Maybe I shouldn't use the term Closet. The LGBTs use it, and for good reason. Hundreds of millions of dollars are spent trying to change natural LGBT predisposition, to "fix" them, to suppress them, to keep them out of view. Polyamory hasn't been the target of grassroots political movements, or Judeo-Christian church sermons denouncing my nature in such absolute terms as "an abomination in the eyes of the Lord." Maybe I'm just a whiner for speaking of closets. Maybe I need to "check my privilege" again, particularly since I am a straight white male. But I do feel persecuted, I really do, and I'm mad as hell. I've looked at a handful of these other posts, and they're so positive, so upbeat. Am I the only one who feels cursed?
Before I figured out that the infantile interpersonal dramas we see in movies and on TV are quite representative of all levels of our culture, before I realized that jealousy, insecurity, and possessiveness over people are not seen by society as quirks or foibles, but as virtues, you bet your ass there have been people who have stepped up to me with violent intentions due to my socially aberrant nature, before I got good at hiding and blending. I have sat through church sermons denouncing my nature, though not with all the fire and brimstone the LGBT community endures. I have been blasted with hate, accusations of betrayal, with fundamental, apocalyptic condemnations of my character, from people I trusted, people I loved, people I thought wanted to understand me. Out of purest paranoia they dismiss my deepest and most enduring love as shallow fancy, ex-lovers burn me from their hearts and from their memory, somehow counting as a blessing and a strength their reptilian ability to do so. And I've dealt with this in secrecy and in silence, because I have met, in person, not a single soul who is truly polyamorous. I have only heard of them, on the internet. And so here I am. Am I the only one who's angry?
Am I the only one who didn't consider coming out, going public as poly, until half his hair turned gray? Or even come fully to terms with it himself? They called me a horndog, they called me a flirt, they've even called me a "player." Compared with my friends, I suppose I was, by their definition. Naturally monogamous women have found my honesty charming, at least at first, and buddies were mystified that a woman would even temporarily entertain a romance with me while knowing full well she was not the only one. But in the end, everybody was rolling their eyes. Everyone but me. They said I was immature, but I'm far too old to listen to that now. They said I’d be gripped with the need for monogamy one day, that it would just happen, but it never did. They said I’d stop "playing" after somebody played me, they said I just needed to know heartache, and I’d change, but I have been dumped more than any of them. Women I still love today, who once told me they loved me, now say they do not. I know far, far more of heartache and loneliness than any of them, I’ve spent far more time alone, and celibate, than any of them, and frankly, I passed them all up in this department at least a decade ago. I’m done shrugging shyly and chuckling gamely at the comments. I’m done with the back slapping and the winking and the nudging and the what’s-your-secret. There is no secret. There are no secrets. That’s the secret. It was never a game for me. Never. Not ever.
Not Ever. Not ever did I ever play a “game” with a human being.
I've always given the truth to lovers, even though it’s always thrown back in my face before long. I've committed to monogamy on several occasions, sometimes for years at a time. I've never, ever broken such a covenant. Nevertheless, my freely admitted indifference toward monogamy has been a constant source of suspicion, accusation, resentment, and fighting. Each lover eventually begins demanding that I forsake every alliance I've ever forged with members of the opposite sex, hating me bitterly for my refusal to do so.
But eventually, each successive partner's insistence on equating jealousy with love has driven them, one after the other, to break contact with me, so as to avoid detonating the mutually assured death-grip of fear and insecurity they share with their current partners. There really is room in most people’s hearts for only one person at a time. Because my love is not so limited, they cursed my love as something less than theirs, and now, as the ashes of their love cool into dust, I continue to bear love eternal. My eyes would surely light if I happened upon one of them by chance, but upon seeing that light, these exes would likely experience only awkward discomfort and pity, as if I harbored some delusion, as if I were less than fully aware of what I can expect from them. After all, they seem to wonder, why would I still love them after the romance has run its course? Why would I still love them it were not reciprocated?
Why indeed?
A practical question. But there is no practical answer. I simply can't help it. When I come to love a person, it would seem to be a permanent phenomenon, so far as I can tell from the evidence thus far. There are five of them now, and I will always think of them "that way." Most folks seem to operate their relationships with a series of ropes and pulleys; pull one closer, and some unlucky other drifts away, with a repetitious squeaking of gears. What the hell is the deal with all this machinery? How the hell do these people look at me and see complication? What planet am I even from?
