Pinocchio and I

   The thought hit me the other day that I have something in common with Pinocchio. No, not the lying that makes my nose grow, though I have lived a lie most of my life, covering up the real me and the fact that I am gay from most people. But that isn't how I find myself similar to Pinocchio.
  
   Everyone is familiar with the story. The lonely woodcarver makes a puppet, a little boy. The puppet becomes alive, but is still a wooden puppet. He spends the rest of the story wishing to be a real boy, and eventually gets his wish. Cute story. I don't wish to be a boy again..... that brings back memories of getting bullied and all that fun stuff, but I find myself wishing I were a real man. In that regard, Pinocchio and I are alike.

  I don't feel like a real man. I have no job skills, am scared to death to even try new jobs. In some ways, it is good I never got what I want so much: a family. I am such a failure that I doubt I could support a family... I can barely support myself. I fail at more than I succeed, and am so far from what a real man is, I don't think I could ever get there.

  And by being a real man, I'm not talking about being able to do construction stuff, be interested in sports, etc. Real manhood doesn't consist of that stuff - well, it doesn't, but they aren't necessary. I mean being able to look at myself in  the mirror and see a man, not a failure, not a scared little kid hiding out in a man's body. Being able to look people in the eye and not be ashamed of my state in life, of being able to have my own house/apartment again and stand on my own two feet, independent of my parents. Marriage would be nice, but I really can't see it is possible. I am not just not attracted to women, I find the sight of naked women disgusting and nothing I want to see. Even if that changed, and I can't see it would, a woman would have to be insane to marry someone with my history, sexual and otherwise.

  I am thankful that most people don't know me well enough to see me as I am, and worse, to see me as I see myself. I've told my best friend I don't think he even gets how much I loathe myself, and how I truly see myself.

  Pinocchio eventually got his wish. He became a real boy. I've probably lived half my life, or more, and I still haven't gotten mine. And I'm scared to hope that I ever will.