The hard truth

[Trigger warning: grief; suicide.]

A praise I have often received from close friends and even from some acquaintances is that I am real: clear and honest in the assessment of reality, seeing things & saying things as they are. 

It’s a praise I appreciate because I recognize myself in it — at least, most of the time. Some aspects of reality, though, I have been overlooking or trying not to see.

Over the course of this Spring, I have been getting more real with myself about many relationships I hold dear, and it has been painful because I have been confronted with the reality of not counting for these people as much as they count for me. 

I moved out here to Colorado because in California I was too lonely and because I wanted to climb more. At the beginning, for the first years & a half, it was great: I did, in fact, meet people and bond with folks faster than I ever had in California and I got several climbing “buddies”, some of whom became regular climbing partners and some even friends. But the past two years have been rough and getting worse: my buddies have been getting more and more into their cis-het-amatonormative relationships with girlfriends or wives; my climbing fitness has decreased noticeably, affected by the grief & sorrow from the losses in the summer of 2023 and then a continuous string of injuries and surgeries. The combination of the these two factors — my decreased climbing fitness and their increased commitment to their girlfriends/wives — has effectively led them to lose interest in climbing with me. I have tried to hide this fact from my own self, trying to find excuses for my buddies, trying to be patient with them and gentle with myself. But I cannot hide the truth, this hard truth, from myself anymore. 

The last straw, or last proof, came yesterday evening when my closest climbing buddy & I decided to cancel the trip we had planned for this long weekend to go climbing together because I’m not doing great physically. Now, honestly, I would have gone on the trip anyway, despite my general fatigue, because I know I could have pulled it off and maybe gone for some hikes instead of three days of intense climbing — I really needed to get out of town and do something fun or special this weekend, and I had told my buddy as much explicitly. I would have gone on the trip for the company and the adventure with my buddy: whether I got to climb three 5-pitch routes or only one easy 5.6, I didn’t care, the value for me was in being out of town with a friend. But, apparently, for him the value lay elsewhere, i.e. in high-level climbing; and since I cannot do that right now, then a weekend traveling with me isn’t of value for him. And he can’t even promise me a rain check for later this summer because it depends on plans with his wife — once again, I come after spouses, families of origin, romantic partners, and whatnot.  

And it’s similar with my other buddies: folks in the climbing group from the Moab trip already have their plans for this summer, either with stronger climbing partners or with their romantic partners, plans that they are unwilling to change; my running buddy in Durango I get to see and/or hear from only when I reach out (as most of my friends); my local running buddies are basically out the whole summer with their wives and families; my non-local friends are far away living their own lives; and even one of my only two close local queer friends has shown from their most recent actions that their wife and their polycule are a much higher priority than I am or that I ever will be. 

I am just so tired of — and so hurt by — people having to ask their wives or check with their partner(s) whether they can do something with me, make time for me, or not. What is this bullshit?? Can’t they just, every once in a while, say, “Hey, honey, tomorrow I’m going climbing with my buddy so I won’t be around all day”, or “This weekend I’m taking a trip with my buddy so I’ll see you in three days”. How can that be so difficult, so impossible, so hard for them to do? 

I am so, so sick of this. So tired of this. 

Here I am, on the threshold of yet another summer with no plans with anyone, nothing to look forward to. And it gets worse every year because I’m getting older and hope dwindles: a few years ago, I still had hope, or maybe the force of desperation, to keep me going, to give me the energy to keep trying, to seek out people and opportunities or to get on the road and just go by myself and enjoy it. 

But I have no hope, no energy left. So often now, the only thought I have is how to get out of here for good, once and for all.