Archive for the Relationship Category

Tantrum No. 2

This actually happened before the one I wrote about previously but whatever…

In March of 2010 Derek and I spent a weekend in Provincetown. I used to live there and he had never been there for more than a few hours, so I figured it would be fun. It was. For a while.

It was during the “shoulder season,” so there was no event that weekend that I remember. We stayed from Friday until Sunday at The Chicago House.

Most of the weekend is a blur because we drank. We drank a lot. We were at the A-House on Friday night, I think, during Bingo at The Little Bar. We won a couple of cards and ended up drinking for free!

I believe we spent Saturday evening drinking at the A-House disco. It was pretty empty when we got there but it was relatively busy later in the night. We also went to The Vault.

Walking back to our guest house, I took out my iPhone to show Derek a scene from a porn film, just a second, really, that I find funny. What a mistake.

A qualifier: In my experience, most gay men have porn of some kind or another on their smartphones. I used to have more, not a lot of movies but some photos. I'd been downloading dirty pictures from the internet for more than a decade before I met Derek, so I had quite a collection by then. Derek had one of his “episodes” when I showed one of the photos to a mutual friend in a bar one afternoon. He just could’t believe I would do that in front of him (as everyone else in the group, partnered or not, was doing at that moment!). He found it insulting. This attitude was, I thought at the time, fallout from being married to a woman for ten years and his Mormon background. He often said things like "Margie and I would never do that," comparing our relationship with his former heterosexual one. Me, I think gay and straight relationships are fundamentally different. He obviously didn’t agree with me. I eventually deleted most of the minuscule amount of porn on my phone. I moved what I’d collected on my computer to an external drive, and I didn't acquire any more while we were together. Still, there were many future arguments during which he insisted that I delete all of it, claiming I was obsessed with porn. He often checked to see if there was anything new on that drive. I am not kidding.

Anyway, when I found the one second of footage on my phone, Derek started screaming at me on the street beside Town Hall. I was shocked. I know: stupid me! First of all, I couldn’t figure out what on earth he was so angry about. Once I did, I told him that I refused to have this argument—or any argument, really—on the street in Provincetown. Neither would I have it back at the guest house. Once again, I found myself as half of “that couple,” like so many vacationers I saw while I lived in P-Town. (I lived above a lesbian karaoke bar, so this was almost a nightly occurrence during the season.) It was humiliating. Drunk as I was, I had enough of my wits to just keep quiet.

Back in our room Derek tried to continue arguing. I refused to raise my voice. He started packing his bags and said he was going home. There was a lot of clichéd door-slamming drama. I figured I could just take the bus home on Sunday and told him it might be best if he just left. I certainly wasn’t going anywhere. I can just imagine what it would be like trapped in a car with him driving drunk for eight hours. No thanks!

He eventually returned to the room, trying to apologize. I just wanted to sleep, still refusing to have an argument while I was drunk.

We left as soon as we woke up in the morning. I was hoping to avoid the owner and the other guests, knowing that they must have heard some of the chaos. Of course, they were all sitting around the kitchen table. I quickly apologized and we got out of there. I was mortified.

Most of the ride home was quiet. I’m sure we talked it out eventually but I don’t really remember how it happened.

Sunday happened to be my friend Mike’s birthday. Since he lives on The Cape, we were supposed to stop by and see him on the way home to Philly. The atmosphere between Derek and I that morning was so toxic, that I just couldn’t put anyone in the position of having to deal with it. We didn’t stop and, unfortunately, I didn’t call. I still feel terrible about it and I am still apologizing.

Here is the offending one second of footage. What I think is funny is the look on the man’s face when the guy on the left ejaculates. Really. One second of footage caused all of this drama.


Leave A Comment.

Tantrum No. 1

Before I continue with the short summary of my demented life with Derek, and since I keep referring to his abusive behavior, I thought I’d post about one of his Childish tantrums. It’s a particularly bad one, one of the worst, about 16 months into our life together.

