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My coming out story.Oct 02 '10 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Come out. It's the best thing you'll ever do.
I must first state that coming out was the best thing that happened to me. It was a big step towards learning how to be comfortable with myself. The act of verbally saying, "I'm gay" to another person was not only a monumental achievement, but it also made each additional outing easier. I'm gay. So what? I realize I'm not a perfect writer, but I feel if my story helps only one person in some way, shape or form, my mission is accomplished. I'm proud to be who I am, and I'm proud to live in the State of Vermont; a state that not only strongly supports diversity, but also passed a gay marriage law last year. ---------- I used to be so afraid of coming out that I had panic attacks. I didn't let anyone see them, and I'd usually hide in my bedroom and cry. It wasn't fun. I visualized every scenario imaginable. What would happen if my parents took it well? Not so well? If they were horrified? Of course, I always imagined the latter. So when did my suspicions start? Middle school. It was a time where we all went through a transitioning phase, better known as puberty, and suddenly "everyone" started hooking up with "everyone" (you'll see me use that word a lot). It wasn't unusual to see a boy walk down the hall with a girl on his arm, or the other way around. Of course, I was one of the lonely kids. All my friends--well, all three of them--were female. For some reason I always felt like I was one of them. I was comfortable with them. I never had any sexual attraction for them, but hey, if we wanted to go to the library and study together, I was all in. School dances were awkward for me. In fact, to this day any sort of public gathering with a significant amount of people under one roof make me slightly uncomfortable. It's probably because every dance I went to eventually ended up with me sitting in a chair for three hours. I sat and watched everyone holding their partners close, dancing to slow songs. The staring in each others' eyes made me feel even more alone. I felt like an outcast. Unusual. Different. Something was not right, I thought. Why can't I find that special someone, and look into their eyes the same way they were? Later on, in high school, I had a crush on a lot of guys in my grade. There was this one particular boy I had a fond crush on, though. He was tall, had spiky blonde hair, had a chest as flat as an ironing board, and when he wore tight T-shirts I nearly passed out with lust. He was a metrosexual to the fullest extent. Every time I passed him in the hallway I would feel like I just walked by a celebrity. It was around this time I told myself I had to get to the bottom of this "phase", or whatever I thought it was I had wrong with me. Was I gay? Nah, I couldn't be. It's just a phase. But it wasn't a phase. No matter what I did, like watch TV, see a movie, or read a magazine, I would be face to face with a skinny woman in a bikini, or a woman putting on makeup to attract a guy. Or a man chased down by millions of women all because he smelled good (thank you, AXE). It actually bothered me. One day I overheard two guys staring at a swimsuit issue and they were commenting to each other about how hot the cover model was. I looked at the cover and I sighed disappointingly. She did not excite me in any way. Looking back breasts never were a turn on for me. Sure, it's pretty funny when you see a lady with triple D's crush a beer can, but sexy? Really now. And downstairs? Why is that sexy? There's nothing to grab onto down there! I was incredibly frustrated with myself. There's a woman on TV with barely any clothes on, has perfect, flawless skin, owns a pair of legs that go on forever, and I can't even get one ounce of sexual attraction towards her! I know what makes a woman hot, but I cannot genuinely be turned on by it. For those who think it's a CHOICE to be gay, it's absolutely false. You'll find that virtually all the people who believe it's a choice are completely straight. To which I say, "how did you decide to be straight? How many years were you a homosexual before you decided to switch teams? What made you change your ways?" But I digress. I had to do something to prove to myself that I was gay. The easiest solution: I went online to view adult websites (I'm not advocating that everyone should just go out and view porn, but that's what I did basically). My father was always sleeping and my mother had no block on the computer. It was quite easy to get away with it. The outcome of these actions were obvious, though. Sites with nothing but men were a turn on. Sites with nothing but women were a turn-off. And I visited the former almost daily to make sure that, yes, this was not a phase. That, and the guys were just plain hot. I mean, how could I look away from men with abs I could wash clothes on? After that I knew I was definitely gay. However, I needed to brainstorm how to come out without starting a personal World War III. I worried, and I worried a lot. My heart would race a mile a minute if my mother asked me why I didn't want a girlfriend. I would nearly erupt into tears every time my old-fashioned father randomly recalled a time in his youth when he was hit on by a "queer" (his description, not mine) and he threatened to harm him the next time he was anywhere near him. I internalized all my fears and worries. I already felt depressed. If I immediately came out gay I would feel even worse. What if my parents didn't accept me, or the public in general looked at me like I was an alien from another planet? But that was not the case, as I learned soon enough. I graduated high school in 2007, got a job at a supermarket chain in town, and became a very popular person there. And the best part of all was that I never had to pull anyone aside and tell them I was gay. I was outed by someone else, actually. The creepy thing was they didn't even know, either. Well, they probably did. I bet