It is time. The mask, which we erroneously believed concealed our Gift and our Curse, only proved our being fools. The time has come to offer an explanation in the hope that it fosters forgiveness. It is between the plateau of invincible grandiosity and the abyss of true self-loathing that our greatest sins were committed. My usual subject matter deals with the aphorisms of the politics of the two societies to which I belong: that being the American and the Muslim. While these two paradigms of life are portrayed as being diametrically opposed, they aren't. Moreover, explaining their similarities and differences are not at issue here. My purpose here is to explain the reasons of the sins I committed as they relate to virtue, women, and melancholia. These are not arduous lines to produce. Politics, whether American or Islamically-based are my passions and require no extraordinary effort, for the end is always Social Justice. How does a man explain his sins with another form of justice being his most desired outcome? How does a man with Bipolar I Disorder explain the pain he has caused to some very special women, who were most unfortunate in that they loved him? How does he move on, when the very illness he has compels analysis, followed by argument, debate, more analysis, and conclusions that never seem concrete? Let there be no doubt: I am haunted.I am haunted by the things I have done that are sexual in nature. The complete lack of loyalty and fidelity I showed almost every woman to whom I claimed I was committed. I am haunted that I did these things in my twenties and thirties, which means that I was a man only because age and size dictated I should be identified as such. Indeed, I was simply a man-child, for there was a blatant disregard for the simple humanity of women. The most important relationships I have are with individuals who are women: my adopted Mother; my Godmother; my Aunts Barbara, Laurie, Gina; my beloved sister Desiree. I am a father of three little girls. My Grandmother was truly my mother, because when a fifteen year old gives birth, it is her mother who truly raises the child. My biological mother, whom Desiree and I both refer to by her nickname 'Penny' is a violent, manipulative, toxic person. Of her four children: my two half-sisters, Desiree, and myself; none of us want anything to do with her. Some would look to the abuse I suffered for the better part of ten years at Penny's hands and make a correlation to my own sexual behavior. I can only respond that there comes a time when an individual must take responsibility for his or her actions. My Godmother and my adopted Mother have given me so much love for the last 20 years that I cannot use my physical, mental, and emotional abuse as excuses for my behavior. I do not abuse my children, nor speak to them in an abusive manner, because I was abused. I know what it feels like, and I swore long ago that the cycle of violence would end with me. I have succeeded in this respect. I draft these words in order to rectify in a most public way my eternal sorrow and regret to some select women and relationships from my past. In order to provide some semblance of anonymity, I will refer to them in ways which are accurate, but not too obvious to those men in their lives who have no knowledge of me. While it is true that my having Bipolar I Disorder contributed to my failing in a great many respects, when dealing with other people's lives and feelings it is too flimsy an excuse.
My first great love was Sarah. She and I met in college, and in every manner that a woman could be perfect she truly was. Everything from her voluptuousness, to her intellect, work ethic, and commitment to Social Justice: Sarah was truly a treasure. Yes, I will admit to my checking on her on Facebook from time to time: call it cyber-stalking or my Disorder; the fact remains I see a woman who is married, happy, a mother, and a teacher. Throughout our entire two year relationship my life revolved around self-medicating with weed, paranoid delusions, erratic decisions and behavior, as I cycled from mania to deep depression. Sarah deserves to granted a sainthood in her Episcopalian faith. Something else that drew me to her, which is irrelevant to many, but slightly important to me was her bloodline. Sarah and her family were white, Anglo-Saxon Protestants. I even liked about her. I regret so many things about our relationship. I never cheated on Sarah. I loved her too much, but I know there are times that I drove her nuts. I didn't know what it meant to be in a healthy relationship. I did not know what it meant to trust someone. I would not go to class or to work because I wanted to make sure she wasn't being unfaithful. The lines of mental abuse were crossed, and that is what haunts me. Being Bipolar and an insomniac provides a man a great deal of time to think and ponder. I have laid awake for nights thinking of these horrendous mistakes made. She deserved better than me, and thank God she received better than me.
Sarah and I broke up. She joined the Peace Corps and I returned to Rutgers to finish my degree. I had given up on prescription at this point, and self-medicated with the finest bourbon, Guinness, Weed, and the occasional pill of Ecstasy. I met a woman, who was the friend of my girlfriend at the time. This woman's name is so distinct that I can only refer to her as the Colombian, although she was also half Puerto Rican. The Colombian was a virgin before we met. And yet, it would take me months and several other liaisons before I acknowledge my commitment to her. I loved her. I loved her more than I did Sarah, if such a thing was at all possible. I was unfaithful. I was with her when I wanted to be with her and single when I wanted to taste and touch another woman. I loved her, but I treated her as if she didn't have feelings. There was a real problem, which is both laughable and a true complication. Even though I was smoking trees, having pre-marital sex, and sipping Basil Hayden while discussing Islamic Jurisprudence at a bar, I told the Colombian that I could not marry her because she was an atheist. I didn't need her to convert. I didn't need her to do anything she did not wish to do. I simply needed her to stop denying the existence of God. I knew at some point I would need to grow up and take my religion most seriously: Bipolar I Disorder be damned. Still, I was awful to her and I pray that she is happy and fulfilled.
Sabrina: I loved her, though she was not nearly as beautiful as Sarah or the Colombian. She was a nice girl. Simple, intelligent, a little insecure, and I really wanted to be in a relationship with her half of the time. I think when she and I met I was at the height of one of my epic manic episodes; and I mean EPIC!Mania brings irritability and anger with it. Sabrina suffered and I am haunted by that as well. Sabrina was the last woman I hurt in this fashion. My other break-ups were hard, but not anywhere near as close to the damage I caused these three women. Some of the women afterwards were just as toxic to me as I was to them. I can only hope that somehow or some way the women I have hurt will know how sorry I truly am.
The kind of relationship of which I speak is more important than any sexual experience anyone could possibly have. I cannot, nor will I, apologize for being attracted to women from all over the planet. Women of all hues, voluptuous in shape and size, who can hold an intelligent conversation-indeed, the more brilliant the woman the sexier she becomes. I want a woman who will not tolerate mediocrity from me. I want a woman who will love my daughters, and be a second teacher on the manner in which they should behave as women. In the final analysis, I want virtue over vice. I want love. I want marriage. Some men, even the most successful ones, never learn from the lessons of failed relationships with women. Bill Clinton, JFK, MLK: marriages are arduous endeavors. All I can ask of God is to Send me someone just as nuts as I am, who is committed to working together to achieve lives with dignity, honor, grace, and having sex like porn stars. Again, simply stated: I want virtue over vice.
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