All That I Am

I recently saw a few stories on Vocal that were “About Me” from the creators, which prompted me to do the same. Yes, it is an excellent way for people to understand me, and with that comes some sense from my writing. But it is also difficult for me.

For the last ten years, my life has been a hard road filled with seemingly perfect moments and events, overshadowed and drowned out by difficulties and trials. But, for the first time in my life, I know who I am. And even more importantly, I like who I am. I am content with who I am. A life that has been filled with difficulties, from childhood to adulthood, a failed marriage and a divorce where I lost everything, and a moment of clarity about myself all made me who I am. All of these things give me plenty of material to write about. And that is what I do.

Currently, I am devoting much of my writing time to Vocal, working on my novel as well. The sense of community and support from the Vocal communities on Facebook have been great. To know me now, to understand me now, I have to start at the beginning.

After my divorce, I was wrestling with my sexuality. I guess I have known since about junior high school that I was also interested in guys. I had a girlfriend, whom I married and had a family with, but this never-ending attraction to men was also there. I was also attracted to my wife, very much so. I still find women attractive. After the divorce, as I tried to put the pieces of my life back together, I came to terms with being gay.

I planned to tell the kids when they were older and only have flings to meet my needs. No relationships.

Almost immediately, I started feeling this pressure from friends, family, and the gay community as a whole to assign myself a label. I have always struggled with fitting into a specific label until I decided it didn’t matter to me. Bisexual? Polysexual? Gay? Bear?I don’t know the answer to that, and I don’t care anymore. I met a man who had accepted me where I was. He never pressured me to come out. We were dating for months, and he was known to the kids and a close friend. I eventually did tell my kids I was gay and who this man was, and they accepted it. We moved in together, and one of his primary goals became making a home for my children. Now our children.

That man’s name is Mark, and I married him in a picture-perfect winter country wedding. We had pine, and candles, and a fresh powder of snow. The white church from the 1800s was glowing from inside. The choir in the loft sounded like angels as we proceeded down the aisle. Our ceremony was all about our love for each other and our family. A bagpiper played us down the aisle after we both said I do.

So am I gay? Sure. Am I bi? Probably. But it doesn’t matter to me. I am a husband to my soul mate and partner in all things.

I have bipolar type 1 with suicidal ideations and dysphoric mania. My husband is in it with me. He is my biggest supporter, my biggest encourager, and knows the cycles of my bipolar just as well as I do. And he loves me through it. I write about mental health, both in narrative and poem. It is part of who I am.

I am a father. I have four great kids. They are all independent thinkers. They are all kind. And they all have struggles of their own they are working through as they come into adulthood. My three sons are adults, and my daughter is twelve. (I am dreading the teen years!). I am very fortunate to be a close-knit family. My ex-wife, myself, and my husband make a pretty good parenting team!

I am a son and a brother. My father passed when he was fifty, and I was thirty-three. The process of losing him and being with him as he took his final breath changed me forever. I have a mother who has taught us kindness and love. She always made Christmas so special for us, and that has certainly rubbed off on me.

I am a friend. I have a small circle that is more like family to me. I would do anything for them, and they would, and have, for me.

I am a patient. It takes hard work to manage bipolar, but it can be done. Appointments and procedures for the brain condition are a considerable part of my life. Pain is a massive part of my life.

I am an artist. I love to create and have spent the last five years building signs, furniture, and art. I have painted as far back as I can remember. I also play the piano and sing.

I am a gardener who feels an almost spiritual connection to the land and nature.

And because of the things listed above, I am a writer. My favorite assignments in school were the writing ones. I have written poetry for my loves, stories, narratives, blogs, and journals. Writing and the other forms of my creativity are in me, and that outlet is great for my well-being.

All of these parts of me make me who I am. I am a lover. I am a fighter. I am a bipolar poet, a warrior with words. An old soul loves to sing about life, love, grief, and happiness. I love to tell stories and paint pictures that help others see through my lens. I love to restore. I strive to be kind and compassionate. I love withabandon and fight just the same. I am an overcomer. I am a storyteller. I am loud. I am funny. I love to be the life of the party. I can also be quiet and reflective. I am a big thinker. I am a procrastinator. I am the sum of all my life up to this point. I am content with that.

I am me.