“The people, in general, cannot bear very much reality. They prefer fantasy to a truthful recreation of their experiences.” - A conversation with James Baldwin
“Most people can’t see themselves. The hardest thing is seeing pain on someone else’s face that you caused and having to deal with yourself. Most people don’t want to do that. You don’t want to look inside yourself, and so you walk away.” - Shawn Carter
It is true, that the general majority of people function (if it may be called that), in striking, deliberate ignorance of reality. This is to be expected. It perseveres as no great secret that the unsolicited circumstances we find ourselves born into are the same conditions that inescapably shape who we are. From our conception we are a troubled people. However, it is the willingness or unwillingness to look inward at our troubled cores, to force ourselves to confront the most naked realities of who we are and what we’ve done, and the willingness or unwillingness to change what we uncover, that defines us.
It comes as no surprise to me, that the person envisioned clear in my mind that I direct this emancipation of the truth to, is one who is both unwilling, and thus incapable of conceiving it. With that barest of truths, my words are destined to fall on deaf ears, as they always have. And yet, my words aren’t for him anymore. In this most intrinsically abject moment of my life, I must confront the truth of who I am faced against the most inhuman of horrors, and see if I can’t endure them. Because if I can, if I can survive, and not just survive, but endure and thrive, crawling forward from the blackness, whether or not it be with only an atom of who I was before as a being of pure love, I will have ascended to a state of being so ultimately at peace and unconcerned with the frivolity of his place in this universe, that I may render him utterly powerless in the wake and awe of my greatness.
Allow me, then, to profile the one in which despair has made its bedrock. He is a being of extraordinary callousness and apathy. These characteristics find themselves descended from the delusions and lies he has upheld within himself, and burdened onto others, over the course of his entire life. He has never wholly confronted any conflict to ever take form at any point in his life. He has never taken kind to or acted upon any strategy other than to run. Run, run, run. He runs. Where his body has ultimately failed and given up this method, the vestiges of his heart and mind have staunchly taken up the creed. It is in this regard that he is exceptional. Exceptional in that his loyalty to his delusions and to his distance from reality are so severe and vital to who he is as to contend with and rattle the whole collective of obscured minds of the other 7 billion inhabitants of this Earth put together, each vying for their own exemption from the many unfortunate truths that exist in this place. And so, he is exceptionally heartless. Exceptionally callous. Exceptionally apathetic. Exceptionally cruel. Exceptionally hollow. Exceptionally lost. He does not, and could not, know what is real anymore. And I don’t suspect he ever did.
He has broken every promise he has ever made to me, and rejected every truth he has ever been confronted with. I have laid bare these truths before him time and time again, corroborated likewise by the evidence of his actions and thoughtlessness, and I will no longer entertain the incurable past. I will, instead, address and then conclude this grim sequence in the most recent, and final insults to my character, to humanity, and to the truth.
Regardless of the fact that I made it explicit and sincerely clear that I was the one person in this world who he did not have to lie to, he did. Every day. For over a year. This is a fact. While a year in the span of one’s entire life may not seem impressive, those who have experienced profound pain know the extent to which it encumbers every passing second to feel like an eternity in a hellish exodus. With every lie he imposed onto me he had to concoct an equally revolting mistruth quietly, within himself, to affirm his own contrived delusions. This is a fact. These tellings are not exaggerations. The psychological abuse I endured for so long enthralled by an endless deluge of dishonesty and perversion of reality have cultivated within me the fullest and most ardent repudiations of dishonesty so as to wholly, and inextricably, intertwine myself with the very moral fiber of truth. These are not riddles. These are not plays on words. These are not amendments. These are not exaggerations. This is the truth.
“He had the body of a 12 year-old.”
There is enough depravity in this single line so as to prove the entirety of your moral apathy. You know full well, although it is almost certain you have repressed it, the truth behind the history of my body. You know how I struggled for years; years defined by chaos, uncertainty, isolation, and despair, in which I couldn’t sustain more than a single meal every couple days. You know I fought for so long to overcome that crippling condition which so evidently shaped my physical form for so long. And you know I succeeded in beating it. You know how much I’ve grown, and what great feats I am capable of. You know that where I am, and how I look today, is miles ahead of the form I wore when we first met. And you know that I was prepared to evolve further, above and beyond my limits, for you. For you to say, “He had the body of a 12 year-old,” after being exposed to the truth for so long, is among the most blatant, careless, and heartless delegitimizations of who I am, and among the most disgusting retractions from the truth you have ever spun. Whenever I looked upon your body with all your scars revealed, whenever you took your clothes off and I saw the pain, strength, and beauty that I once thought you embodied, not once did I ever say, “He had the body of a burn victim,” or, “He had the body of an emo freak.” Every day I told you how beautiful you were, even with your “fat” and your scars. Every day I loved you for exactly who you were. And yet you’re still capable of saying such heinous and untrue things about me. You are truly a moral monster.
