Nessy

Fella has an illness. It really is that simple; although it explains an awful lot. Why we've been having a difficult time recently, for example. I think it does him enormous credit to have realised his illness was getting so severe that he needed some help, and tomorrow morning that (I hope) is exactly what he will get.

The illness is disarmingly simple. There is an imbalance of chemicals inside Fella and that affects his mood and how he thinks from time to time. In the past this has required medication to control it; and it seems one of those times has rolled around again.

Fella hasn't always been up-front with me about his past and elements of his personal life. Hmmm... re-reading that I mean to write he has chosen not to reveal all to me as yet. Yes, that's better isn't it?

I really don't mind; it is none of my business – so long as I know how to do what is right for him and what will make him happy. So – and forgive me for straying into selfishness mode here gentle reader – I am experiencing various emotions at this new paradigm.

I think I'm a little bit in shock, to be honest. I don't really understand. That is, the technical and logistical; even the biological mechanisms are apparent to me now. But I am somewhat lost in unchartered territory. This isn't the shiny side of Strumpetville, and no mistake.

The primary feeling is a huge amount of guilt. Fella is and was ill, slowly getting worse and I can't help but feel that I contributed to it. A lot. So much so that this Sunday I raised the possibility that he and I should end our relationship if that is what is best for him. He insists, to no small relief on my part, that it is not. But at 11 months and 11 days I am confronted with the notion that I really don't know him. In many ways situations will occur that cause me to tap the brakes on our relationship and that is itself a good thing. But there's new and there's New!

Fella is a creative type; an artist; a passionate soul that feels the world deeply and one of the reasons he has avoided medication for so long is that when smoothing out the lows it smoothes out the highs; the good times aren't so good and it's not a compromise he's considered worthwhile. Have I driven him to it then? It's like some fucking Greek tragedy; to be the people that fell in love is perhaps to destroy that love – but to become someone else devalues it to the point of meaninglessness.

So what is for the best? There's a huge risk of angsty over-analysis of course. Fella, to me, is the living embodiment of Why; I work hard and wish to achieve something with my life and he is the reason for that, given form. So, perhaps it is for the best to say: bollocks to angsty worry about things. Hard work has never frightened me and Lord knows I consciously understand it needs a lot in any relationship. So, let's get to work shall we? After all, we should not discount the possibility that the help might help.

Big Trouble in Little Strumpetville

Look up gentle reader; just a little. You see there, under the header? Those tags?? Yep, my blog's functionality expands ever more. There's something other than this blog of blogness; there's some good advice.

I've never given good advice, oh my no. I've occasionally hit upon a nugget of gold whilst spewing my stream of... consciousness on this blog. But not more. Nevertheless, I appreciate good advice and – very rarely – sometimes even act on it. And recently I received some stonkingly marvellous advice indeed from my good friends 'A' and 'F'.

So cogent and well written is this advice that I decided, with permission, to reproduce it on this blog BUT in an unedited form, thus making it very long for a post. The solution, but of course, is to show it in a page attached to the blog rather than embed it in a post. Simples, no?

You might like gentle reader, to read the advice after this post and comment on how marvellous and sensible my friends are. The advice itself is from Friend 'A' and was followed up with some cogent and well thought out supporting arguments from 'F'. Both have impressed me and I once again am in their debt. To cut a long story short I took the advice and Fella and I rebalanced our relationship somewhat through a bit of proper discussion and partly through taking a step back and trying not to answer all of life's big questions in such a rush.

Re-reading the advice I am struck by how clever and cogent 'A' and 'F' are, and how shamed I am by my own ability to communicate. I decided to publish despite my suspicion that this saga portrays me (not necessarily wrongly) as a hot-headed angst machine... For now, suffice it to say, I consider myself very very lucky I am to have friends like these. I am sure you will agree.

So what happened? Ah, that is a rather complex and tawdry matter and I fear it says more about me reacting to silliness than silliness itself. Nevertheless, deep breath, every-detail etc... here goes.

I don't really want to have children; Fella does. This is something that has, in passing, been acknowledged as Most Important Thing To Pose A Risk To Our Relationship And That We Have Consciously Not Discussed.

Yes, Not Discussed... So one evening recently Fella became quite upset. And not knowing any obvious cause I pressed him on what was wrong. At first he was reticent to discuss it but eventually he told me it was because he had decided that he and I won't have children, even though it's something he really wants.

And how did I react? By losing my temper really quite badly, really. A huge row ensued, based on my view that a decision like that would be better informed by a discussion with me; and in general it is wrong to make decisions about the rest of my/our life without consulting me. Also, I was an in many ways still am very hurt that Fella would consider me such a monster I would expect him to give up his dreams to be with me. I really, still, feel... How Could He?

