I am no longer a young man. I passed that juncture in my life a few years ago. However, I am not very old, either. I think this is called "middle age".
Throughout my adult life, I have earnestly attempted to form a lasting relationship with just one man. For those of you who don't yet know, I am homosexual (I detest that term). Being born in the 1960s, and living through the '70s and '80s, youth and society only allowed me to enjoy the fleeting triumph of sexual encounters, which occasionally lasted for a few months. In order to pass this point, I would have had to be allowed to form a more permanent and "visible" bond; a bond that is recognised, not only by those enjoying it, but others, too. I am talking about friends, relatives, employers, the authorities and generally anyone who counts in some way, towards the rich diversity of a person's life.
Without recognition, a relationship is no more than an assignation, and it has always to come second place to the delicate sensibilities of others' needs: an interfering parent, a "concerned" neighbour, a nosey friend, even a bullying boss at work. They all contribute to the difficulties many gay people experienced (and often still do), in their quest to find a little happiness, with the person with whom they wish to spend quality time, in the precious hours of their life. My friends always reassured me "blood is thicker than water", when it came to matters of my heart.
Every one of my past relationships has failed, predominantly because they were not taken seriously by other people and, as a result, unfair pressure was brought to bear, which finally broke the bond apart.
When I was 21 (sex was only allowed between consenting adults of 21 years or older), my first attempt saw us having to hide our secret from his friends and family, who knew nothing of his "other" life. We had to frequent bars (not gay ones), go out into the cold, night air, or fumble around in the insecurity of my motor car. We had nowhere to be private. We lasted all of 8 months.
My next boyfriend spoke to me one evening and said he'd been asked to go to a party, by a female friend. I encouraged him to go, if he wished. However, he told me that if he went with her on this one occasion, it would be "expected" of him to "go out" with her; he only wanted to, because it would calm the "babble" of his friends and family. That one, also, lasted 8 months!
Another man I met had to return to France, because, in those times, his native country (Portugal) was not a full member of the EEC, and he had no right to work in the UK. There just wasn't any way I could persuade him to stay; it was destroying him. Of course, I could have gone to France, but his friends and family didn't know of our relationship, so that destroyed all chances I had of a life with him. We made it to the one year mark, almost to the day.
Another man I met came from a Muslim family; homosexuality was frowned upon, so he couldn't tell anyone and, because his family controlled his life, they dictated whom he could meet, when and how often. He wanted to be with me and vice versa, but religion was more powerful than both of us.
Yet another man left me after we had known each other for only a month; he was afraid of what he was and was scared of his family and friends finding out. I loved him, and he said he had also fallen in love with me. Yet again, it broke my heart to lose. However, nobody was there to comfort me; nobody understood the devastation and anger I felt. I was gay; I had no rights and shouldn't expect anyone to take me seriously.
There were others, but I won't introduce too much tedium into your life. Suffice it to say, I have never had a relationship that lasted more than a year.
Eventually, I just gave up, after my last, sorry attempt to form a close bond broke up. That was 20 years ago and, frankly, I haven't really had the appetite to take on the world again. It has cost me my self respect, my self esteem, and robbed me of my hope for a reasonably secure future.
And you heterosexual people wonder why I am angry. I only wanted a little of what you had. It wasn't too much to ask, but it was to you.