The Best Conversation Ever

When There's Truth, There's Understanding

The Tragic Fall of Fuckboy, Part 1

As Was Foretold, What Befell Me Soon Befell Fuckboy

A Milestone For The Memoir

After Months of Effort, "A Corpus For Closure" Nears An Important Milestone and a Sneak Peak!

I've mentioned here before that I was combing through texts and emails, even screenshots of memorable arguments or discussions had on Scruff or Grindr, any and all correspondence between me and you-know-who - trying to separate the truth from the fiction. I've been an absolute emotional mess for the duration of this task, because reading and rereading all our most intimate (and our most inane) conversations looking for clues is keeping the wound raw and tender. Every time I reach a point where I think I've decided on an answer that will suffice, some other contradictory memory pops up and sends me back through a year's worth of texts and electronic communication.

Well, no more, I say! Because I'm nearly done. I've struggled with having to learn a lot more HTML5 and CSS3 for Paged Media than I knew before in order to get the look and feel I wanted for the book. It may not be the most creative or inspired looking work, but for me, it represents months of diligence paired with heartache and rage all heavily seasoned with my own secret seasoning, which is 2 parts self-loathing, 2 parts depression, a cup and a half of indignant "I told you so!" aimed at myself, and just a pinch of suicidal thoughts to give it that bitter, metallic taste.

The editing and illustration of the memoir has been very unexpectedly therapeutic, I will admit. It will likely be considered petty, juvenile, and in some cases downright mean, the way I retell our story, but it has my voice in it, my perspective and understanding - often mis-understanding - of what went down between us. I'd hoped that in villainizing him I could somehow trick myself into sour graping him and thinking that it was he and not I who didn't deserve the affection or respect of the other. But even that cold comfort wasn't available to use as a shortcut around the painful, uncomfortable, and psychologically draining processing of our words, my feelings, and the facts that remain despite it all. 

There will definitely be more from me on the making of, so be sure to check back for a sneak peek at what's in store for release coming soon! I can tell you this much in all honesty - you won't be able to put this down. It's not a story like any you've heard before, and the complex emotional fallout that is examined throughout is good fodder for any grad students looking for a great Psych thesis, that's for sure. I'll be posting some of the illustrations here and on my Instagram (@art_by_shannonm_) shortly, but follow me for details about the pre-release peek at "A Corpus For Closure."

 

Was Everything A Lie?

Saying One Thing, But Proving Another - A Game Of Lie vs. Ty

I'm not sure how to see myself in the mirror's reflection when I'm actually able to tolerate the sight. Am I looking at the sexy, good looking, charming goofball that he told me I was all last year? Or is it the fat, AIDS-ridden, overbearing and unwanted loser whose pathetic need for validation makes him absolutely unattractive to anyone not looking to take something from him or use him in some way? 

I used to have a better picture of my own. Before my world went dark and spun off into cold isolation at the whim of a narcissistic liar, I actually trusted in my own beautiful traits and virtues. All of the pillars upon which right and wrong or up and down were based seem to have been toppled at the realization of his cowardly lies. And the fact that he maintains them as truth keeps them fixed in disarray in this upside down calamity.

Six months ago, I was still under the mistaken impression that Shawn was a good person who simply wasn't wired for the kind of romantic relationship I'd come to want with him. That, in and of itself, would have been regrettable but understandable, had it been true. It was not. We fought and reconciled and tried again a few times throughout August and September, and by October, he'd shut me out once again. His birthday came near the end of the month, and lo and behold, "Holden" had suddenly found a new guy to replace me as his best buddy, and what's more, he was in a relationship with him. A seemingly happy one, at that. Shawn was in love. 

He did have the capacity to love and be loved. He wasn't completely unwilling to be in any romantic relationship with anyone, as he'd repeatedly insisted to me for months. Shawn was perfectly okay having a boyfriend a little on the chunky side who was HIV positive and older than him. He just didn't want me.

And even that truth, hurtful though it might be, would have been an excusable one that I could have accepted had he simply had the balls to say that was the case. Had he simply sat me down and talked it out, explaining what it was about me that was wrong for him in that regard, I could have gotten the lesson I needed from it and moved on. But for him to hide behind a soft lie and let me think he loved me but couldn't handle a new relationship so soon after the dissolution of his 13 years with Corey was an unforgivable bit of laziness and convenience. It excused him from having to say the hard words he was too afraid to watch me hear. Then, when he'd found someone so similar to me in so many ways and became enamored himself, did he finally step up and tell me the truth, cutting me loose with some tears, a bit of heartache, and some closure? No. Not Shawn.Not him.

At first he pretended to let me be back in his orbit, hiding as much of his actual life from me as he could while feeding me lies and making excuses for not seeing me in person. When I grew suspicious of his odd behavior and went to see him unannounced, he was caught off guard and fed me a bullshit story he thought I'd want to hear about how he was simply using this dumb, dumpy rich guy for his car and apartment until he could rebound from his eviction and get back on his feet. 