It’s “No. 1” because it’s the first one I’m writing about, certainly not the first one chronologically, or the last. I wish. There were so many.

In July of 2010, two weeks after I made the irreversible decision to give up my housing subsidy and move in with Derek, we went to Hillside, the gay campground in NE Pennsylvania, to check out Bear Weekend. It was sold out, so we got a hotel room relatively close by and bought day passes for the campground. There were some people we knew there and we stayed on the grounds most of the day, leaving to get some dinner and take a nap. For the most part, we had a great time and there were a lot of really good-looking men. Since it was a Saturday, there were parties all over the grounds and we wandered from place to place, hanging out and talking to people.

We drank all day. And I mean all day.

After dark a lot of the men go down to the “disco” to continue drinking and socializing. It seems to me there were several hundred guys there. There were only a few inside on the dance floor, so almost all of the men were outside.

To get to the bathroom, we had to walk though a large covered area, open on three sides, with picnic tables. After one of his piss breaks Derek sat back down and told me there was a man naked, on all-fours on one of of the tables with an open can of Crisco® next to him! (Bear Weekend is one of several weekends during which Hillside’s nudity and public sex policy is “relaxed.”) He appeared to find it amusing, and I said “Oh really? Let’s go look!” We walked up to the bench and had a look. I then I retreated to the wall to see if anything was going to happen.

Something happened alright…in Derek’s head.

He picked up the can of Crisco®, threw it at my feet, and screamed “This is what you really want!!”

[Long-time readers of this blog (all two of you!) know that I was very into fisting for some years. I hadn’t done it for a long while, even before I met Derek, and I’d told him numerous times, truthfully, that I didn’t care if I ever did it again. It was something I enjoyed, and it certainly brought the men to the yard, so it was good to have on my sexual menu at the time. I was still on the Handball List, an email list for guys into fisting. The list was mostly dead, with only one or two messages a week, and I read it because I was amused by the obsessiveness of some of the men on the list. They’re a strange group. The fact that I was ever into it remained a bug in Derek’s brain. In fact, my entire sexual past, including and this blog in particular, bothered him. He wanted me to delete and my ten-year collection of dirty pictures completely. ("None of those guys look like me!" I'm not even kidding. ) I refused. I always replied that I wasn’t ashamed of my sexual history and I wouldn’t hide it.]

Anyway, I was utterly shocked when the Crisco® came flying my way. (And I do appreciate how totally hilarious this is. It’s, in a way, a funny story to tell.) Despite being quite drunk, I kept my wits and went back to where we had been sitting. Derek was relentless. He insisted that I was still into fisting and, somehow, this fantasy of his was a reflection of my feelings about him—in a negative way, of course. He got louder and louder. I was mortified. He kept going on about the Handball List in a ridiculous, accusatory way, demanding that I unsubscribe.

Public scenes are something that I won’t tolerate. I just will not be that couple,” so I told Derek I was leaving. He dangled the car keys in my face. Really. I didn’t care; I’d walk if I had to. He followed me through the crowd, still screaming like a lunatic.

Someone must have called Security because we were approached and asked to leave. "Oh, believe me, I’m leaving!”

"Oh great," I thought. “Now we’ll never be allowed back.Wonderful.

There was more drama when we got to the car and he wouldn’t let me in at first. I didn’t say a word. It seemed pointless. When we got back to the hotel, I went right to bed. He eventually gave up yelling and left the room. There was a lot of door slamming. I know he eventually came to bed but he said nothing, thankfully.

It was a long, long drive back to Philly in the morning.

In the car Derek couldn’t apologize enough. He told me he had talked to his brother in Los Angeles on the phone when he left our room the night before and got some sensible advice. Jeremy said that it was senseless to hold my past against me. The past has already happened and there was nothing that could be done about it. (Doh! No shit. I guess this wasn’t already obvious to him.)

I started talking on the way home. I reminded Derek of his promise to do something about his insane outbursts. I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to give up my housing subsidy without that assurance. Now, less than two weeks later, he did it again. I didn’t know what to do. I felt foolish for even thinking he could do it. I couldn’t even cry; I was just so terribly angry.

