I’m in psychotherapy right now strictly to address my rejectobhobia, because it is “my issue.” I always pre-reject people defensively, then they hate me and reject me back just like “I knew they would.” My therapist told me, “You are a walking defense mechanism.” I feel pretty rejected by her, but it’s good for my therapy that way. Testing grounds right there in the office.

Cocktail parties and bar settings, especially with a bunch of gay “peers,” are my worst fear. Like, bring-a-cyanide-tablet kind of fear. I just don’t know how to relate to other gay guys. And it shows. It shows so much. So I’ve been just bungling my way through, causing all kinds of havoc in my personal life because of my outraged reactions to everyone and everything that I feel doesn’t like me. Socially I’m like the bull in the china shop, but with nukes.

Then I stumbled upon a local gay blogger’s Be Nice manifesto. The gist of it was, “Doggoneit, gays! Why aren’t we friendly to one another? Why do we all treat each other so shittily? Starting now, let’s all resolve to say ‘hi’ to people we don’t know at the bar. Shake their hand. I challenge you to do this!” It was like he was saying, “Let’s all be more Midwestern!” Kum-ba-ya.

Could this mean I wasn’t the only one who felt rejected at the big gatherings? Could it be that I was not alone in my nightmare social world? How heartening. How hope-inducing. That’s right, I felt around for the burned down, charred wick of hope inside my jack-o’-lantern heart, and, after looking over both shoulders, I secretly put flame to it. Knowing it would probably get snuffed out right away by the tiniest breeze of rejection, but still willing to try.

I went to a happy hour event — alone! I was supposed to meet someone there, but I walked in alone, which for reasons I’ve mentioned already is akin to jumping out of a plane for me. And there, standing alone by the jukebox, was the author of the inspiring blog post! (He had been pointed out to me before, so I knew his face.)

Per his manifesto, I walked up to him and introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Scott,” and I extended my hand. He shook it twice limply and mumbled something without even looking at me. “I read your blog!” I said, trying a little light flattery. “Mm hm,” he said, looking totally bored and tired of me, staring over my shoulder at… nothing.

It was similar to encountering a Philly Ignore, but worse, because it was unexpected. This was the guy who said we have to be friendly to each other. Burned again.

I’ve told this story, using the guy’s real name, a million times. To quote Patsy Stone, “Sometimes I think it’s my only memory.” I resolved never to try being friendly to gay people again. And I haven’t been. Never you worry, either, I got even with Mr. Blogger. When my feelings had cooled. The best time for revenge. What I did was 100% legal, too.

Oh, by the way, I happen to know you stopped reading this story after the third paragraph, and I’m going to annihilate you for it.

Whoooooooooooooooooooooosh, now I’m in therapy, working on eradicating my rejectophobia. I want to get to the point where I laugh in the face of rejections big and small, real and imagined. I want to grow, and replace the flickering candle of my ego with a shatter-proof incandescent lightbulb.