to conceal my inclination, and smile when torn by pain. For, in never having my love returned, I have learned to know all the sufferings of love. Jealousy—insane, blinding jealousy—of any and every body who casts but a friendly glance at the object of my secret love!
“I have emphasized the mental element, in order to show how deeply rooted my abnormal impulse is. I have never felt the slightest touch of sensual love for the opposite sex. The idea of being forced to associate sensually with women is repugnant to me. At times I have suffered enough on being assured of the love of young girls. Like every young man, I have had abundant opportunity to enjoy the modern social pleasures, dancing among them. I like to dance; but if I could dance with men, as a girl, I should be really happy.
“I wish once more to remark that my love is entirely sensual. How could I otherwise explain the fact that the pressure of my lover’s hand, often merely his glance, causes palpitation and erection! I have done everything to eradicate this love from my—let us say ‘heart.’ I have tried to still it by means of onanism; to drag it in the mire, in order to raise myself above it. (About ten years ago, during such a time of love, I avoided onanism, and felt that my feeling of love elevated me.) I still entertain the delusion that if the object of my love were to tell me he loved me, that he loved me, and only me, I should willingly give up sensual gratification to repose in faithful arms. But that is certainly a self-deception.
“Honored sir, I have a responsible occupation, and I think I can give the assurance that my abnormal inclination has never, even in a hair’s breadth, caused me to deviate from the duty imposed on me. Aside from this abnormality, I am not insane, and I might ultimately become contented; but I have, particularly of late years, suffered too much not to look on the future with painful feeling. For the future will certainly not bring fulfillment of the desire which constantly glows under the ashes,—the desire to possess a lover who understands and returns my love. Such a relation would make me truly happy. I have thought much about the origin of my abnormality, particularly because I think I am forced to assume that it was not inherited. I believe that onanism has changed the inborn feeling into a burning passion. I might long ago have put an end to my misery, since I have no fear of death, and since in religion—which, strange to say, has not departed from my impure heart—I find no warning against suicide. But the consciousness that I am not alone responsible, and that a worm has nipped my whole life in the bud,—a certain comfort that has sprung up of late out of indescribable suffering,—leads me to see whether comparative happiness in life cannot be obtained on an entirely new basis: something which fills the whole heart. I think I could be happy under the influence of quiet family life. But I dare not conceal from you the fact that the thought of married life with a wife is terrible to me, and that I make the