Ultimately, we agreed that Derek would stop drinking and I would, too, to support him. (As I've said before on this blog, I had previously been sober for 20 years. As much as I loved drinking, I could do it again. Piece of cake. And it was…for me.) He promised to return to therapy and go to AA. I knew that simply being sober wouldn’t fix this. The behavior would eventually return if he didn’t try to deal with it. And boy, did it ever!

Things between us were “good” for a bit but they slowly got really unbearable again once we'd been in Maine for a while. By then my options were terribly limited. After all, I had left my entire life behind to follow him there.

I’ll document the long, horrible decline in future posts. Thinking about all of this again is not easy but I’m hoping it helps get the last several years of living with insanity out of my system. We’ll see, I guess.


1 Comment »

I feel like a fool (Part 1)

I gave up a comfortable—for me—life in Philly and left all of my friends behind three years ago to move to Maine with the man I loved because he wanted to live near his kids. I later realized he was an abusive drug addict. He moved to Los Angeles and I’m still in Maine, so broke that I can’t afford to move back home. I gave up everything and I got royally screwed.

That’s the summary. Read on if you want the whole story.

My ex-partner, Derek, and I parted ways eight months ago. I posted a while ago that I was terribly angry and that I was going to help work out my feelings by writing about them. I’ve been putting that off because I couldn’t figure out where to even begin. I can’t hesitate anymore.

I’m still angry today. Shocking, no? Almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day, there is something to remind me of the huge mistake I made when I got involved in this abusive relationship. Of course, I didn't realize at the time that it was going to be such a nightmare. Who does? But I kick myself now for not being  paying more attention to the signs. More details about that at a later time, though. (Alcohol and drugs were involved and that’s really a story for another day.) This post is about what my life was like before and what it's like now. The differences between those two times of my life and the daily struggles I have today sometimes bring me to tears.

So…Five years ago I had been single for almost a decade, and totally happy with that situation. During that time I lived in a couple of places and had finally settled back in Philly. I’m on disability (COPD & AIDS) and I have a limited income (SSDI with a little freelance design work). I struggled for a while but, after waiting two years,  I got a housing subsidy  through the City’s AIDS Activities Coordinating Office. My rent on an OK but good-size apartment in West Philly was $213(!). My life was not ideal by anyone’s standards but I was pretty comfortable and I scaled my life to fit my budget. I was pretty content. Considering.

The subsidy had a lot of rules that were really easy for me to follow: pay  the rent on time, submit receipts for utilities to my Mazzoni Center housing manager (which meant paying those on time, too!), don't do illegal drugs in the house, don’t have a roommate. Simple.

Then I met Derek. It had been a long time since I felt that way about anyone. I pursued him furiously and he didn't resist. He is an ex-Mormon who had been married for ten years, had only been out for a short time, and he had four pre-teen sons who lived in Maine with their mother. (Yes, I know. Doh!)

We dated for a couple of months. Derek had only lived in Philly for a short while because his company had been moving him around. At the time he had an insane roommate who was obsessed with him and eventually we made the decision that he needed to get out of there. He got a sublet near my apartment but basically stayed at my place.  Eventually, we wanted to move to move to a place of our own where we could live together without my breaking any subsidy rules. (I certainly didn't need that headache.)

After a lot of discussion, we decided that I’d give up my precious subsidy and we’d get a place together. It was a huge decision for me—not just cohabiting but, especially, giving up the subsidy for which I had waited a long, long time. It was a big step. If I ever needed the subsidy again, I’d go back to the bottom of the list! Derek promised to stop drinking. His emotional abuse  was really only evident to me when he was drunk, so that promise was a crucial part of my decision.

It’d be easier financially with  two of us. His employer would pay for some stuff, too, since he worked from home when he wasn’t traveling.

We got a place in South Philly in August 2010. Things seemed to be working. We were having less sex after a year and a half together which is normal—especially since we weren’t drunk every night anymore—but, again, that's another post for another day. We got a couple of cats.