I stuck out like a sore thumb. Here's how it happened: I worked with a woman named Kate, and we were good friends. One day, while I was on break, she was speaking to another co-worker since it was a slow day and there was nothing to do at the time. This other co-worker told Kate she thought I had a crush on another guy that worked there. I mean a really, really hot guy. Someone who has a tan year-round and works out at the gym before work kinda guy. Later that day I was alone with Kate, and she shared this bit of info with me. "Is it true?" she asked. Shockingly, yes. I admitted it knowing that, since this particular guy was going back to college and was leaving his job to go back, there wouldn't be any issue if this albeit true rumor had spread around. It says a lot at this point that I had previously cared about what everyone else would think if they knew I was gay, but from that point forward I didn't care. Once one person knows, who cares if one hundred people know? Next step: How to come out to my mother. Now here is where the coming out process got to be a little tricky. Last year my father was in the process of moving to a nursing home. He was 84 and he was negatively affected from nine years of dementia. I figured it might not be best to simply blurt out, "Hey Mom, hey Dad, I'm as gay as a double rainbow" and instead be stealthy about it. Whenever a situation arises, I thought, and where it's appropriate, I'll just mention as a joke that the guy jogging down the street is hot... or otherwise show my attraction to a man but make it sound like I'm only being funny. Then, I realized, I'll take it a little further. I'll occasionally mention how I support gay marriage and express indifference when she points out two guys holding hands on the sidewalk, or anything "gay" on TV. This worked surprisingly well. In fact, it didn't seem to phase her at all. If anything, it raised my confidence. Thinking a guy is hot is one thing. Saying it out loud is another. I learned it's harder to hold back your feelings than it is to be brave and say it. Time marched on, and eventually my mother reached a breaking point. Both of us were in the car on the way to visiting my father, who at that time had lived in a nursing home for about a month. Every time we took that trip, we drove past a McDonalds. "Oh boy, I could sure use a Whopper right about now," she sighed. "Yuck. Beef is disgusting," I replied. "OK then," she snapped, "let's talk about something you enjoy. Like men." I nearly drove the car off the road. You're probably thinking I'm making this stuff up, but the truth really is stranger than fiction. It was an out-of-the-blue, out-of-the-closet moment. My heart was pounding extremely hard. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I didn't know how to react. She started laughing. I tried to change the subject, and it eventually worked after she realized I was a little uncomfortable. After visiting Dad, though, we were there in the car again, stuck together for the next seven miles. She brought the subject back up. Mom: "So when did you know you were into guys?" Me: "A long time ago." Mom: "I just want you to know that I love you, and if you're happy, I'm happy. I look at it this way... I'd rather gain a son-in-law than lose a son." It was truly a touching moment for me. That's all I ever wanted to hear. All the years of stress and anxiety over the subject ended with one simple comment. So, one year later, how am I doing? If I may use one of our inside jokes, I enjoy "watching the scenery". For Mom and I, "watching the scenery" or "looking at the scenery" means looking at the hot guys walking down the street while we're driving by. It's arguing over who's cuter on the ferry that connects Addison, Vermont to Crown Point, New York. Between us, talking about men is like trying to argue over Coke versus Pepsi. Both are pretty darn good. It's not like we do it constantly, but sometimes we just have to. We used that term when my father was with us, and at that point I still had not come out to him. We were on the ferry and all these muscular guys were preparing the boat for departure. It was during the day, and Mom and I were commenting on them vaguely. Mom: "So, what do you think? The one on the left or the one on the right?" Me: "Heck, both are really good looking." Dad: "What are you guys talking about?" Me: "We're looking at the scenery." Dad: "Well, the trees sure are pretty." As you may have observed, my father has yet to know. And, sadly, I don't think he will. He has Alzheimer's, and currently he's in the middle stages. Coming out to him would have no benefits, with potential for many negatives. A while back, according to my mother, she had told him I was gay. But apparently he forgot about it, seeing as he still uses slurs like "queer" and "f****t" when discussing that one day in his youth when a guy put his hand on his leg. So we just try to change the subject. So there it is; my coming out story. I have learned so much in such a short period of time. I'm finally comfortable in my own body, and I don't feel nearly as much of an outcast as I used to. There are many out there who make up the gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans-gendered and questioning community. The things I've learned: Life is too short to live a lie. If I wanted to, I could have probably had a wife and a couple kids. Let's be honest, though. Why would I want to live a life hiding? I only have one life. Go out there and live to the fullest. Come out! Don't be scared. There are many misguided individuals out there who think you can pray the gay away, or somehow we can learn to be heterosexual. Even if it's just to yourself, coming out is a life-changing experience. You're not alone. You have friends, family, and many support groups out there willing to help you whenever you need it. So that is my story so far. It sure is wild, but the ride ain't over yet. I'm still single, you know. ~Scott vt8919@gmail.com vt8919@hotmail.com  |
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