I belong to no one

Love...what is it really? 

I'm 27 years old and I thought perhaps even know I was in love once. He was everything I could've asked for in a lover, a human being, a heart. 

We fell fast. He came from a different country and was plopped her, abandoned by the college who's foreign exchange student program he had enrolled in. 

I took care of him, probably in much the same way a wife takes care of her husband with the added task of helping him decipher American social inadequacies and idiosyncrasies. 

But it was love and it was pure. I felt safe in wrapped in his arms, content in a way I had never known or experienced sense waking up nestled in what Carrie Bradshaw would call his nook. And then it all came to a screeching halt. His parents became aware of our relationship  via a jealous female foreign exchange student from hong long who had been trolling the campus for 8 years unwilling to return to her home country who probably detested her presence as much as I did (I'll admit there were a few physical altercations, my most treasured when I ripped her hair extensions out leaving patches of bald spots and setting them ablaze in front of her face making it bluntly aware that if she reported any physical altercations to the cops she would promptly be deported). Apparently in Turkish culture it's not only an embarrassment but forbidden to be a homosexual.

Ever since then a few men have come and gone...they never lasted and I wasn't sure if it was my own doing. Some "I've had the best" complex or just my unwillingness to commit to face the same fate. 

They say love happens when you least expect it, it appears when you're least expecting it like the proverbial white stag. 

I stopped looking a long time ago. And then the possibility fell into my lap and as you can probably guess it amounted to as much as Kelly Rowland's solo career has. 

Elton John sang it best "I want love, but it's impossible". 

People try to tell me it's just as hard for straight people but they haven't taking a visit to the gay realm. A realm full of pretend realities, sheep dressed as wolves and men in search of the next drug they can shove up their nose or the next ass they can plow their wing wang in. 

In the land of gods and monsters

My life is in turmoil. Or at least the kind of turmoil that is superficial because its family related. 

I think we all have family issues in one way or another. Mine is no greater than anyone else's. I'm not being raped by a stepfather, being beat by a theoretical biological father, carrying the zygote of a step brother or any other lifetime movie worthy dramatics. 

Just your standard Real Housewives Of New Jersey feud where the semantics, facts, figures, and score keeping are more muddled than a 3 year old's frantic finger painting that amounted to a mess of colors so fervently mixed together they now resemble shit, not the intended masterpiece. 

It all started over a year ago when I was diagnosed with cancer. Yes, cancer- at the ripe old age of 26. 

Aside from the implied mental tornado and physical breakdowns before and after the diagnosis and the mental explosion before and after the surgery to remove part of my tongue and before and after the radiation treatment, the other half of my clinically termed immediate family completely and totally abandoned me. 

I couldn't eat or speak for 5 months post radiation. I was locked inside my head and body, my body which was slowly disappearing with each passing day. Needless to say this would drive anyone to the brink of insanity.

And to make matters worse all the people I thought were friends took the same train out of John Town leaving me completely and totally alone and forcing me even deeper down into the dead creature I was becoming. 

The friends I got over quickly. The family I couldn't. I did a fairly good job of masking this, plastering on a fake smile faker than Joan Rivers' face. 

But this week I finally exploded and let a mushroom cloud of emotions and hatred that had been contained far too long leaving a trail of disaster worse than hurricane sandy and the tsunami combined. 

And here I am, alone, with no one to talk to, no unbiased confidant who can smack me down a few pegs and make me face the vile actions I committed and support the actions that were well within my rights. 

I don't know what to do. I've run out of answers, excuses, rationalizations, and sorries. 

I was wrong and out of line as far as many of my typed defenses were concerned but I don't want to muster up the humility and maturity to admit this to them when they will never admit that they abandoned me and what's worse aren't in the very least sorry.

A war has been waged, lines have been drawn and no white flag will be raised, at least on my side. 

And even if they were capable of reaching way down beneath the layers of stone, concrete, and steal to find the humility and maturity to admit it and own it I don't know if I could ever look at them the same way or even as family. 

Angelina Jolie said it best when she said "family isn't a right, it's earned". And they weren't ever interested in earning anything, especially from me.