I'm always amazed when someone is interested in what I have to say.
Whenever someone wants to know more about me, I always search for the most interesting things I can find:
I used to serve in the United States Army.
I auditioned for American Idol and almost got on television.
I was in the process of making my first album.
I auditioned for Broadway on a dare and got a callback.
I auditioned for Sex & The City 2.
I've been on the BET show "106 & Park" and met Marlon Wayans and Channing Tatum.
I met Kirk Franklin before.
I used to live in San Diego.
I went to seminary and am an ordained pastor.
I watch the History Channel for fun.
I write books.
I write naughty, sexy, erotic M/M romance books.
I'm a Scorpio.
I love sports.
I know how to do hair.
I'm an undercover painter/sketcher.
I design buildings and property layouts for fun.
I love playing the Sims 3.
I was accepted and attended Harvard University for a year for Business Law.
I auditioned and was accepted to AMDA (American Musical & Dramatic Arts)
I love to ride horses.
I study foreign languages for fun.
I study the Civil War for fun.
I love to laugh.
I love to help people.
I want to have 6 kids, even if I have to adopt most of them.
I am a firm believer in the power of love and a second chance.
I have a weakness for strawberries, Italian food and Italian men.
But I tend to shy away from people who want to know the deep, dark personal secrets about me.
Trust is a major thing for me, so if I've told you, it's because I trust you enough to slice myself open and bleed all over you.
Because that's what I'm doing, I'm bleeding over you. Cutting major arteries, slicing open tendons and muscles, organs and veins to let you see a part of me that very few are privvy to.
I have lost friends, boyfriends, even biological "family" members because of those deep, dark, personal secrets. Because of the things that happened to me. I learned quite a while ago that not everyone can handle my personal pain. Not everyone can deal with my scars, my wounds.
Not everyone can or even wants to look past the smile and see the scars that are still bleeding, the wounds that still haven't healed.
Not everyone wants to know their friend, their lover, their little brother, their big brother, their nephew, their uncle, the author they brought books from, is someone who's just learning how to breathe again. Just learning how to walk without pain again. Just learning how to live again. Just learning how to survive without the deep, emotional pain ripping him open with every step.
Not everyone can deal with it and I don't begrudge them that truth. It's hard and emotionally draining. For me, I hate the way people look at me afterwards. The looks of pity. The gentle touch of comfort that doesn't actually comfort only infects the oozing wound with someone else's pain, someone else's expectations, someone else's desire for me to have not endured the things that I have.
But I did endure them and because of that I can talk to and identify with others who have suffered the same fate. Because of the wounds and the scars that I bear I was able to endure losing my biological family and gaining a new one. Because of the wounds and the scars that I bear I was able to stand up and face off with a group of people online and tell them that they don't know me or my struggle, share a bit of my past pain and then let them know that I, and only I, am in control of what I have to reveal. I control how much of my scars you see, which of my wounds you'll be able to observe. I will not be bullied or forced into telling anyone anything else. Not anymore.
Because just like forcing someone out of the closet is wrong and forcing someone to reveal their true identity online when you yourself haven't revealed yours, is wrong, so is forcing someone to slice open a wound to fulfill your own morbid curiosity, to satisfy your need to know everything, to justify your belief that you have all of the power and therefore have the right to slice open wounds at will.
However, having someone ask me and having someone force me to bleed all over them is very different from me walking up to someone else and asking them if I can bleed all over them.
"Can I perform open heart surgery in front of you? You might get some of my blood on you. You may feel nauseous and you may have nightmares...you will probably never be the same...but...can I bleed over you?"
I would think that most people would say no, but I've been asked and encouraged to write my autobiography, even if I write it and say it's about someone else: "The Autobiography of Alexander Valentine Bougoise."
And it confuses me. Wait, people want me to bleed on them? The want to see me slice open my wounds and scars? They want to see this? They want to read about my pain? Really?
Perhaps they want to share in my triumphs, perhaps they want to feel better about their own lives, maybe they want to know how I became who I am today. Either way, it seems as if I'm being asked to bleed all over people and it fills me with fear that either bleeding over people will help me heal quicker that I ever thought I would, thereby taking away that power or that once I start bleeding I'll never stop.
And that, dear friends, scares me most of all.
-Vicktor Aleksandr B