What I haven’t yet said about this depression cycle is that I’d been hanging out with a nice guy since the fall and that came to an end. We were never officially dating and he made it clear he just wanted “to be friends,” but there was so much comfort and regularity to our hanging out that it swept me into fantasyland. While I was building a future in my mind, he continued communicating that he was “just my friend.” And I simply couldn’t hear it. I was in my own world.

And now he’s back with his ex. And I’m with 30 years of emotions bubbling up at a pace I’m struggling to handle.

I feel so naive. I’m 36 and I dated one guy for two years—that’s the totality of my committed experience. I fear I have the emotional-romantic skillset of someone two-fifths my age. It frustrates me that I experienced an identical pattern with another guy just a few years back and I repeated it again. I feel like a toddler learning to walk. It’s so embarrassing.

The good news is that this time around I’ve realized so much. All this deep dark shit has been coming up and a lot has actually been passing through. It’s amazing what I’ve learned through my time with this man. I feel so much gratitude for these lessons, and it’s also incredibly painful to pass through this territory. I’ve been on a rollercoaster with a six hour loop the goes to the highs and to the lows. Up-down, all day, every day. I feel crazy.

In recent posts I’ve lied through omission. When I grieved for my grandmother the other day, I realized that her death left me feeling a gigantic loss of love—a black hole in my gut—that remained unobserved ‘til just a couple weeks ago. Interestingly, I’d been unconsciously attempting to plug that hole with romantic love. That familial and romantic love crosses wires was a fascinating epiphany to make.

When I wrote that I’ve used “straight acting” gay men to “feel straight,” I meant that I used this guy to feel that way. As a child in this society I learned that “straight” was “good” and “gay” was “bad.” And Catholicism taught me that “bad” was “sinful” and sins meant hellfire forever. Certainly I wasn’t bad. I was just 7. And yet I’ve poured endless life-energy into being a “good boy.” The bizarre twist of mind, which only an ego can pull off, was how I felt like a “good boy” when hanging out with “straight acting” gay men. I could see a “good” reflection that brought me comfort. For a few minutes I could take a break from that mental programming, which, minute by minute, has been sapping my energy since childhood.

Every belief we hold is a concept, and every concept we hold in our mind is like an open program left running in the background of your smart phone or computer. The processing power of the brain is being horribly taxed by this. In my subconscious mind “straight is good” has been running and running and sapping my strength since forever. I’m left in a perpetually exhausted state.

Our brains hold so many concepts, and therefore have so many programs running in the background. I imagine there are thousands running at all times. As I understand it, a realization, an epiphany, a deep cry and release, results when a concept is dropped and a program goes offline. It frees up energy for us.

The largest, most complex bundle of concepts in my mind, the permanent feature, the key aspect of Walterness, is this endless attempt at perfectionism—an attempt to be “good” at all times. I realized last week that when I’m in bed and a man is holding me, the entire perfectionism unit turns off for a short while. It is an immense release from eternal struggle. Suddenly my whole system is flooded with energy that is no longer being wastefully sapped. Yet later, when I’m alone again, Perfectionism goes back online. What results is that my mind becomes addicted to the person I’m with. I pine for them. I crave my next fix. I’m a total addict. And quite simply, I use them.

And they either stay and resent me or they run away.

The other day when I was walking through the field and unburdening my soul, I watched as a couple dozen robins hopped and hunted in an expanse of last year’s dead grass surrounding me. I noticed that when I stood still they’d hop around me and even approach me. I could watch them and experience them closely. There was harmonious acceptance between us. And yet the moment I walked toward them they’d immediately fly away. What I learned is that I can become more like a birdwatcher, a person with healthy boundaries, a person that allows others to feel seen and respected.

I also learned that it would do me well to stop moving towards people with an insatiable hunger for closeness and affection. Because people fly away too.