Where once you doted upon me with the words “sexy,” “hot,” and “you’re such a man,” you eventually gave way to a view of revulsion and spite. When I began to notice this transition within you so early in our affair, I began asking you, directly, questions that I believed would uncover the root of your potential doubts, so that we could address them, together. I asked you, so long ago, and a significant number of times thereafter as I became more and more dissatisfied and untrusting of the answer you gave me, “Is there anything wrong with my body? Do you want something else? Is there something you want me to change, to work on?” And you even knew, that regardless, I had embarked on a mission to begin transforming myself; a mission which has become overwhelmingly successful, and now my naked body is doted upon and appreciated by more men of more physical and mental caliber than you will ever see in your entire life. Every time I asked those questions, you said no. Every time, you lied to me. I will never understand why. I will never understand how you could lie to me for so long, tell me not to change, and then use what you did to me to undercut everything I attempted to do and to say that there was something wrong with me. You are a liar. This is what you do. You’re confronted with the truth, you deny the truth, you create a lie, and then you use this lie to attack me from every possible direction. We both know the innumerable instances where you deployed this method. You’ve forgotten most of them no doubt, but I have them seared into my memory, forever. And I can recall and summon each and every case of your callousness in an instant. I gave you every opportunity to tell the truth, and every single time you lied, again and again. That is your fault, and your fault alone. You, and only you, are responsible for that. You created this horrible circumstance by yourself, and I’m the one who has had to suffer for it.
“He played games 24/7”
This, of course, is an outright denial of reality. I wanted to do everything with you, go everywhere with you. I wanted to experience this world in its entirety with you. You were the one who was content lying in bed, watching videos, and playing games. You were the one who never wanted to move. You were the one who has never put his phone down. You were the one who said “I like when you’re just playing games and I’m in bed in our own little worlds but still together.” You’re the one who facilitated and encouraged that kind of lifestyle. I begged for more. This warrants no further explanation, you’re simply delusional.
“It set an example for how bad the sex was before. He knew how to fuck”
This line, of course, referring to myself compared to one of the strangers you’ve surrendered your body to among countless strangers at that vile den of refuse and sexual repugnance in D.C.. He fucked you good for 35 minutes, as you say. And he had such a pretty penis. All fair points. However, exactly how was the sex bad before when you had refused to touch me for an entire year? Exactly how bad was this sex with me; this imagined sex that never happened? Because I wanted nothing more than to stimulate you physically, and you know that. But you said no, you didn’t want it anymore, and you said you were fine with that. Of course, more lies, but that goes without saying. The rare instances where we could have had sex I begged you to let me use a condom, as you say this fellow who fucked you good did. So you’ll cater to complete strangers necessity for a condom, and yet you looked at me, someone who loved you, with disgust when I suggested the idea. And you know why I wanted to try having sex with one, at least once. I wanted to last longer for you, and do things with you and to you that would send you to the moon. And I’m perfectly, stunningly capable of it, as many who have enjoyed me since can attest. Anyone can last 35 minutes with a condom, and subsequently without one after they’ve disciplined themselves. Anyone can fuck good when they’re actually permitted to have sex, to have the tools they want at their disposal, and to unleash themselves in primal ecstasy with another who reciprocates all of this. And so, again, you lied. Over and over. Our entire relationship meant nothing to you, and you reduced everything we had to: you were only with me because “he had a decent dick.” Yes, you are disgusting. And you are evil. You never told me the truth, about anything, not once. I offered to be that “big, sexy man” for you, and you said no you didn’t want that. And yet the moment you walked away from me that’s immediately what you told everyone you wanted. You’re a liar, and you lied to me. You said you didn’t want me to change my body when I begged you so many times to assure me of what you wanted so I could give it to you, and then you walked away and attacked my body. You’re a liar. You say the sex was bad when you hadn’t had sex with me in so long I know for a fact you can’t remember how it felt, and when we did have sex before you wouldn’t let me do anything to satisfy you. You’re a liar. You would even tell me you preferred to have sex for shorter amounts of time because you get off quick or it hurt after a while. You wouldn’t let me fuck you for longer amounts of time when I wanted only to satisfy you. And yet you have no problem fucking strangers for however long they can bury their exposed cocks in your repugnant asshole. You’re vile, and you’re a liar.
And there I was. I expressed superhuman patience and compassion and love to you, for you, and everyone else in this world save for you is aware of it, and you shrugged away all of it. You denied all of it. You rejected all of it. You ran away from the truth of how great I was and decided to lie to me forever, and to lie to yourself, and then to betray me and blame me for all the bad. And then you decide to hate me for reacting to these abominations in whatever ways I did. The fact that you cannot see how evil what you’ve done is, and that you cannot see how tame I was, throughout everything, and how justified I was in every single response to your evil, proves the extent to which you are a monster. You did this. You lied. Over and over. Even after everything was over, you kept lying about the same things and more. You are incapable of both telling and seeing the truth. You are pathologically afflicted. You are sick, in every sense of the word.