Naturally, the night before was followed the morning after by the silent treatment. He does go in for the Silent Treatment from time to time, when peeved… again, rather than talking through issues with me. I know very well I am a p*ss poor communicator, especially in relationships, but I think the silent treatment is very unfair. I just end up sick with worry that he's had an accident, or something. In fact, as I've told [Fella], the silent treatment is pretty much a deal breaker for me. It is a stratagem against which I have no defence and indeed I become quite self-destructive, in truth, once it is deployed, so effective is it a button-pusher.

So much do I hate the Silent Treatment that it genuinely led me to believe, given the low esteem in which I was apparently held by Fella, that I should email an ultimatum suggesting simply end things then and there.

My mind at least had presence enough to ask of 'A' and 'F' their advice/comments/thoughts on how silly I was being, and in particular, on a scale of one to 10, one being a monkey flinging poo and 10 being the freakish love-child of Ghandi and the Blarney Stone, where on the communication scale would an email like that fall.

The reply? Well, look up gentle reader; just a little. You see there, under the header...?

Show me love :-)

Fella and I show our love in different ways. He likes the quiet-night-in, with cuddles and hugs. And he's very affectionate when we are out and about. Actually he and I have had some hassle when out and about and my feelings for him can manifest as an extraordinary protectiveness (I sometimes need to remind myself he's an adult and can probably make it to the shops by himself if he wants to)

I don't find it easy to discuss the depth of feeling I have for him and when I'm experiencing things with him. I try to show my love through the grand gesture; romance, passion. I am far less subtle than him. I do think, though, we have a good balance: the hugs and cuddles at home; the intimate moments that could come at any time; the cultural and social exploration we embark on together.

Along the way there are the usual milestones. I think Fella in particular takes great delight in making his and our friends vomit themselves into a desiccated husk at how 'loved up' he is... and of course our One Year Anniversary is coming up. Fella boasts of some wonderful gift that he has bought. In my mind it assumes massive proportions of wonderousness. What am I to do, gentle reader?? I cast about and rack my brains. I am on the lookout for the Grand Gesture that will mark the anniversary's passing in appropriate style.

Fortunately events have given me a little bit of a break. You see, Fella rather amusingly booked a trip to Brighton with friends on the very day of our anniversary (15 May). He's never been good with dates, bless 'im. So when I tentatively pointed out the clash of dates he was quite distraught at his spontaneous thoughtlessness. I'll admit I did enjoy twisting the knife just a teensy bit... but the truth is it didn't bother me too much. I'm going along to Brighton with them. It's Strumpetville on Sea, you see, and I haven't been since I was a teenager and spectacularly failed to get into any venues of interest (oh my).

The deal, to "make it up to me" is Fella and I take a couple of hours out for a nice lunch or perhaps dinner, just him and I: and we take a day off either the Friday or the Monday, to celebrate properly.

In many repsects this a but a temporary respite. I still need that gift of gifts. Yes, flowers and chocolate. The infrastructure underpinning the giving of the gifts. I saw some hand-made champagne flutes on the South Bank engraved with hearts, and I thought a pair of them might be a good start. I was tempted with a trip to Berlin but we're going back to Germany in the summer to revisit my motherette anyway... and after Paris it has the air of the Been Done about it. I did think, as Fella likes his wine and his chocolate, about a trip to Vinopolis – a wine theme park in London for a chocolate and wine tasting evening; I am farily sure I'll go for that but it lacks the proper "wow" factor about it.... oh, I don't know. What do you get for someone who isn't materialistic and loves you totally and is content to lie in your arms of an evening?! Ideas on a scented lace postcard, please.

He’s behind you!

... oh no he isn't!

With my focus on my upcoming anniversary with Fella, another has gone passed entirely unnoticed.

I refer of course, gentle reader, to outs. Two years my stream of... consciousness has assaulted your senses. Can you forgive me? I admire your patients. More than 330 posts have come and gone in all that time. Thank goodness for Fella, or who knows what else you might have had to suffer?!

Actually I hope the last two years haven't been too bad for you. Sine coming out I have tried to keep to a consistent heading of due Fun. Sometimes veering to Not Fun at All; but equally often drifting over to Oh My That Was Remarkable Fun Indeed.

Due to my tendency to hurl onto this blog whatever crosses my pink gin mind, the posts themselves are an accurate reflection of the broad experiences I have had. There has surely been enough time chewing the cud; I don't need to regurgitate past arguments again here. But the tags on each post have accumulated nicely, I think.

The six I have used the most are:

• relationships;
  
• dating;
  
• meeting men;
  
• sex;
  
• fella;
  
• friends.
  

(I put six because friends deserves to be included, no?)

That is a good mix, I feel. I am content. Things are in balance and life in Strumpetville has been going good.

As for the anniversary of Fella and I, my plans have been somewhat thrown by Fella's inadvertently booking a day tip to Brighton with friends on the day itself. Bless him, he feels terrible, but I'm going to go along and we shall have a nice lunch or dinner, just me and him. I think that's a start. That and presents! Also, we have the rest of the weekend and I suggested taking a day off either Monday or Friday to do all the other things we had tentatively begun to plan.