After only two months in our new apartment Derek said that he thought he should live closer to his children! In Maine! It was a long, long drive to visit them in the town where they lived outside of Bangor and at least one of them was exhibiting some behavioral problems relating to Derek’s being gay. (Derek always called it “the gay thing” which infuriated me but I kept my mouth shut about it.) Again, after lots of discussion, I agreed. After all, I heard his oldest screaming “You left us to be gay!” into the phone a few times! In retrospect, I think he was hoping I’d refuse, but I thought I was being a supportive partner. We decided that Portland was the closest acceptable place we could live. It’s a great town and had an airport with flights that worked for his job. We visited for a weekend and found a great place at a reasonable price.

We moved north.

(To be continued…if you’re interested, or even if you’e not!)

Leave A Comment.

My Story

It’s really difficult to write the story of my doomed relationship with Derek, as I said I would start doing about a month ago. I’m trying to break it up into “topics” but it’s resisting me! Everything is so intertwined—as it would be, of course. I working now on a post about the things I gave up to be with him and how those decisions have made my life extremely difficult today. I’m trying to leave out the threads about drinking (both of us) and abuse (him). But how can I?? Chronologically, it’d just look like a list of grievances. (Happy Festivus!) If I leave things out on purpose, I’ll appear dishonest. I dunno.

Anyway, it’s coming. Eventually. I’ll figure it out.

Leave A Comment.

It’s time…

MaskThis is mostly for long-time readers of High Strung Loner and it’s former, more X-Rated, incarnation which now appears to be offline. (I’m still working, slowly, to move older stuff to this new version. It’s a real slog.) Most of you, I’m sure, are not those people. I’ve gotten some messages over the course of the last few “missing” years asking why I haven’t been keeping the site up-to-date. The answer is simple and complicated, and I’m still working it out.

The plain truth is that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship  with an addict for almost five years. He wanted me to deny and erase my past and I, sadly, tried to comply.  I pretended that I was happy and that everything was “normal.” Things were terrible.

I’ve been hesitant to say any of this in “public” for a lot of reasons. My own shame about it is the major reason. I wonder how  I let this happen and why I tried to be someone I am not. I’ll be posting regularly as I try to answer those questions.

I realize that “coming out” about this issue—and, especially, writing about it—will make some friends uncomfortable. Some of them are mutual friends of mine and my ex-partner’s, so I can absolutely see their point, though I obviously don’t agree with them. On the other hand, most of them already know. I just can’t care about that anymore. It's a six of one situation at this point. Right now, all I want is to tell my story clearly and, hopefully, someday, I’ll stop being so angry. I’ve been in a deep, almost debilitating, depression for way too long now and I am desperate at this point to get out of it. It’s just so, so tiring. Posting to this blog will be part of the process. Keeping silent, without a doubt, played a large part in creating the situation that I'm trying to remedy. If you’re bothered or offended by any of this, I suggest you don’t read any future posts here in the “Relationship” category. (That will be most but not all of the posts without any pictures to make it easy, even though this one has a picture.)

I’m also sure that people will see this process as some kind of revenge on my ex. I’ve certainly used this forum to “get my digs in” in the past, so it’s a reasonable assumption. While I can’t say that I’m completely unhappy about that side-effect of posting here, it’s not my intent. This is for me. Also, if it helps another reader, that’s cool, but I certainly don’t expect it. After all, I don’t pretend to be Dr. Phil. I welcome healthy discussion in the comments but they’ve never been very lively here, so I don’t expect that, either.

I should have known, really, that it wasn’t going to work. After all, he was 21 years younger than me, an ex-Mormon, was married for ten years, had four pre-teen sons, and we were both drinking very heavily when we met. D'oh.

I have a lot more to say and the only way I can see it making sense to me is to tackle it a little at a time. Thanks for your patience. Sorry for being so serious all of a sudden. I hope I don’t totally bore you with my, you know, “feelings.”

Leave A Comment.