Regret

I used to say that I'd have no regrets.

That everything I've ever done was a stepping stone, a learning curve, with everything turning me into the person that I've become.

And that in the end, it might all be worth it.

I don't believe that anymore.

Because sometimes, we really should know better.

Sometimes it's a lesson that you're already supposed to know.

And now I know I've done things that I truly do regret.

Hurt people that I loved.

Turned myself into the people that I hate.

Hating myself for what I've done.

They say two wrongs don't make a right.

Apparently, wrongs just can't right in general. They're just wrong.

You're wrong. What you did was wrong.

And you can blame it on anything: alcohol, drugs, your state of mind, stress, peer pressure.

But in the end you're still the one who looks like a fucking arsehole.

No, you are the fucking arsehole.

And maybe your regrets are important - so that you remember that.

No matter how much moral high ground you think you take, you can still do the things that make you sick to the stomach.

And no matter how much you beg or grovel, nothing makes them better.

You just have to stew in your skin and know that you were wrong.

"spent all my life waiting for a moment to come

walking single file, waiting for a moment to come

but it won't

I'm halfway to happy now

and I always mistake it for progress"

- Killing Time, Bayside

Envy

I used to think a little bit of jealousy was a good thing.

In a way I guess it can stimulate competition, and that way you've got to really work for something if you want it.

Some of the great achievements in history probably happened because that guy was jealous of anything that another guy did before him.

Though, there has a be an obvious distinction between healthy competition and petty vendetta.

After all, it's not one of the seven deadly sins for nothing...

Unseen and untreated, a feeling of envy can become dangerously consuming.

The feeling of watching someone get exactly what you wanted, while you're left to look on from the side lines, in some cases can be nothing short of traumatic.

It becomes more than jealousy: it becomes a fiery rage.

In reality, it's probably just the way the cookie crumbles, but you can't help feel as though that person is taking something away from you with the worst intentions, as if they intentionally meant for you to feel that way.

Because, from the other side of the coin, that's hardly the case.

The times in my life where I've found myself as the subject of other peoples jealousy, I had been blissfully unaware of such an ugly manifestation of envy.

I was merely taking the steps in my life towards something that I wanted, and I discovered sides of hostility in people that I never would have imagined or expected.

And while I would love to feel some kind of sympathy, the ridiculousness of the way things pan out leave me with a combination of bemusement and pity.

I've also had the displeasure of feeling a little green lately.

Watching one of your close friends obtain something you would've killed to have: it's hard to not feel as though sometimes they're rubbing it in your face.

But then I try to take a step back: why should they be punished with my negativity for doing something that they've wanted for just as long, and worked hard enough to actually obtain?

The answer is, they shouldn't.

As envious as I may feel, I harness the feelings enough to be genuinely happy for them.

Because I am. And I think that's a true sign that you can tame the green-eyed monster.

Jealousy can make people do terrible things, say things they'll most likely regret.

It can also motivate people to take a more noble road to achievement.

I'm just glad that at least I could make that distinction.

"Jealousy, turning saints into the sea" - Mr. Brightside, The Killers

Sleep

I don't remember the last night I had a decent sleep.

Hell, I'd be surprised if you could find anything that resembles a decent sleeping pattern in the last month of my life.

I wish it could be solved as easily as a more comfy pillow or an extra blanket, but I'd be kidding myself if I thought the source of my insomnia was purely physical.

Having said that, waking up with a hangover 3 of 5 week nights probably attests to why I am consistently sporting the tired eyes of 'stoner chic'.

Maybe because half the nights of the week I'm not sleeping in my own bed, or because I stumble into bed at 3 or 4 in the morning, home from doing... well you probably don't want to know.

I've definitely given a different meaning to the phrase 'getting to bed early' - they never specified AM or PM, right?

The physicality is one thing, but psychologically it's draining.

I'm tired, but getting up and going to bed seems like such an effort.

So I'm awake, either at my computer or drunk between someone else's sheets, until I can't really fight the supposedly reasonable conceptions of society, and the results health sciences, on what is considered an appropriate amount of sleep.

That last sentence was a bit of a jumble, but hey, maybe it proves my point?

If it was one or two nights, or God forbid I was doing something worthwhile with the waking hours, maybe it wouldn't be such an issue.

But I think when it gets to the point where you go to bed at 11:30pm, but your body clock isn't used to crashing until 4am, that you may have a problem.

I'm a train wreck, out of control.

