Outiversary

For most people I know, today is important because it's the anniversary of the terrorist attacks in 2001.  But for me, this day will always be personally significant for another reason.  Sixteen years ago today, I came out of the closet for the first time.  Some times it seems like it's been far longer than that.  Others it's like it was yesterday.  Time has a funny way of dilating when it comes to memory.

And yet, I still remember the feelings leading up to my coming out very clearly.  I may have forgotten some details, like the order in which I came out to people, or the exact words that were said when I did.  But the dread, thrill of terror, and the sigh of relief I remember perfectly.  Some things you just never will forget.

I knew I was gay by the time I was eight or nine years old.  I didn't know exactly all that implied, and I by no means had accepted it, but I knew.  It's something I struggled with quite a bit.  I used to keep a physical journal.  It was private and personal.  I kept it hidden at all times.  But I couldn't even be honest with myself in it.  I remember I used to allude to "my big secret."  But I didn't have the guts to even write it out.  Except for just one time.  And then I ripped the page out, and burned it.

I was terrified that if people at school found out, I would get bullied even more than I already was.  I'd probably have gotten the shit kicked out of me, too.  I was afraid that my mother would disown me.  I was afraid that the few friends I had wouldn't like me anymore.  People that haven't gone through this don't really know how isolating it can be.  Lying to your parents about having sex is one thing.  It's survival.  Lying to everyone about the core of your existence is another thing entirely.  It eats away at you.  You get paranoid.  You start to feel that if anyone ever finds out, your world will end.

I fought and fought with my sexuality for years.  But, by the time I was in high school, I finally realized that all the hoping, praying, and determination in the world wouldn't change basic biology.  I hate it when people talk to me about it being a choice.  I didn't choose this.  I wouldn't have chosen this at the time.  I wanted more than anything to be "normal" and straight.  It wasn't until high school that I understood that being gay was normal for me.

In a way, that was even worse than hating myself for being gay.  Because it was at that point that I believed that I had to live a lie for the rest of my life.  I thought I was going to have to meet a woman that I could force myself to have sex with so that I could have kids and live the life that was expected of me.  I can't even put words to the crushing despair I felt.  I just knew that I was going to be miserable for the rest of my life, because I could never be true to who I actually was.

I even contemplated suicide on more than one occasion.  I was so blinded by the small world I inhabited, that I couldn't see beyond it to what my life would be like outside the stifling atmosphere of high school and being a teenager.  I was already a timid, scared kid.  The thought of going off to college, leaving my home and my comfort zone (as small as that comfort was) was overwhelming.  Add to that my certainty that I would be stuck in a lie forever, and the future seemed pretty bleak.  I stood in the kitchen in the middle of the night more than once, holding a bottle of pills in my hand, and just thinking "what if?"

Obviously I never tried to answer this question.  And I'm glad.  College changed my world view considerably.  It became more and more absurd to think I was going to live the lie for the rest of my life.  Nobody was even preventing me from cutting class.  How would they prevent me from doing anything else?  I had freedom.  I started forging my own identity.  I stopped caring as much about other peoples' expectations, and started deciding who I wanted to be.

There were growing pains.  I admit to some outlandish behavior in my quest to discover who I really was.  I faked self-confidence until I started to actually have some for real.  I acted out, and acted as crazily as I possibly could, just to test the boundaries.  It was fun, and it was scary, and it was ridiculous.  But it all underscored what I was starting to understand:  We create our own identities, and we shape the worlds around us to fit those identities.

My sophomore year was a transformative year.  The college experience was a bit underwhelming.  I was more academically challenged in high school.  But the things it did for me socially were unmistakable.  I had friends, and a bit of freedom, and my own identity.  I got involved in the theater.  I forged lasting friendships.  I grew emotionally.  And I started to realize that the last construct of my previous life was preventing me from being happy.

I was sitting in my dorm room, talking to my roommate about various things.  We were listening to music, and a song came on that had always resonated with me.  It was "Heal" by the Catherine Wheel.  There was a line that always hit me hard.  It was "everybody needs someone to live by."  To me it meant that there was a person out there that was the complement to your soul.  The other half of your being.  Someone that changes everything for you.  And this isn't someone you just want to be with.  It's someone you need to be with, to live.  And I just thought to myself "either come out, or kill yourself.  Stop living in Limbo."  So, apropos of nothing, I just blurted out to Alf that I was gay.  I remember that as I did it, I punched my leg so hard that I bruised badly.  I think I just used the pain to focus on and not think about how scared I was to come out.

That started a chain reaction for me.  I realized that coming out face to face was just too hard for me.  I was barely able to do so with Alf, and he was openly gay.  So, I started coming out in other ways.  I wrote an e-mail to my friends Danielle and Amy.  That was easier.  Once I sent the e-mail, there was no taking it back, no chickening out.  I mentioned to Danielle that I was thinking of making a "coming out" essay to give to people.  She encouraged me to do so.

So I did.  Everyone I came out to for a while after that, I used the essay.  Danielle and my friend Michelle would encourage me constantly.  "Don't you have something you want them to read, Jason?"  Hint hint.   With their help, I expanded the number of people who knew.  I relied heavily on my friends.  Travis and Meghan were the ones who helped me become more comfortable with myself and my attractions.  They bought me my first gay magazine.

I eased my way into coming out to my family by telling my brother's girlfriend (now wife) first, because she was like a sister to me, but not part of the baggage that comes with family.  Then my brother.  Then my sister.  It would be a while before I came out to my mother, though.  That was so terrifying.  She was hurt that I chose to send the essay to her in the mail instead of coming out face to face.  But what I tell people all the time (including people that haven't come out yet) is that you do it in your own way.  You do what you have to do to come out comfortably.  You can't do it anybody else's way.  In your own time, and in your own way is the only way to do it.

And I did it in some interesting ways.  Via e-mail back in 1995, when the internet was an entirely different animal.  Over the headset during a live performance of Twelfth Night.  Seriously.  During lunch, surrounded by rednecks, while working at Wal-Mart.  I submitted my essay for homework during a Creative Writing class, and it was critiqued by the class.   So, Ive done it when and where I could.  And I've lived openly since then, and been happier for it.

I've never been more grateful to the friends and family who helped me to finally start being who I really was.  It allowed me to live enough, to make enough mistakes, and to get enough experience with relationships, that when I met Bill, I was ready and able to do my part to make it a happy, healthy, and stable relationship.  We celebrated our thirteenth anniversary last month, and I'm happier than I ever thought I could be.  I've found my someone to live by, and life has been infinitely better for it.  I love you Bill, and I thank you for being worth waiting for.  Thank you for being the culmination of that journey, and for being with me as we continue that journey together.