Being Gay

Some days it's tough being a middle aged gay man. So many in our community put so much emphasis on how you look. If your not thin, have muscles, beautiful white smile, dressed properly, have a six pack, etc you summarily dismissed.

I have always struggled with my weight. The only time my body looked good is when I was divorcing my wife. Yes, you read that right. I lost 40 pounds and wouldn't eat for days. The compliments I received were incredible. I was perfect for the men in the gay community. Slim, somewhat built, full head of hair. It was heady time even with all the stress.

The problem? I love food, especially fast food. A couple years after the divorce, the fat eating stress subsiding, the weight came back. It was then I realized many gay men enjoy pointing out you've gained weight. The compliments slowly stopped. I noticed all the other in shape, handsome men in the room would start to look right through me as if I was invisible.

It's not like I didn't try to lose the weight again. I went to the gym several times a week. I woke up each morning with determination to eat healthy. Alas, as my 40's were starting to pass my metabolism was intent on slowing down. My doctor told me my thyroid was not working and that was the cause of weight gain. I desperately wanted to find a cure so I could once again fit in with my community and receive those compliments, those admiring glances again.

It was not to be. My weight has stabilized. Stabilized at about 30 pounds over what I would like it to be. I still work out 4 times a week. When I tell people that fact, I can see the skeptical looks. I tell them if I didn't work out I would be three hundred pounds. It doesn't convince them.

I'm slowly learning to accept who I am and the body I inhabit. Oprah says I should love myself and I do try, I promise. It works until I get around a group of gay men that are gym bunnies. The biceps bulge. Their pants actually go around their waist, not ride below the rubber tire. Their shirts are tight to enhance the look. It is at that point I need Oprah standing next to me telling me to just love myself. Those men don't touch the food table at parties. I on the other hand stand at the table filling a plate with yummy appetizers feeling guilty and not making eye contact. In my head I hope they are wild with jealousy as I eat my food. For they are starving and want nothing more than to devour all the food. I hope they are miserable in their fit, handsome bodies as I swallow another bite size piece of cheesecake

Maybe someday I will truly learn to love myself and really not care what others say or think. In the meantime I think someone just put fudge out on the table!