There's no slowing down, so it looks like I'm powering on until I crash.

"if I could trade mistakes for sheep

count me away before you sleep" - Panic! At The Disco

Esteem

If we're going to be totally honest, I can be pretty arrogant sometimes.

Not outwardly, of course. To the public eye I can usually dull it down to a subtle sheen of confidence.

So what changed?

Why do I suddenly feel so inadequate?

I used to spruce myself up before every night out.

I'd do my hair, wink to the mirror and think 'Damn boy, you're looking fine tonight'.

Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the comparative sobriety, or maybe it was just me waking up to smell the roses.

But I hated the way I looked.

I wanted to hide, to change, to destroy all evidence.

Where I once let it all hang out, keeping no secrets, I was suddenly ashamed.

Every past compliment simply meant nothing. I could feel guys watching me, but instead of feeling attractive, I felt ugly, like some freak they were all judging.

I used to think how weak anyone with a body image issue would be, to succumb so easily to the outside world pressures.

I guess I just kept my own insecurities from myself.

"LA told me 'You'll be a pop star:

all you have to change is everything you are

tired of being compared to damn Britney Spears

she's so pretty - that just ain't me" - P!nk

Similarity

They always say that opposites attract.

Right now, I'm not so sure that I'd agree.

I've somehow only just realised that there's one consistent problem that I've had with every boyfriend, every relationship, every fling, every single attempt at romance, no matter how mighty or mere.

How it escaped me before is beyond me, but it's finally been brought to my attention that I've had next to nothing in common with them.

Because no, being gay doesn't count.

Yes, all gay men (or at least out ones) have similar experiences of coming out, no matter how heart-warming or tragic their variations may be. You can exchange stories and pretend you're really connecting, but it pains me to realise I've had these kinds of chats with strangers on the internet as easily as I've had them with my lovers.

Then there's those typical gay stereotypes: partying, drinks and drugs, Ke$Ha, etc.

I used to joke that a love for Lady Gaga was mandatory in any perspective partner.

And while it makes for a fun night out, and can be enough to bond over with close friends, it's not exactly a unique connection of any kind that could lay down the strong foundations of any sort of successful relationship.

I've never dated a musician. I've never dated someone who had a particularly or especially proactive view on politics or gay rights issues (which is kind of hard to believe, no?). I've never dated someone quite so interested in spirituality and mysticism. I've never dated anyone who really shared any of the passions I have in my life, who I really and truly had something in common with.

I've dated cynical, atheistic med students, amazingly-built health-freak/gym-junkies, party-boy hairdressers-turned-bankers, allergy-ridden liars, even a MECO student with a passion for Twilight fan fiction (who's ambition to be a 'lady of leisure' was probably the closest thing in common I had with any of them; the inherent nature of which rendered us quite incompatible).

Most of them have been lovely guys, gorgeous people who instantly captured me with their personalities.

I'd like to think that I did the same with them, but in the end, the spark dies.

We brought the bricks, but are we collectively lacking the mortar that holds us all together?

The flame petters out, and I'm left with a hollow, burnt-out shell of what was shaping up to be my happy ending.

I've been hit with the 'it's not you, it's me' line more than I'd care to admit, but in most cases I'd like to believe that their reasoning was perfectly legitimate.

But maybe, in the larger scheme of things... perhaps it is me?

I know I fall hard and fast, and sometimes I think I fall in love with the idea of a person more than what they actually are.

And then I just get disappointed when they don't see me the way I see them.

Or that I just don't see them the way they really are.

"so go on and think about whatever you need to think about,

go on and dream about whatever you need to dream about,

and come back to me when you know just how you feel." - Why, Avril Lavigne

Decisions

I hate to admit I'm a terribly indecisive person.

I can never seem to decide upon a place to eat on the first date, or which movie to rent from the store.

So you can imagine how much I must hate the actually important life decisions, right?

Because the worst part about the big decisions is that you're never really going to know if you made the right choice.

If he turns out to be allergic to seafood or lactose intolerant, or if you feel as though you wasted 2 hours of your life and would rather have stared at the wall, it's pretty obvious that you made a mistake.

And so what of it? You'll probably just take it in your stride, learn from it, and not make that same poor decision twice.

But the important, long-term decisions, they tend to affect your life in countless more ways.

And in the end, you're in the future, and when you look around you and realise what a fuck up it's become, all you can do it ask yourself "What if..?"