It excused him from having to say the hard words he was too afraid to watch me hear.

He looked me in the eye and told me that this fuckboy, (who publicly claims to be 36 but is actually 40 years old, and who had to be shamed in front of Shawn into being honest about his HIV status with the men they were fucking) was no more his boyfriend than I had been, and that he still wasn't looking to be in a relationship. He claimed that he was selfishly allowing the new guy to believe what he wanted to believe. That was precisely what he was doing -- to me. The moment I dropped him off at his apartment in the wee hours of the night, he literally fled into the night as if he had escaped some maniac's clutches. Like he was afraid of me. It ripped me apart. What the hell had happened? He was afraid of almost having had to face the lies that he'd amassed. That's why he ran.

He leaves love notes in his boyfriend's car.

That feeling of betrayal eats at my guts like I'm corroding and rotting from the inside. I cry every single day, no matter how hard I try not to think about him, some memory invariably bubbles up to the surface, triggered by some sight or sound or smell. It isn't him that I dwell on, per se, so much as the messy end to our friendship and the lack of identity I am left with as a result of his cowardice. It's unacceptable. My story, more specifically the the part that I shared with him, deserves a just ending. He should have to face me and tell me the truths he hid from me and finally show me the world as it is, not as he would have me believe it.

But I can't make him do what he should. Nothing I say will change his mind or persuade him to suffer the discomfort that telling the truth sometimes requires. He has moved on to greener pastures having had to feel none of the anguish he left me to suffer. He comforts himself with poorly formed philosophical bullshit about letting go of the past, not fearing the future, and making the best of the present. He detaches and forgives all of his bad behaviors by simply writing off the past as something we just shouldn't dwell on. And as long as he can sidestep any collision with me, he will never have to care what he did by doing nothing. Karma will have to be his justice, and I won't even get the pleasure of seeing that unfold. I'm certain it will be magnificent and terrible in its weaving of his next incarnation's circumstances, and what a sight that would be indeed.

Reconciling His Words With His Actions

Going In Circles Recovering From Abandonment

As much as it pains me to admit it, there has not been one day in the months since I was made irrelevant in the life of my best friend, whom I loved very much, that I have been more than one stray thought away from tears. The smallest trigger can set me off no matter where I am or whom I'm with. All of the pain - every ounce of loss - comes sliding down on top of me, crushing me under its weight and holding me in this hopeless pattern that has prevented me from healing even a little since he threw me away. 

The reason, I think, that I'm so stuck is that my brain can't reconcile all of the things he said to me over and over for months with the eventual 180° about face he made after pushing me out of his day-to-day life. I keep trying to repair my decimated sense of self worth by telling myself all the positive and wonderful traits I know to be true of myself, but they won't stick, because they can't be as true as I though if they weren't good enough to let me be loved back by someone. It makes no sense that he could harbor deep, sincere feelings for me one moment while maintaining a barrier between us and the "boyfriend" label he was so afraid of, and the next moment he is head over heels in giddy schoolboy love with a total bossy bottom bitch of a fuckboy who is a disrespectful liar, a manipulator, a controller, and an all around nasty fucking person.

It's like I'm having to question every little aspect of myself, examining them more closely in search of some clue about which truth applies - am I a good, kind, funny, and lovable person that any man in his right mind would be grateful to call his partner? Or am I a depressing, needy, clingy, impatient, and unattractive old fool whose only true value is in his ability to pay for things and offer emotional support or entertainment? It took me years to finally get past the terrible programming my childhood cursed me with and to begin to believe those better things about me to be true. Those things actually started feeling fully legitimate with the occasional validation he gave me to support their validity. But then he took it all away by willfully shutting me out, intentionally flaunting this new relationship, and spreading lies and rumors about me around a community I already don't feel welcome in from the start. 

An apology would have gone a long way toward helping me heal. Seeing him feel his shame would have made me at least feel like he didn't get to sweep my suffering under a rug and move on to greener gay pastures guilt-free and unburdened by the consequences of his cowardly actions. But he didn't. He just fucking didn't.

He often pleaded with me not to hold on to anger or hate, explaining in his semi-literate way that they were heavy, toxic, burdensome emotions that only served to injure the one carrying them around and doing nothing to the subject of their intent. Truly I've never been one to hold a grudge for very long. Not until now, that is. I was almost able to shut out the hurt and ignore the daily feeling of betrayal that swirled sickeningly in the pit of my abdomen threatening to make me vomit at any moment. But he went and let his fuckboy talk to me like I was a crazy stalker who was making up stories about him in some smear campaign. He let that fuckboy diminish the friendship we shared before fuckboy was ever in the picture. Didn't say a word. Just handed over his phone and let fuckboy go to town on me. I could have forgiven a lot, but that and the fact that to this day he has made not one attempt to apologize to me for that or the greater damage he knows good and well that he caused me in the way he ended things between us. He has not had to suffer any of the loss or anguish I steeped in for three solid months. He moved on and fell in love. And I was left to try and put myself back together without a clue as to which pieces were me and which were parts he had used to prop me up for a while. I have completely lost myself and all sense of identity to this fucker.

