Of Coming out… and other stories of importance.

I’ve been thinking/debating about doing this all day. Maybe it’s the hour that has inspired me to stop caring about what people will think or who will read this, but I think it’s important for me to share this story. 

Sorry. I tried to page break this and it wouldn’t let me. So whatever tumblr. 

I came out first to myself, when I was 20 (ish). I guess it wasn’t really coming out, but it was more deciding to stop denying who I am and who I love. Stop praying every night that I would be different. Growing up, my family was very religious and would crack jokes about “fudgepackers” and other inappropriately rude things (my dad was kind of an ass back then). I knew, from everything they said, that I wasn’t going to be accepted, or I felt that way. That being gay would be the ultimate betrayal, the ultimate death sentence to eternal damnation.

So I went on mission trips. I went to church. I ran a Christian Club (and I’d like to say that we were very polite, had pizza every day for people who came and didn’t force anyone to come/participate. A lot of times people would grab pizza and leave thinking they were being sneaky, and that was chill by me). I prayed all the time. I tried finding women attractive. I tried abstaining, punishing myself for every thought I had (TMI? perhaps). 

I know you all are sick of this tortured gay closeted male story, but that was my life. 

My radical change started to come when I went to midnight Christmas service (still my favorite service) by myself. My family didn’t want to go (and I didn’t particularly want to go with them) and I never really fit with the group of kids who went to church there their entire lives and had their own cliques. So I had stopped going probably to church the beginning of that year. I went every odd Sunday, but I stopped feeling bad if I missed a Sunday because I didn’t want to go or deal with being awkward and not really knowing anyone. Anyway, this particular evening, people’s families were with them, and people I had known for years were with their wives,husbands(they started early)/boyfriends,girlfriends. I looked around and saw all those people and realized that I would never have that if I continued down the path that I was on. I would never be able to love a woman, and would never subject a woman to half-hearted false love that would always end with “I’m too tired”. I think that that is cruel, and I wish some of the ex-gay wives would take note and leave their husbands out of self respect. 

Anyway, I looked around, and it really hit me on the way home. So I drove to the beach, and I looked at the waves, and I decided that I was not going to try to change because it had never worked, and doing something over and over again is the definition of insanity, right? I met a few people via the internet (because there really is no safe place to meet people in a small town like Santa Cruz if you are still intent on keeping this secret), learned what it is to read too much into something and have your heart broken without the other person knowing (and it felt strangely like other friendships that I had when I was at camp/traveling), and learned to date, awkwardly, like a high-schooler. 

[Side-note: Thinking back, one of the things I am most angry at is that I never learned to be awkward and the boundaries while I was in high school and it was safe (somewhat) and acceptable. Being awkward in your 20’s is just… well weird. I could be particularly dense too.] 

I kept this a secret for a really long time. Keeping a secret that big, sneaking around, being angry a lot over things that have nothing to do with the outside world, taking phone calls outside, it was like a big game I was playing. I remember the first person I ever told about it was in Missouri, where I swore I would be myself for the first time (which is one of the reasons I love seasonal work like being a camp counselor. It’s great!). We were making jokes about getting in trouble/starting rumors about both of us being in the Pottery hut a lot (we both loved pottery and they had a kiln!) when she said, “Oh, well I’m gay” and I blurted out, before she could say anything else, me too! I’m gay. And I braced, expecting, I don’t know. She ended up being one of my best friends at camp, and we still talk intermetently on Skype.

I probably didn’t tell anyone else till the following September, when I started semi-dating again, post Missouri. I finally told my best friends, Corynn and Ariel, while we were driving (that’s what I do when I’m stressed) on separate occasions. Corynn laughed when I told her, demanding for a solid 5 minutes that I stop joking and stop pulling her leg. It went really well. Same with Ariel, and both are still in close contact. So I started living my life a bit more truthfully, but I still didn’t come out to my friends at school. I was nervous how they would respond, nervous about God knows what. 

After a year or so of a lot of personal suffering, not on the whole being gay thing’s part, but over a few broken relationships that I was not mature about and my grandmother/great grandmother passing away, I took a much needed break from the mo’bay and moved to Portland, where I lived as a gay man. My dual lives that I had been living were beginning to intersect a lot more frequently. Cards given to me for holidays and anniversaries were left out, my parents finally started wondering about what I was doing out so late, where I was staying, who I was out with. Did I mention that I was living at home through all this as well as going to school full time, typically 18-20 units a semester, 30-45 mins away from my house. It was rough. 

