A Revolving Door: Reflections on My Times in The Closet

As a bit of context, I wrote this in September 2016 and am publishing it without much revision; I think it portrays my mental process as I‘ve thought through my future, and how it’s impacted by my gender identity. It probably has poor plot. Welcome to my life.

It’s fairly odd living multiple lives, but it’s something I’ve become shockingly good at.

In the Closet.

Out of the Closet.

Back in the Closet.

Back out of the Closet.

At this point my Closet is one of those revolving doors you see at a mall. Am I in? Am I out? Who knows.

I was outed as a gay man in high school, and my family worked through that by not talking about it — I moved to a city where I knew no one, and was completely out. I had accomplished it, right — authentic living? Turns out, not at all.

I’ve struggled with gender identity for years, but thought I was just a feminine man, and needed to figure out how to cope with that. The ambiguity with which I do gender is confusing not only to others but to myself. Turns out, I’m a woman. Fuck.

Back in the closet.

I’m not out. Only my internet friends, people I do queer work with, and closest friends know. I look forward to the five hours every day I get to wear makeup — when I’m not at risk of running into family or church folk. It’s these moments that I feel most genuine, and most happy.

But I always feel the need to contextualize that by looking at all the times I have to be inauthentic. When I deadname myself and use pronouns that make me boil on the inside. “Hi, I’m <deadname>,” I say with a smile so forced, a child could tell. They don’t know it’s because that name symbolizes so much that I loathe about myself.

In some ways, having this ‘other self’ to blame my imperfections and undesirable traits on is actually handy — compartmentalization is a practical, but admittedly unhealthy way of handling my issues.

My identity terrifies me. I finally figured out who I am, but it’s a person that it’ll be a long time before I meet. Before I’m comfortable showing other people. I am someone I won’t be able to ever introduce to my family. They’ll never know me.

The people that are supposed to know me most intimately will never know me. That’s where my mind is. That’s why I struggle, so I stay in the closet.

Does that mean I love them more than I love myself?