The Closet Door Opened

My official recollection of living in a lie

I am gay. That is all you need to know about what I am about to tell you. There is not much power that comes with this kind of lifestyle. But knowing that I have not done anything wrong as a person makes it easier to cope.

But, you see, it was not always this easy for me to be honest. At one point, it was so bad, I had sunk into a deep hole of denial. I started dating girls that I had no interest in, wearing what the other boys wore, and pretending I knew about manly stuff like WWE and monster trucks. I had become a total lie.

In the seventh grade, when I admitted to myself that my love extended beyond the opposite sex, I told myself that there was something wrong with me. That there were “a few loose screws” up there. I thought that my parents would flip on me, disown me, throw me out like a piece of trash. And because of that, my identity had become the most negative it ever had been: sad, lonely gay trash.

I lived in a pretty liberal area at the time. However, middle school was not a paradise for free expression. To show people your true colors or even be proud of them would be like driving into a concrete wall. With the amount of bullying that went on at my school, it seemed impossible to even think about revealing my secret.

I remember my friend, who was hiding his sexuality at the time, being ridiculed when a close, personal friend of his completely betrayed his trust. This one day at recess turned into a catastrophe, as people approached him to say what they heard.

From every possible direction, questions like “are you gay?” and insults like “you’re a faggot” pierced at his humble eardrums. He felt overwhelmed, and the fact that he was overwhelmed was overwhelming for me.

Another boy, who my friend had a crush on, even came up to him and teasingly asked for a kiss. He was absolutely humiliated, to the point where he would not show up at school for days because of “an unknown illness.”

But it turned out that the illness was real; it was shame — shame for trusting others, shame for being who he was, and to an extent, shame for being alive.

There was no way that I wanted my emotional state to be as low as his. The advice I had received from my father and the pure horror I witnessed that one day at recess proved what I needed to do: keep my mouth as closed as I could.

At home, I had my mother, stepfather, sisters (who were too young to understand homosexuality), and on the occasion, step siblings. My mother was one thing, but I was most worried about what my step siblings would say if they were to find out. Growing up, they used the term “faggot” more times than I could count, accused each other of being gay at every chance they could get, and even beat up one of my friends on one occasion under their false suspicions. There was no way in hell that I was going to be anyone’s punching bag.

Then I moved in with my dad, aka my biggest fear of all. Growing up, he introduced me to masculinity, including how to pick up girls and the idea of sports. Through my pre-teenage eyes, he was the biggest example of what a man needed to be like.

There was one day at the park when we were playing catch with my brand new, forty-dollar baseball glove. To my dad, this was a happy occasion, a perfect way for a father and son to bond. But to me, it was a complete and utter disaster.

As the ball flew back and forth, I realized that catching a ball in mid-air was a much harder task than it looked. No matter how much effort I put in, the ball would somehow find a way to hit the ground.

But, in a way, the ball was just like the situation I had put myself in. My opportunities to come out would fly at me, aiming right towards my open glove. However, due to the strong presence of inner insecurity, as well as a lack of self-confidence, the opportunity would be missed, and it dropped into the grass.

Now that I felt like less of a man, coming out to my dad seemed impossible. Those memories of hitting my first home run or returning my first kickoff with him would then just become a big ball of disappointment. I kept my mouth shut.

But then suddenly, my thoughts about coming out began to change as I met a boy online. He had just come out of the closet to his family and friends, and he told me that he had never been happier. The overwhelming support that his story had brought him made me jealous. I wished that I could be in his shoes, still being loved by myself and others. There needed to be changes in my life, but the fear of rejection made it way too hard to face.

It was mid-May as my mom and I were finishing our annual spring cleaning. The pain of not being able to express myself freely was wearing down on my inner conscious, just like a heavy stone falling on top of me, crushing every last oxygen particle out of my body. With patience and effort, the rough exterior of the bread would then expose the fluffy interior. That is exactly what I needed to do: expose my interior and make others aware what was really underneath.

At first, she thought I was pulling her leg. I had many girlfriends in the past, most of them with the purpose to cover up who I really was. But obviously, she did not know that.

I sat there for almost an hour, tears filling in my eyes as I poured out what had been trapped inside for so long. With every breath and every word spoken, a pound had been lifted off of my shoulders.

When I finally convinced her that I was not making a joke, she hugged me and said that she would love me no matter what.

“You’re still giving me grandbabies,” she would tell me jokingly.

I laughed. I did not or could not make any promises, there.

At that moment, my tears of guilt upon my face became tears of joy. The weight off my shoulders had been such a relief; it made me want to come out to everyone.

It was definitely not going to be easy, though. I still had to tell my father.

The funny thing is that I never actually came out to my father in person. Later that summer, after a night of crying, I typed the words into my phone, “Dad, I’m sorry, but I am gay. I hope you’ll still love and accept me.” Then I pressed send. My heart pumped blood faster than ever, especially two minutes later when I saw an incoming text arrive on my phone.

The response was priceless, especially because it was a complete reflection of my dad’s personality. He replied, “son, why are you telling me something I already have known for years? Do you not think that I know you well enough to tell? It does not change anything, and you will always have my love and support.”

My tears dried. My biggest fear had been defeated. If my parents did not have a problem accepting me, then it did not matter if anyone else did.

Not too long after, I came out to my school and the rest of my family, all of which has helped me grow as a person. I’m completely amazed and overwhelmed with happiness because of the relationships that I have built to this day because of the comfortability I now feel in my own skin. I will forever be appreciative of the love and support that everyone feels for me.

Because of this experience, I have learned that if I can pick up broken pieces and build myself back up from something as serious as that, I can do the same for any situation. While sharing the truth was not pleasurable at first, the payoff has been excellent.

So, yes, I am gay. But I am really not that different from anyone else. I still like to watch TV, read books, and, hey, sometimes I might pick my nose. But I know for sure now that I am not “sad, gay trash,” but a beautiful human being. Just like each and every person on this planet.

To those who have yet to come out, the closet door can open, and when it does, there will be many smiling faces welcoming you to a whole new world. And, for sure, one of those will be me.