Heroes & Thieves in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

There are times when I really hate social media.

As I was perusing through the little stories feature of people I follow, I happened upon my ex’s sister and she shared a photo from a post that featured Edgar. He has long-since blocked me on all media platforms and I had little inklings of the fact that he was unhappy with me (from what I understand, he considers me a large factor in his drug abuse, which never made sense to me since I don’t do drugs, not even marijuana, but whatever…) The photo was a portrait series by a visual artist in Paris, where Edgar is back to living. The photos were interspersed by title cards that told his story.

It was interesting because I had never really seen him use words that so definitively owned his identity. He openly spoke about being a queer artist, about feeling alienated because of his size, his skin color and all sorts of things. It also segued into an anecdote about his struggle with addiction and how he perceived everyone around him to be “thieves and liars”. Now, while deep down I know that it’s narcissistic to assume that he is even referring to me, given the way he’s treated me and the things he’s said about me to other people, I believe he puts me into that category.

As I sat there and reflected on this post, I had to think back to all the other relationships I’ve hard, which is a sparse terrain. There is no one left. I am alone. They’ve all either died or completely fled whatever area I am living in. Corpses and refugees are what remains of my former romantic entanglements.

As I began to reflect, I couldn’t help but circle around the question that is obvious but frightening, “maybe it’s me”.

The answer was obvious. Of course it’s me. I know that. I have known that. It’s why I have removed myself from the dating market for so many years. I knew it almost immediately after Jonah and I split up, and he took off for Norway before landing post-quarantine in Providence, Rhode Island.

Jonah treated me badly. So bad that some of my friends who witnessed it told me that they believe I was in an abusive relationship, which I find shocking. But that’s really what it comes down to, isn’t it? If Edgar views me to be a liar and a thief, and I take that to heart because I loved Edgar in a way that I hadn’t loved anyone since Joe, then I believe the worst stories about myself.

Edgar and I ended because we were headed in separate directions. I was in Los Angeles finishing up school and Edgar quit school to follow the path I took in my 20s, stand-up comedy… the reason I quit stand-up? All the drug abuse that surrounded me all the time. Edgar became one of the people that I spent years trying to get away from. I did cheat on him with the Little Christian (even though he was having other lovers throughout our time together) and that fed into the guilt that I let him heap upon me.

My good feelings and love for him clouded my judgment about where we were, and whether or not we could be good for each other. My good feelings for him allowed me to have bad feelings about myself.

And that right there is the danger.

We all create little narratives that tell the stories of our lives, that allows us to cope with choices we make that make us uncomfortable, and sometimes we let people co-author those stories and change the way we feel about the things we’ve done.

Edgar thinks I’m a thief. Well, some of our best heroes were labeled as thieves. Aladdin, Robin Hood, Jennifer Lopez… the point is, the role of the person changes depending on who tells the story. I’m not going to let someone cast me as a thief and a liar any longer.

I’m the hero and the sage.