I'm pretty sure I'm polyamorous, though I've never met a self-proclaimed poly, and I've never been in a standing, indefinite poly relationship, or even used the word until this last year. All I've ever known are ticking clocks and ultimatums. I feel like I've been stigmatized and ostracized on account of my polyamorous nature. I feel like I've accepted this quietly, knowing that most people don't understand it and aren't okay with it. I feel like it's been a closet. Is this common?
Comments welcome.
Before I figured out that the infantile interpersonal dramas we see in movies and on TV are quite representative of all levels of our culture, before I realized that jealousy, insecurity, and possessiveness over people are not seen by society as quirks or foibles, but as virtues, you bet your ass there have been people who have stepped up to me with violent intentions due to my socially aberrant nature, before I got good at hiding and blending. I have sat through church sermons denouncing my nature, though not with all the fire and brimstone the LGBT community endures. I have been blasted with hate, accusations of betrayal, with fundamental, apocalyptic condemnations of my character, from people I trusted, people I loved, people I thought wanted to understand me. Out of purest paranoia they dismiss my deepest and most enduring love as shallow fancy, ex-lovers burn me from their hearts and from their memory, somehow counting as a blessing and a strength their reptilian ability to do so. And I've dealt with this in secrecy and in silence, because I have met, in person, not a single soul who is truly polyamorous. I have only heard of them, on the internet. And so here I am. Am I the only one who's angry?
Am I the only one who didn't consider coming out, going public as poly, until half his hair turned gray? Or even come fully to terms with it himself? They called me a horndog, they called me a flirt, they've even called me a "player." Compared with my friends, I suppose I was, by their definition. Naturally monogamous women have found my honesty charming, at least at first, and buddies were mystified that a woman would even temporarily entertain a romance with me while knowing full well she was not the only one. But in the end, everybody was rolling their eyes. Everyone but me. They said I was immature, but I'm far too old to listen to that now. They said I’d be gripped with the need for monogamy one day, that it would just happen, but it never did. They said I’d stop "playing" after somebody played me, they said I just needed to know heartache, and I’d change, but I have been dumped more than any of them. Women I still love today, who once told me they loved me, now say they do not. I know far, far more of heartache and loneliness than any of them, I’ve spent far more time alone, and celibate, than any of them, and frankly, I passed them all up in this department at least a decade ago. I’m done shrugging shyly and chuckling gamely at the comments. I’m done with the back slapping and the winking and the nudging and the what’s-your-secret. There is no secret. There are no secrets. That’s the secret. It was never a game for me. Never. Not ever.
Not Ever. Not ever did I ever play a “game” with a human being.
I've always given the truth to lovers, even though it’s always thrown back in my face before long. I've committed to monogamy on several occasions, sometimes for years at a time. I've never, ever broken such a covenant. Nevertheless, my freely admitted indifference toward monogamy has been a constant source of suspicion, accusation, resentment, and fighting. Each lover eventually begins demanding that I forsake every alliance I've ever forged with members of the opposite sex, hating me bitterly for my refusal to do so.
But eventually, each successive partner's insistence on equating jealousy with love has driven them, one after the other, to break contact with me, so as to avoid detonating the mutually assured death-grip of fear and insecurity they share with their current partners. There really is room in most people’s hearts for only one person at a time. Because my love is not so limited, they cursed my love as something less than theirs, and now, as the ashes of their love cool into dust, I continue to bear love eternal. My eyes would surely light if I happened upon one of them by chance, but upon seeing that light, these exes would likely experience only awkward discomfort and pity, as if I harbored some delusion, as if I were less than fully aware of what I can expect from them. After all, they seem to wonder, why would I still love them after the romance has run its course? Why would I still love them it were not reciprocated?
Why indeed?
A practical question. But there is no practical answer. I simply can't help it. When I come to love a person, it would seem to be a permanent phenomenon, so far as I can tell from the evidence thus far. There are five of them now, and I will always think of them "that way." Most folks seem to operate their relationships with a series of ropes and pulleys; pull one closer, and some unlucky other drifts away, with a repetitious squeaking of gears. What the hell is the deal with all this machinery? How the hell do these people look at me and see complication? What planet am I even from?
I'm pretty sure I'm polyamorous, though I've never met a self-proclaimed poly, and I've never been in a standing, indefinite poly relationship, or even used the word until this last year. All I've ever known are ticking clocks and ultimatums. I feel like I've been stigmatized and ostracized on account of my polyamorous nature. I feel like I've accepted this quietly, knowing that most people don't understand it and aren't okay with it. I feel like it's been a closet. Is this common?
Comments welcome.
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