This has been going on for far too long!

http://www.wrongplanet.net/postp2159592.html#2159592

I am elated that I found this thread. It is kind of a validation for me; I did not realize other people were like this.

Anyway, my social fixations actually do have a tendency to take on romantic overtones, which, combined with my homosexuality and lack of subtlety in my display of affection, results in the object of my obsession, and everyone else for that matter, to feel that I am, in their words, "extremely creepy."

There seems to be only one route to this frequently reached, but alas! unfortunate, destination: A new semester begins, and there is a boy in a class who seems particularly masculine, achieved either through male stoicism (and big muscles) or male jocularity (and big muscles). In both cases, this junction of a rugged constitution with a rugged psyche—the archetypal man— fosters in me an intense need to become close to the boy, with the ultimate aspiration of being affectionately held by the boy in their arms, regardless of whether he loves me or is "just joking." It does not matter because, if a boy were to ever hold me, most likely with the latter reasoning, I would just reconceptualize the scene to my liking, retaining only the embrace.

"Reality is flimsy." ~ A Good Friend

And especially so when you are an Aspie. Thank god, too! If I could not paradigm reality in whichever way I want to jive better with my obsessions, I do not know what I would do. Really.

However, this advantage can be present itself in quite an opposite way when it is not done purposefully. (Nota Bene: I do not have psychosis.) For example, in conversation, I would incessantly hear my crush's name when it has not been said. Additionally, at the height of my obsession with a love, there will be multiple occasions throughout the day where their face will appear unsolicited to my mind's eye. This can become exceptionally annoying—a great many ponderings never came to conclusions due to such causes.

More conscience manifestations of my obsession exist in my constant vigilance in looking for changes on their Facebook pages (I must refresh my current obsession's profile at least 15 times a day, literally), spending long periods of time searching their names on Google, spending long periods of time searching their parents' names on Google, psychoanalyzing them, comparing them to everyone I know, comparing myself to them, making lists of their top 10 friends, wondering if they know that I am obsessed with them, wondering how would they react if they were to find out that they have become a large part of my life, contemplating why I adore them, devising ways to further ingratiate myself with them, coming up with ways to extort hugs from them (including pretending my mother has just died), gaining an interest in psychology to reason out a psychological basis for each of their personality traits, asking them questions that I know the answers to, making mini-collages of their Facebook pictures, talking almost exclusively about them to anyone that will listen, throwing up when they finally find out about all of the above (via the people I told), trying my best to make them feel comfortable, feeling not only hurt, but dejected, due to all of the antics that they employ to avoid me (now I regret being attracted to jocularity), having break-downs when people tell me that they think that my love is "disgusting" (and they only now about the Facebook part and the mini-collage!).

I can spend entire nights listening to music and doing all of the above, surprisingly passively too.

This was for all of my ladies that just wanted a bit more,

Girl, Look at You! (G.L.A.Y.)

The following was written on March 11th, as part of an email to a friend.

Today, R. was sitting right next to me on the floor in Mr. F's room, when I hear a very contemptuous voice, M.'s Evil Friend, say "Look! Now he's hitting on R." So, M.'s Evil Friend was talking about me, with an audience of M. I then hear M.'s Evil Friend say the word gay a few times, as well as some obnoxiously yelled, incomprehensible - and almost certainly negative - comment about Proposition 8. Most importantly, I also hear M. say, "I even went to SAP," in a kind of aggravated way. I assume that he went because of his paranoia that I am “incessantly” looking at him, since he and M.'s Evil Friend were just talking about me and my sexual orientation a moment before, which, frankly, is a little bit ridiculous. While I pretend to not understand why he is acting so negatively, I really do. Essentially, people are afraid of what they don’t understand, and M. doesn’t understand deep emotions and aesthetics. He occasionally attempts to feign depth out of his shallows, a deception that dissipates easily under a distrust of the eye and an active inspection. This lack of emotional depth is at the crux of the problem: he interprets my (former) intense infatuation for him as being purely sexual infatuation, which I assume is mostly what he feels for girls. I remember, when he didn’t hate me and thought of me as being very intelligent, that I would just watch him with quiet happiness—his cute face, boyish demeanor, idyllic and carefree disposition, self-confidence, assertiveness, and ability to just go out and try to get what he wants, without being anxious about whether what he’s doing to achieve that goal is 100% acceptable to everyone. And that’s NOT creepy to feel that way. I’m such an anxiety-ridden person, always worrying about other people are thinking about me, worrying about all the work that I should have done at home that now needs to be finished during school somehow, inhibited by my complete lack of confidence, being soft-spoken, so as to not appear assertive, and trying not to attract attention in any way I can. M. just doesn’t do those things, so it’s completely natural that I would find those traits extremely endearing, as I associate negative connotations with the above traits.