I hate him. He deserves retribution, not that I am the one to give it, but there is a mighty big hole in my heart right now that has been screaming out for justice, and I don't think it will stop until either he gets his comeuppance and is left hurting, betrayed, alone, and without hope or anyone to turn to for support or until I die. If I still believed in myself, in even the smallest way, I would hold out hope for his getting what he deserves. But hope and justice and fairness are things only a weak, stupid, worthless old castoff holds onto when the world has shown him over and over again that there is no such thing as fairness. That kind of naivete is dangerous. It leaves one vulnerable to users who play off that sense of right and wrong. No, all that seems to fit anymore is the burning hot hatred that fills me when I see his stupid, happy, giddy fucking face. That's what he left in his wake. That's what I've become.

Young Gay Men Too Ignorant To Survive

It's such a common occurrence for me to encounter gay men online who are woefully ignorant about the finer details of HIV and the mechanics of its transmission and prevention. The stigma stays about hip deep year round, from coast to coast with occasional beacons of hope strewn sparsely throughout, defying their age with some well studied wisdom. I've dealt with this kind of rejection my entire adult life, since becoming infected at 18. But the fact that my skin has grown thicker and can withstand most of the onslaught of stupidity and discrimination doesn't mean I forgive the men who participate in the spread of such fear-based misinformation and intolerance.

Last night I was minding my own business, playing around in Photoshop and trying to come up with some new designs when I got a notification on my phone that I'd received several messages in rapid succession on Grindr. Curious, I swiped into the app and went into my inbox to see who could be so interested that they were still hitting me up. I was surprised, truly, to discover that the culprit was a very attractive young 25-year old who opened with a short greeting and followed it with a flurry of dick pics that had my full attention the moment I saw them coming in, one after the other, filling my box to capacity.

He was assertive, to say the least. Confident in his choice to hit me up, and apparently finding everything I had written about myself, my likes, and my dislikes to his approval. He asked if I could host. I agreed, but only after I ran a quick errand and came back - about an hour's work. He accepted the invitation, and the date was set.

Nearly 45 minutes later, having raced through my errand, I responded again to let him know I was ready, and I sent him my address. He gave an enthusiastic acknowledgement and said he was on his way. And then he asked a question I would have expected to have come much, much earlier if at all. "What's your status?"

Puzzled by the timing of his question, I referred him back to my profile, which he'd read before contacting me, and confirmed that I was HIV+ with an undetectable viral load. I sent him a screen shot of my latest viral load test to confirm it. Silence. A long, uncomfortable one.

I waited a minute, giving him an opportunity to piece together his excuse, but when it didn't come quickly, I decided to turn the shame back around and told him that if it was going to be a problem, that was fine, but that he had all of that information available to him prior to ever contacting me. I explained to him that I was used to being turned away based on fear like this, and I told him that I always disclosed my status to every partner I have, giving them the opportunity to make an informed decision about how to proceed. I am honest about my status because it's the right thing to do, even though, in reality, I could just as easily have said I was HIV-, since the risk of his becoming infected by me was about the same, but that would make me a liar, like all those guys on the apps who claim to be taking PrEP so they can get their bareback on, but who, in reality, hadn't set foot in a testing facility in years and had no idea what their status was.

He never spoke another word. Nor did he block me. He had probably already used up the day's allotment of blocks before getting around to my profile, so he was literally stuck, unable to block or hide, and unwilling to continue the uncomfortable conversation we were having. Or at least the one I was having. He ignored me and went on looking for another candidate to breed.

What the fuck, people? Those fields in the hookup app profiles are there for a reason. And people like myself fill them out honestly for a reason. If you are concerned about HIV transmission, how about not waiting until you are en route with your dick already in your hand before asking such a game changing question? There is absolutely no reason for a man looking to hook up in this day and age to cause someone with whom he initiated conversation to feel ashamed of themselves, even for a second. It's not okay. You need to do better, gay men. All of you.

If you or someone you know needs a refresher on how to interact with people living with HIV, for the love of all things horny, please visit my Facebook page, HIV4Dummies, and get yourself some education. At the very least, maybe you'll gain some insight as to how to protect yourself from infection in case you come across someone less upfront about their status who's willing to risk your life for a nut.

An Inspiration To Us All

New Haus of Heaux Products Influenced By Charismatic Asshole

We will admit the latest products rolling off the assembly line at Haus of Heaux haven't been real crowd-pleasers, and that's because they are specifically inspired by and meant only for the enjoyment or torture of the master of mean, the conductor of chaos, a man whose personality is a technicality -- the one, the only Shawn J. Schneider.

Shawn Started Shit Over It

The Schneider Goodbye

Thumb On The Scale All Along

Made Because of Shawn

Made For Shawn