So stick with it, if it pleases you – I think the balance of the tags may change as times goes on. All part of the rich tapestry of being a Cheerful Fairy.

Queen Bee/Busy Bee

As you know gentle reader I do enjoy being busy. And for a change the cheerful fairy is a busy bee not because of work, but because of all the other things. Actually, since the election was called work has been incredibly quiet. A new financial year when there is no money and no-one knows who will be in charge in a month doesn't quite support the frenetic pace to which I have become used...

The weekend, for example, was very busy. On Friday Fella and I had a colleague of his and mutual friend over for dinner. I hadn't seen her for a little while, partly because my illness has disrupted our social plans.

On Saturday he treated me to a bit of culture – we went to see a play called The Little Dog Laughed. Fellow blogger Made In Scotland saw the play a few months ago and wrote his review then. The day we saw it turned out to be the last day of the run; I have to say from our perspective it was great and the cast appeared to have ironed out the issues MIS identified then. Tamsin Greig was excellent; though the male leads didn't really play with such depth she totally stole the show with her interactions with the audience (though none of them could sustain an American accent). On the other hand the male actors were hot hot hottentot hotties so it's all good.

The play was essentially about a Hollywood movie star considering coming out after meeting a guy and falling for him; and it was, naturally, quite poignant for me so I found it very absorbing. Very funny and very sad. It was very good indeed.

On Sunday I attend the Big Gay Flashmob outside Conservative Party Headquarters with Fella and a few friends. If perchance you are non-British, gentle reader, the Conservatives are the part of Margaret Thatcher. Not very socially enlightened. The party has a real chance of forming the next Government. It pays lip service to equality for homosexuals but it never quite rings true and there are scandals like the comments by a recent prominent Conservative who said, in essence, that in some circumstances people should be free to deny homosexuals services if they so wish (as a matter of personal or religious conviction). Also, the Conservatives are aligned in the European Parliament with some figures alleged to have very right wing views – anti semitic, homophobic etc, which jars with the weasel words on being gay for domestic UK consumption. The party isn't aligned with these people because it's anti-semitic; but they share the same views on preventing further European integration. I don't think that's good enough reason to restrict the rights of 10% of the population. You can see some of the coverage here.

Afterward we all went out for drinks and in Soho met up with various other people until it became quite a boozy affair – my favourite kind to be sure. It was really nice to be in a social group of just gay men. I don't do that enough. The conversation was predictably filthy; and it was a lot of fun.

So that was the weekend that was! All manner of gay stuff and a good mix too. Well, when in Strumpetville...

April Fool!

I may be recycling my post titles, gentle reader, but I thought it would be apt. Today, you see, I want to be a bit selfish and discuss amongst other things my health.

As blogged before on 1 April I went into hospital for yet more tests to explore and ideally pin down my Symptoms. Fella and I went down to the ward I was booked into and I changed into a not-very-fetching gown and special shorts with special flap at the back for access. Fella was quite distressed actually, which resulted in him – somewhat annoyingly, in my view – being fussed over by nurses to brought him tea and cake. I didn't even get morphine damnit! Well, the hours wore on and eventually I have yet another examination which was remarkable in three ways – it was very, very uncomfortable (they gave me minimum sedation so I could leave more quickly when it was over). I also was able to watch then entire exploration on a TV screen right in front of my face, which was somewhat surreal. Thirdly, a number of biopsies were taken and whilst I couldn't feel the samples being removed the displacement of my internal organs by the biopsing machine (or whatever it's called) was most bizarre.

Afterward the nurses very kindly gave me my report, and a bit of cake for me too – having not eaten for 24 hours I was truly grateful – and then I went home.

Since then my health has been on somewhat of a low ebb, I'm afraid. Alongside the Symptoms there is the niggle that all the easy stuff is slowly being eliminated until rather more serious conditions are all that remain. It is interestingly, or to put it another way, it is soul-crappingly scary, that my symptoms are virtually identical to what one might expect when HIV develops into full blown AIDS. Now, whilst sowing my wild oats I have been careful to guarantee a crop failure and indeed when tested nothing of that sort has ever been detected. But it's not really great news.

So it's time to come clean. Reality check – pesky reality, so rare a visitor to Strumpetville and not a welcome one in any event. What are we dealing with here?

• Crohn's disease
  
• Bowel cancer
  
• An unidentified auto-immune disorder
  
• A parasite (yippee)
  
• Madness!
  

Or any combination of the above, I suppose.

To be honest I am not best pleased. I belong generally to the Stuff and Nonsense school of healthcare. If I ignore the illness it shall go away. Well not this time, it would seem. I wondered today if this is what it's like to be old... everything so tiring, that much more difficult than it used to be. Well, at least I can say Stuff and Nonsense to that! In the meantime I have reached a point where I just want to be well.