Given his unbelievably strong preference for tangibles rather than intangibles (he didn’t know what Creationism is the belief that God created the Earth and everything on it simultaneously. It’s not only that he didn’t know this fact; it became clear, as he continued talking, that he had never, at any point in his life, wondered how the world got its start. Unbelievable.), which, in addition to size of general knowledge (another area M. is deficient in), correlates highly with depth of emotion and openness to experience, explaining his lack of both—and his strong disturbance to the situation between me and him.

I’m guessing that he was angry because the SAP people didn’t do what he wanted them to do. I don’t really know what he would have wanted out of them, though. Force Mrs. F. to change seats? Ensure in the future that I’m not in any of his classes? Besides, I don’t see under what pretense they could grant him what he wants, as he has no reasonable charge towards me. “He looks at me too often!” Of course, there is the collage, but that is not sexual in any way, shape, or form. As I said before, he doesn’t really understand the feelings that fueled the collage’s creation, beyond that it means that like him in some “weirdly” high degree, which to him means that I’m sexually attracted to him in some “weirdly” high degree. I’m sure that none of this aided by that fact that he already thinks that I’m very odd—wearing “Wal-Mart Clothes,” carrying all of my books, talking very quickly, having an unkempt appearance, limping to keep my schoolbag on my shoulder, fluctuating from being very introverted to very extroverted, etc. According to more than one person, these qualities all give the appearance of being “shady” and “that I can easily be pictured masturbating in front of computer over gay porn all night.”

It’s really all quite upsetting to have everyone, including the man that I once “loved” and who, consequently, is possessive of an opinion that has much effect on me, think of me as being some pervert that should be feared—a metaphorical Frankenstein, composed of a mess of sexual perversions and fetishes. It is a truly, truly, truly upsetting thought to know that you incite fear in people. All the more tragic is, one, when they think that you do so purposely, as M. does, and, two, when you are probably the least likely person to do something to someone that they would rather you not do. I cried, literally, every day of preschool, kindergarten, first grade, and the first two-thirds of second grade because, “I miss my Dad!” I cry at almost every movie and whenever someone else cries, so does Eric. People with more callous dispositions (cough) upset me to no end. My sensitivity surely exacerbates the pain derived from unintentional engendering of fear in people.

I feel that all my problems are helplessly interrelated and just intensify. Due to my sensitivity, I might look at M. to see if he’s upset, which causes him to be even more creeped out, which causes everyone to see me in a more creepy light, which causes me to care less about my appearance since no one is going to like me anyway, which causes everyone to see me in a more creepy light, which...

The M. part of the equation just continually intensifies, intensifying the rest of the chain, because the more creeped out he becomes, the incentive to not look at him, as I don’t want to anger him, grows proportionally with the incentive to look, as I have anxiety over how much he hates me. Because the incentive to look was stronger initially, it continues to be stronger because, as I said, they both grow proportionally, which, again, causes the M. part of the chain to intensify, intensifying the entire chain of anxiety.

Now THAT'S one hell of a tangled web,

G.L.A.Y.

P.S. I just checked, and this is 1,100 words long. When does my emo certificate come in the mail?