I can't necessarily blame my poverty or unemployment on a Bachelor of Arts, but I might look back and think, "Would I be in this position if I studied Law?"

But my gripe is that some decisions seem right.

Are there always alternatives? If not taking the right decisions automatically taking the wrong one?

Is inaction really so bad?

Sometimes you don't really know, and though I've always been an excited advocate for change, first-hand experience has taught me there are some heart-breaking changes that could and should be easily avoided.

Is it wrong to make a pre-emptive decision?

In essence, choose to not make a decision because you'd rather not figure out which one really is the right way.

Life seems to take control, and carry me forward. But sometimes it also seems to get in the way.

Pre-planned change, all rehearsed and orchestrated, somehow takes the back-seat to the unexpected, the unforeseen.

Or maybe I just can't practice what I preach.

A subtle, unconscious masochistic streak has allowed me to get far too comfortable in the rut.

Or, God forbid, maybe I'm just not ready.

"when mystery fades we identify the problems, but they may not be problems after all"

- On Love, On Life, Bayside

Infidelity

Think back to 'Affirmation' by Savage Garden.

As a child growing up in the closet, one of the lyrics that I used to find comfort in was 'I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality'.

Of course, now that's something that a lot of us accept, possibly even take for granted. Haters will hate and say that we chose to lead this despicable lifestyle, but the people who count know that it's just not so.

But lately I've been noticing, studying, and agonising over another particular line in the song: 'I believe that trust is more important than monogamy'.

There are two reasons why this sentiment strikes a chord somewhere within me:

The first is that, for whatever reason, the gay scene and community tends to be characterised with a stereotype of horny promiscuity, being unable to 'keep it in your pants', and thus a lot of infidelity and experiences of intimacy (depending on your definition of the word) outside of any initial relationship.

Now, I'm not as delusional as to think that only gay people cheat on each other. There are plenty of lying scumbags from all genders and sexualities.

However, I've noticed that not all of these situations are a malicious or foolish act of infidelity.

In homosexuals, I've seen a peculiar prevalence to 'open relationships', people who are in a recognised and (arguably) committed relationship, but who are not reprimanded should they have any kind of affairs with someone else.

There's a line between a second relationship and a casual hook-up on the side, but when I've questioned people in these circumstances, it came down to a simple "I just don't believe in monogamy anymore."

And maybe that's not so implausible. Very few species on this Earth actually find one partner and mate with them for life.

We're all human, and sometimes mistakes do happen. Wouldn't we all be better off in accepting that, and being honest to our partners, and being able to move on from it.

I always thought Miranda was such a fool in the Sex and the City movie for leaving Steve, after he had the courage to admit to her a one-time mistake that was eating him up inside, obviously due to the love he still felt for her.

I'd rather know that if my partner hooked up with someone else, they would tell me upfront about it, instead of blindly having faith that they would always remain faithful, no matter what.

And maybe that will change one day, but for now it still seems to me that trust really is more important than monogamy.

The second reason is more a personal reflection than a community affiliation.

I have been in the situation where a partner was unfaithful. However, I never found out until after the relationship ended, on considerably good terms.

But the fact that I found out through someone else, the fact he never had the guts to man up and be honest with me, the fact he went to so many lengths to cover it up and tell so many lies - it destroyed our remaining friendship, temporarily destroyed my sanity, and brought me ever so close to destroying him.

I don't like to dwell on what if's, but deep down I can't help but wonder if things might have been different between us if he had just told me from the start.

But that belief came back around to haunt me, when I unfortunately found the tables had turned, and was in a position I swore to myself I'd never be in.

Laying all technicalities and bullshit aside, I really liked one person, but ended up getting with another person.

In that occurrence, I learnt that getting with a second person doesn't always change the way you feel about the first.

And so I practiced what I preach. I confessed, I told the truth.

The results were favourable. Maybe because we are gay, we are more open-minded to that kind of situation, or maybe I just found someone truly understanding, who saw my intentions beyond a little slip-up.

Regardless, I know that whatever happens, I have no secret to bare, nothing weighing me down that I need to get off my chest.

Never, ever would I use this reasoning to consider cheating to be totally acceptable, in any circumstance. I guess sometimes it's just not as bad as a lot of people think it is.

But this series of events has led me to believe that trust really is more important than monogamy.

"he kissed my lips, I taste your mouth

he pulled me in, I was disgusted with myself" - Thinking of You, Katy Perry