failure with a small 'f'. Because capitals are for winners.

On Sunday afternoon I went to a summer outdoor concert with The Human Dynamo and KCG and their respective boyfriends.

It did not go well.

I have a new mantra that I am reciting to myself whenever I get mired in believing that I need a man in my life to make me happy - "I am responsible for my own happiness". No man will make me happy. Happiness comes from within.

Despite the fact that I recited it in my mind every minute or two, as we sat on the grass and watched a local band, I still struggled. This was actually the first time that the five of us had been together without anyone else, and without the distraction of other people, the dead weight of my failure was palpable. There's The Human Dynamo and his boyfriend whispering asides to each other. There's KCG and his boyfriend sharing a Coke. And here's me, trying not to swallow my beer too fast because it would leave me with nothing to do.

The music wasn't very good, so halfway through I told them I was going Christmas shopping. I left, reciting my mantra as if my life depended on it, and got a couple of things at some nearby stores. When The Human Dynamo texted me that the concert was over and they'd retired to a local pub, I wandered over there.

On the way to the concert earlier that day I had learnt that The Human Dynamo's boyfriend met the parents last week. It all went well, and another milestone of their developing relationship had been passed. When I got to the pub, I learnt that KCG and his boyfriend are meeting each other's parents over Christmas. So, isn't that cute? My best gay friends are racing neck and neck down the romantic path towards Happily Ever After, and they had so much advice and encouragement to share with each other.

Meanwhile I'm back in the starting stalls, all by myself. At this time last year we were all in roughly the same relationship position. Now, twelve months later, they've moved onward and upward, and I've gone nowhere at all. On the scale of gay relationships, where 1 is a fuckbuddy and 10 is a beloved and committed life partner, they're both already at a 4 or 5 and I'm at... 0.

Yep, that's right. I'm not even on the fucking scale.

I left early and walked back to my car alone, feeling like I'd been kicked in the chest. I was grateful for my mirrored aviators when the tears started to flow.