only ate Lucky Charms and a very specific brand of frozen veggie burgers heated on the hotplate that was my kitchen for every meal.
In the beginning, I approached the situation sensibly, with no expectations. My mantra: It was an honour just being nominated. We went on one date, then another. Less than a month later, I’d moved into his house and fallen in love.
