This came to light in a heavy way yesterday. Despite all my intentions to never do so, I opened a new Facebook account, under my legal name. I already have an account with the "Phillip Wolf" name. It was amusing for a second, all my kinky friends found me and friended me, and then I pretty much forgot about it due to it having next to no value for me whatsoever.
But yesterday, my mind turned once again to folks from my previous lives... college friends, acquaintances. I started poking around Facebook to see if there were any applicable groups where my old compatriots might be hanging out, and I found many. I realized that if I wanted to look at the photos that might be hidden within, I would need to join the groups, and thus either use my scene last name and come out to all the college folks as a filthy pervert, or start anew.
I decided to start anew.
So here I am with this new account, and before I can blink almost 15 old college friends and I are linked up. I'm chatting with one who I haven't spoken to since I left those frozen upstate hills back for the city post-graduation. She gives me a summary of her life, and I try to give mine. It's kind of tough when your life is filled with joys coming from SM and alternative sex, and you're talking to people whose lives are portraits of normal family sitcom life.
I realize I have some issues here.
You see, in college, most of my life was spent wondering if I was going to gain the acceptance of my peers. I was always standing just one step to the left of everyone else. Most of my friends were members of a certain fraternity or their sister sorority. A fraternity I never got an offer to pledge from due to some drunken sentence I uttered to a senior brother during my freshman year that showed my ignorance on how fraternities work. A fraternity I rushed 4 years in a row, to be rejected all 4 times. The 1st, already mentioned. I rushed the 2nd time because my closest friends, who were now brothers, convinced me that with them in I would be a shoe-in, and they would fight for me. They lost. The 3rd and 4th years? I rushed mainly to be a pain in the ass.
I harbored a lot of resentment due to those years of consecutive rejection. I could hang with my best friends and roommates... until it was time for them to do frat things, and then I was left home. I always felt like my belonging to this group of people was very limited, broken in a way. Friendship for me acknowledged, and yet, I felt almost pitied. I rebelled against the frat, wearing a set of Greek letters that were meant to mock the fraternity I was so longing to join. It was supposed to give me satisfaction... the feeling of being a rebel, the wild one. Instead I felt like shit as I walked home alone.
It leaves me wondering why I am seeking these people out again. At once I want to find all of them and friend them, see where they are with their lives, discover their marriages and their kids and their successful careers and how they've all been hanging out together since we graduated, and how their lives surround traditional pursuits like beer, football, and family get-togethers. And yet at the same time, I want to delete that Facebook account, merely one day after I created it, because I can't shake the feeling that all this reconnection will get me to the same place I was before - together, yet one step removed from everyone else.
I realize now that I have not forgotten, nor reconciled with, nor forgiven them for, my four years of consecutive rejection from their ranks. That not being able to wear that pledge pin, that not being able to call my best friend "Big Brother" like we talked about, that not being able to wear that lettered sweatshirt, that having to left home alone in the house we all shared together when they had a fraternity party to go to... that all of this STILL stings. Still hurts. And it still represents a separation in our lives that contributed to our lack of meaningful friendships post-graduation.
I wonder if that is why I jumped so hard into the pool of organized SM. Why I became "Boymeat."
In my younger leather days, I became obsessed with the idea of joining a backpatch club. I became an associate member of the DC boys of Leather, I considered joining LOBOC because my leather family were members, I thought about pledging the Renegades, or some other AMCC group. The first thing I did after joining GMSMA was slapping their big patch on the back of my leather vest. lolitasir kept asking me why I wanted to join these groups, why I felt the need. I never could appropriately answer her, but I realize now that it had nothing to do with the groups themselves. I didn't want to join these groups of men per se, no. Instead, I wanted to wear those colors. I wanted to show the world that I belonged to a group that had limited membership. I wanted to be a part of the club, instead of being the guy outside of it.
But in the end, I found acceptance. I find myself in a grouping of people that is so immediately welcoming, that hundreds if not thousands of people would look at me instantly like a brother in their group. That hundreds already do. Boymeat, and in turn me, is wanted. Is appreciated.
I'm looked up to, instead of slightly down upon.
So now I talk to these old college friends. I keep my new life hidden from them, because I don't feel like I can shed that side of me and expect understanding and fellow joy. And all the while I look at them and wonder... will they accept me now? Will I be able to put aside all those years of rejection, and just be? Can we reconnect again... and maybe start anew?
I need to bury these bones. Now if I can just figure out how.