Sympathizes.

http://www.darksiderainbow.net/the-straight-crush/

http://www.queerattitude.com/forums/posts.php?t=9107

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVI1sg0zsoY

M. and Losing a Love That I Never Had

M. and Losing a Love That I Never Had

With M., all I ever really wanted to do was to be his friend—that and only that. If I could have been his friend, I wouldn't want anything else from him. I wouldn’t ask for a hug, talk to him about boys, or anything else that could jeopardize such a privileged status. If he could treat me in the same, completely informal, jocular manner that he treats all of his friends, there would be few other pleasures that I would want, at least for my immediate circumstances (the future…). Each time I would ask M. a question, almost always with fabricated intent or with people much better suited to supply an answer available, he would reply in such a business-like manner, not cold, but disappointingly formal. This was highly-depressing, considering questions composed most of the interaction that M. and I shared, as, with a question, people rarely become suspicious of someone’s intent in their speaking to them, because a person has a reason for addressing them: gaining required knowledge. I often (rather hastily) threw the guise of requirement and need over myself, pretending to be “reluctantly forced” into the “completely neutral” experience of talking to M. by universal forces beyond anyone’s control. Hey, God rolled dice at the beginning of time, and this was the result*. Their were times, however, when our interaction was more than farce, only slightly, but still genuine interaction nonetheless—like the kind you might actually have with someone in your high school Math class, as I am, not someone you have just met at a business meeting, as I am not.

* In philosophy, as a part of casual determinism, it is stated that all states have their basis in previously-existing states, no matter how complex the abstraction, until the primordial state, whose qualities dictate the qualities of all following states. (John was named so because his mother once knew someone named John that she thought was nice, she was able to meet this person because their parents worked in the same city, they worked in the same city because…ad nauseum; this would continue until the first atom, the qualities of which influenced the qualities of all other things to come into existence.)

I remember both occasions distinctly—what happened before and what happened after. Each time ended with (well, consisted of) M. and I laughing at the same thing, for the same reasons, and at the same time. These could almost be classified as highlights of the year, as to a gay male, laughing, sincerely, with a straight man they adore is like a first kiss—a kiss being comparable to laughing because, for a straight man, above a kiss there is only one higher mode of affection, sex, in the same way there is only one higher mode of affection for a gay male in love with a straight man than laughter with similar company, a hug. The above hierarchy’s unforgiving inequality is regrettable (and very, very lamentable), but it is the nature of being gay. To actually share positive feeling with M. was euphoric; it was such a pleasure to watch M.’s cheeks turn red and his cheek bones rise in laughter, at the expense of his eyes, as that unrestrained, idyllic, jocular, informal sound filled the air. To him, for a moment, while it slipped his mind, I wasn’t only that gay kid who “creeped” on him, but I was what I actually am—his peer and equal. Unfortunately, beyond its mate, each of these brief instances of camaraderie had no other accompaniment.

And it seems they never will. Once M. [omitted in online copy to avoid identification], all hopes—dashed, communication—ended, cautious friendliness—a fondly remembered fragment of the past. To him, I suppose, he was just another victim of my “perving,” as I assume his close association with [M.'s evil friend] and my many other detractors would bias him into perceiving my infatuation as, so for him, it did not seem inappropriate to inform me in such a casual manner, as a joke between him and [M.'s evil friend], that he knew I “liked” (!) him and that I make him uncomfortable. What M. does not realize is that his light-hearted, playful expression of his feelings about me felt like a dismissal of my feelings, as he was, thankfully, I suppose, unaware as to just how emotionally invested I was in him, as my love for him extends far beyond broad shoulders and a deep voice, but to both the persona he presents to the world and the personality that he truly holds in his heart. The boyish, childlike demeanor that M. holds with him, at all times of the day, is, perhaps, the most endearing of all of his traits. He is always willing to joke, to prank, [more coming...]

June Edit: My response to this last paragraph: fuck that shit! He is an outright asshole, bigot, and ruthless, incompassionate overachiever. The last term being ironic, as he does not really want to achieve anything—money and fame are about as real as the pixels illuminated in the "fag purple" that you see before you.