Anyway, I moved to Portland amid questions of my sexuality from friends and family I’m sure. I met Adam there, (we’ve been together ever since, approx. 1.67 years now) and in a stroke of pure genius, I decided to bring him down to Monterey with me, thinking that no one would catch on. 

This is where I start to get physically nauseous when I think about it. 

Needless to say, things didn’t work out how I planned. My other residence was miserable, all my things moved out without telling me (my family bought a house and were mid move), I couldn’t seem to find an apartment on campus beforehand (and ended up living with a meth head, but that’s another story). So we had to stay at my parents house, and they figured it out quick, but instead of talking to me about it, they just ignored me for about 4 days, my mom offering to fly Adam home ASAP (on the next flight was what she said a few times). 

It was poor timing on my part, oversight, and perhaps a slight want to be caught. Living 2 lives is emotionally, spiritually, and physically exhausting. Keeping everything that is happening in your life secret from everyone is exhausting. Just… exhausting. So, I think part of me wanted to get caught, wanted someone to be honest and ask. 

Finally, it got so awkward that I asked my mom to go out to dinner. And when we got in the car the first thing I asked was why she and the rest of the family were being so distant. She said, starting to cry, because that apparently is okay to do in this situation and turn it about yourself. She said, “well it seems like Adam is more than a friend, we feel like you are lying to us and he’s your boyfriend… Is he?” I had last year decided that I wouldn’t lie if she asked, so I told the truth and said yes. She right away started asking questions, while crying, whether I was gay, who I was, how long, etc. She then found a spot to pull over and just start sobbing.

To this day I turn red and feel uncomfortable at the thought of this. There is no worse feeling than to know you are such a disappointment to your parents that they literally have to sob. It had been a rough year with the loss of her mother, and the re-occurrence of her breast cancer. She said that this took the cake.

We had an uncomfortable dinner and then went home where she demanded that Adam either sleep in the living room or leave, and then told me that I had to tell Jesse and my dad right away. She sat Jesse down in front of me and made me tell him.

After that we left and Adam’s family was nice enough to spring for a hotel room and the next day I moved into an apartment on campus. That Sunday my mom forced my dad to drive me and my aquarium to the place I was selling it to and told my dad apparently to ask me about it. He started crying and talking about how I had just “stopped fighting”. That pissed me off. Still does. I didn’t just stop fighting it? And what was there to fight? He said that he thinks its wrong but he still loves me, blah blah blah. 

I want to let you know that I’m writing this because, here, almost 2 years later, this is still a sore point for me. Thinking about August makes me anxious, and whenever Adam brings up that week I get defensive and nauseous and change the subject. 

Things got better. My mom sat down and had a long conversation with me about what came about, basically about this story I am telling you. I told her what I am typing here, about my want to be loved, and my struggle with trying, in vain, to change. And things are better. It’s still awkward. Jesse is Jesse and put the verbal smackdown on a pastor bashing gays at his the summer camp he worked at, citing me as a personal reference (I’ve never been more proud of him… though we may not talk much). My dad, well we just don’t talk about it much. He says he doesn’t know how he feels about it, which is bullshit, but he’s civil and is nice. Adam even comes over to my families house and has been on vacation with my family. Things did get better.

I did lose friends, especially when I started the process of coming out to my friends. My friends are school are awesome, but some of the friends I made pre-coming out are not okay with it, and still want to be my friends. I’m still working that out in my mind. It’s hard. It truly is. 

I am thankful that it happened. I really am. I’m thankful that this weight has been lifted off my shoulders, as cliche as it is. Things have changed, and I think that that is just part of growing up. 

They just changed really fast for me. 

I regret not having the chance to love when I was supposed to. I regret all the years I spent denying myself something that I was not supposed to deny myself of. I regret losing friend, I regret my childish behavior surrounding some of my relationships that I had. I had no one to talk to. I regret how I came out, and I wish the timing would have been different. 

But I’m happy. I’m happy that I don’t have to hide anymore. I’m happy that I can check out guys with my friends at bars. I’m glad that I can go out to the bars without being too worried about outing myself while drunk. I’m glad that I got to tell my story to people at CSUMB before I left. I’m in a good place. Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have it’s dark corners, but it’s nothing that a lamp won’t get rid of. 

And that my story, so far. It’s still evolving, still having to come out to people I love(d). Rectify friendships, establish what not agreeing with my “lifestyle” means in the long run for our friendship. I still have to tell friends. I hope my story keeps going. I hope that I continue learning. Continue trying. 

I’m not really good at ending these, so I’ll end with a quote that partially inspired/provided courage for this process-

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” — Unknown (or possibly Dr Suess. No one is sure).