And now, for some reason, you’ve made yourself a desperate little slut begging and vying for all-comers to take their shot with you. You act like you were never loved, you act like you were alone your whole life, and you act like you have no friends, nothing to your name. All lies. I take solace in the fact that I don’t have to go to gay sex clubs to fuck and have my way with any number of people. People, many people, actually want to be with me, and maintain friendships and affairs with me, all in my immediate vicinity and beyond. You, however, are an undesirable. You’re unwanted and unsought. I know this because I have always been more attractive than you in every way. I know this because the 50% of people on Grindr who don’t respond to you, message me instead because they’re in my contacts, they remember what it was like with me before, and now once again, and they know about you. We laugh at how disgusting, ugly, and desperate you’ve become. You have no desirable physical form, you have no heart, and you have no brain. You are quite literally useless to most people in your current state. There are only two reasons why anyone you ever meet has ever, does, and will ever in the future, be with you. You have a mouth, and an asshole. You have reduced yourself to these two things. And yes, that makes you disgusting, and that makes you sick. You are a monster, and you willfully turned yourself into one. You did these things alone. The only things you have ever been able to do alone are to use your abused mouth and your abused ass. Your claim that I had no life or independence is laughable and easily disproven by the truth. The difference between you and I is that I have experienced more life and independence in my short 20 years than you have yet to even imagine, and so when I decided I wanted to share it with you, you convinced yourself that doing that together was somehow the same as me being dependent or lacking my own life. Easily disproven lies. You had never done anything serious on your own before you met me. You had never confronted real life, ever. I forced you to see the truth of yourself and the world, and you didn’t like it, so you ran away. This “independent” person you claim to be now, didn’t exist when we met. Only with me did you break free from your past, and only with my support and love did you survive and endure and become something more. That’s the one thing I’ll take part of the responsibility for here, because it is fact. While you wallow in your desperation, your sex clubs, and your thoughtlessness, I am becoming even greater, in every way, every single day. And everyone in the world, except for you, gets to enjoy me. Ultimately, I feel sorry for you. You are sad. You are deprived. You are delusional. You are a liar. You are unachieved. You are amoral. You are sick. Tell me, exactly, what is there to want in you aside from two sodomizing holes? I ask because I am the only person in this world who currently knows the answer. Even with all of these disgusting truths, that we were both always aware of, I chose to see the best in you. I chose to see what good you could become. I chose to love everything about who you are, overwhelmingly including the bad, and I gave you everything. I never asked you to give me everything in return, only something. Every step of the way I asked for morsels, and even they were too much for you. Anyone who has ever come into contact with me since you and I met will corroborate how much I revered and loved you, and how I continued to do so after everything you did to me. Everyone knows how I could do nothing less than to equate you with pure, unfiltered, unadulterated sunlight.
No more. Everyone fought me and questioned me every step of the way. And, in the end, they were right. You are not sunlight, anymore. You are darkness, and you are a black hole. You are pure evil. And you don’t deserve me, you never did. And yet, I still thought I deserved you. How low I must have thought of myself before to believe that I deserved you. I am divine. Everything I do, everything I touch, reverberates love and beauty. You, are unholy, and you were burned in my presence because I was too righteous for you.
So burn. Keep burning. Keep suffering in your conscious ignorance. This world will swallow you in ways not entirely dissimilar to your own disgusting craft, as I know dozens upon dozens of men can now attest. I have no intention of ever engaging with you or seeing you ever again. But, if by chance, I ever find you in my presence before you’ve apologized and reconciled what you’ve done here, I will break you. You think you could “beat the fuck out of me?” You’re laughable. You’re a pathetic child. You claim to have self-control. Where? You claim I have none. When last we met, I looked at you, unblinking, meeting your empty eyes with mine as you spoke the only truth you’ve ever spoken to me, and the most heinous thing any human has ever said to me, easily trailing your sickening father. In that moment, I curled my fist, and you will never know the amount of control I exhibited in releasing that fist. You have no idea what you did to me in that moment. You have no idea what I almost did to you. Instead, I used my words. And I said, as empty as your eyes and heart, “I hate you.” And all you could say was, “Good.” Yet you tell everyone how shoving you thereafter was “hateful,” and that was the precedent for removing me from yours and their lives; of course the precedent is a lie. Of course it was hateful, you ignorant, delusional, subhuman piece of shit. I had just told you that I hated you, and the cruelest part is you wanted me to do it. I can’t wait to see on twitter and from your ‘friends,” who are nothing more than vapid, complicit enablers equally emerged in refuse as you are, how you cherry-pick and twist and turn my words here without context or thought to make yourself look like the good guy, or to make yourself look like a man, when, in reality, you’re just a big, dickless pussy. I can’t wait to see how you continue lying to yourself and everyone around you. If I ever encounter you in my presence again, the same as you are now and before you’ve accepted the truth, I promise, I will make you bleed from your disgusting face until the clots of blood cloud those precious eyes my family paid for. And, unlike you, I have always kept my promises. This is me, breaking free, of you. Burn, Allen Hicks. You deserve it.
