Penney-less

I met Craig Penney at the Fountainhead after work today. It wasn't the joyful connection I was hoping for. He admitted to me in an email about two hours before I left work that he intended me to only be a friend and that one of the major reasons was my disability. Why does that news always hurt so badly? Is it just that I have too much pride and vanity, that I lack the dignity to walk away unscathed? I see so much beauty in him, the kindness in his eyes, his reverence for his elderly relatives, his humour and wit, his ability to express himself in words, and his physical beauty too, all of which makes me want to throw my arms around him.

I can't say he wasn't glad to see me, that he didn't stand up to hug me when I stood to leave. I am sure at some level he still wants to be my friend, whatever that might mean. Surely he enjoys sending me several emails a week describing his house cleaning. But now my words choke in my throat. There isn't much that I care deeply about that I want to share with him at this point. If he had told me he was preoccupied with someone else, that he enjoys his independence too much or that he was just into Asians, I could have accepted that peacefully. Instead, he can't love me because of my disability. He can't see the real me or let me in.

Of course it hurts much more because I am so attracted to him, because I let myself want him. I am angry with myself for that, and filled with self-loathing for the moment. What will I say now when he writes or speaks to me like a friend? How can I trust his words when he tells me he cares about me after kicking me in the heart like that? Of course, he was just being honest, more honest that most gay men -- brutally honest, in fact. And I find it totally totally understandable that he finds my disability repugnant; totally understandable and totally unforgivable.

I was terribly uncomfortable sitting alone with him with all of these thoughts of rejection whirling around inside my head, trying to make small talk until his real friends showed up. I did my best to conceal it but it must have been somewhat obvious. Unheroically, I brought up stories of others who had agreed with him, who had found my disability unattractive, threatening or embarrassing. I wanted him to see how hurtful their actions were so that he might reflect on his own, but there is really no point to it. These is nothing to salvage after the milk has soured.

Still, when I hugged him goodbye I so didn't want to let him go. I am pleased I didn't get angry as that wouldn't have helped anything. It would only have masked the pain and sadness I need to process. Writing this down is helping immensely but I still am not sure how to respond to his inevitable emails when they come. I have been running through many scenarios but they all feel inadequate. Perhaps I will just apologize for not being able to answer for the time being, without saying why exactly. That way I won't provoke a discussion or argument, and I won't say anything I will regret. Our connection has been so short that perhaps he will forget about it soon enough. I won't.


The problem with bull shit is that you can never add enough sugar to make it taste sweet. - Luke Warmwater