As I get older, I have noticed that my physical agility and suppleness has decreased, so that some parts of my own body are now out of my reach.

An itch in the centre of my back, which as a younger man I could reach by stretching my arm behind me from underneath or over my shoulder is now inaccessible for me.

There are unreachable parts of my understanding too in much the same way. I don’t seem to trust the natural instincts which I experience in contemplating my homosexuality.

I seem content to live permanently with the suffering caused by indecisiveness and suppression, rather than being brave enough to allow myself to succumb to my truth which would enable me to be in full connection with my identity.

If I pick up a stick I can reach the itch on my back, but I risk cutting the skin in the hope of resolving the discomfort.

There does not seem to be a metaphorical stick for the hard to reach parts of my mind, other than the love of those who know and acknoledge my truth, and are not frightened by it, and also the silence of my own thoughts which enable me to revel privately in those attractions I have , which are hidden from the world.

I have come to an understanding over the years, that however deep my pain, however strong my frustration, however tangible my fear, I can allow myself to be fully accessible, fully open, fully human, if only for those times when I am agile enough to be happy with who I am.

William Defoe