I know I left you all hanging, but it was impossible for me to have the time up until this second to continue the story.
Flash back to last Friday. I spent most of the day feeling nauseous, knowing that in a few short hours my life was about to change yet again. It's a funny feeling, knowing one is about to change the course of their life...so powerful yet so helpless in the same second.
I don't recall most of what happened that day, because really, I accomplished nothing. I was fixated on what was to come, what would happen after we ate dinner as a family surrounding the glass-topped table, after the dishes were tucked away in the washer and my dad had drifted in to sit on the couch.
My mother was equally on pins and needles, giving me the occasional glance as I walked by that seemed to remind me constantly of the gravity of the situation. We didn't really talk about it, save for a few moments where she confirmed that it would be 'tonight'.
At roughly 4 p.m., both parents were leaving the house, bound for different destinations. Outside, mom told dad that I had something to talk about, and that we needed to talk tonight. He retraced his steps, back into the house, calling up stairs to me, who had slunk back to my bedroom.
I came down to him, completely unaware of what was going on. "Come here," he said. "Sit down." We sat on the small bench in the porch, barely enough room for the two of us to fit. I still had no idea what was happening, save the idea he was going to tell me he'd miss me once I went back to school.
"I just really want you to enjoy your last few days at home," he said. "I just want you to enjoy them."
"I...uh...well, of course," I said, "so do I." It would only be 48 hours before I had moved back to Toronto and left home once more, and I understood where he was coming from.
He paused. "I know what you want to talk about," he said. I sat there, confused, and asked just what he meant, since I hadn't said a word about anything.
"Your mom told me just now you needed to talk about something," he said, "and I wanted to let you know I already know what you have to say." There was something in his voice, a naked honesty, that finally made me see the light: he knew.
The room swayed, and I burst into tears.
Everything that I had planned, everything that had been taken into account, simply flew out the window. There we sat on the bench, me clinging to him, sobbing, trying to form words, form a sentence.
"It's ok, it's ok," he said, pulling me to him.
"What do you mean you know?" I asked through sobs.
"I know, I've known for a while," he replied.
"But...how long is a while?" I asked, still gasping for air.
"A long time. A couple years," he said.
So I started to talk, started to try and tell him how awkward life has been, how difficult summer was, knowing that I needed to tell him and not knowing how he would react.
But all the pep talk that I had thought through simply vanished. I didn't know what to say, how to say things. I didn't understand just how much he 'got it' or if he was confused and unsure. So we sat there, with me attempting to get conversation on track.
He really had no questions, which bothered me a little, since my understanding of his gay education was stereotypes and bad TV. So instead I focused on the positives, how happy I am, how I feel more comfortable in my skin and with my life.
"But you gotta admit, it's pretty weird," he said. "It's not really normal."
And so we talked, and I tried to clear things up (gently) about what exactly 'normal' is, and how being different from a majority isn't necessarily weird. I tried equating things to being left handed versus right handed.
With that, we got to the root of his thinking...how he feels like something 'went wrong' somewhere genetically, from whose side of the family the gayness came from.
I still don't really understand just what he's thinking or how he feels. On the one hand, he made it very clear he still loves me, that I'm still his son and that we're still a family. On the other, he still seems to be pretty uncomfortable with the whole situation, not really sure of where he stands..."It's going to take a lot of getting used to," he said. "Two guys...that will take a lot..."
Throughout it all, he did give me a bit of insight into the hidden gays in our community. There have been some before me (no surprise), though I'd never heard of them before. Other farmer's sons who had been gay, and who had come out years and years ago. They all left, of course, but it feels nice knowing that I wasn't exclusively alone in my situation.
Like my mother, he was most concerned about safety, both interior and exterior. He worries that I'll get killed in a straight bar, or that people would hurt me for being gay somewhere, sometime in my life. And he worries about me 'getting sick' (since he couldn't seem to bring himself to use the word HIV) like one of the other farmers sons had. He died, tragically, in Vancouver.
Overall, it was a surreal experience. I had no idea he knew, no inclination that he had known for so long. In many ways, I got my wish after all; I only have to deal with the awkwardness after the coming-out conversation, I didn't have to break the news to him that I'm gay. Even now, looking back, I still don't really know exactly how he feels about the whole thing...I get the feeling he is accepting more because of the love for his son than the true belief that being gay is OK.
And so we've entered a new phase of life. Both my parents know now. I'm out to my family. Now what?
It seems crazy to be thinking about the next step, but I couldn't help but wonder as our conversation wound down just how things would progress. I told him quite clearly that I have no intention of this just becoming a family secret, of it being spoken of once and then never again. But just how much it's discussed, and in which way, is something that we'll have to discover.
And as if there wasn't enough drama on this weekend, Sunday proved to be no slouch...
Showing posts with label Coming Out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Coming Out. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Tomorrow is a big day...
I'm coming out to my dad tomorrow.
Sunday I move back to Toronto. Saturday I'm helping another friend move. That leaves Friday, more specifically Friday at around 7 p.m. Eastern time.
I've known what to say for a long time...there really isn't much thinking. I'm gay. I'm happy. The trick now is to not get upset or angry, depending on his reaction, while I explain things. But it needs to happen; it's needed to happen for a year, and no good opportunity has presented itself. There never will be one.
Really, the awkwardness after the fact I can deal with. We've had a difficult summer between the two of us, with me putting a lot of safety distance between him and me. It's the getting through the conversation that I'm dreading.
So send me positive vibes tomorrow night, because it'll be helpful to know there are people behind me. If I don't get anything posted for a few days, don't take it as really bad news, since I'll barely be around a computer let alone have any privacy to write it all out.
And so I go, once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...
Sunday I move back to Toronto. Saturday I'm helping another friend move. That leaves Friday, more specifically Friday at around 7 p.m. Eastern time.
I've known what to say for a long time...there really isn't much thinking. I'm gay. I'm happy. The trick now is to not get upset or angry, depending on his reaction, while I explain things. But it needs to happen; it's needed to happen for a year, and no good opportunity has presented itself. There never will be one.
Really, the awkwardness after the fact I can deal with. We've had a difficult summer between the two of us, with me putting a lot of safety distance between him and me. It's the getting through the conversation that I'm dreading.
So send me positive vibes tomorrow night, because it'll be helpful to know there are people behind me. If I don't get anything posted for a few days, don't take it as really bad news, since I'll barely be around a computer let alone have any privacy to write it all out.
And so I go, once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Hold your breath...
Well, not much has happened since I posted last.
It's sort of anticlimactic, really. Not that I was hoping for major drama or big scenes, but the entire matter seems to have dropped entirely. Dad's never said a word to me, never acted differently or tried an awkward segue into the 'is there something you want to tell me' speech.
That night, after he'd gone out to cut grass and my Mom had returned home, I made small talk with her until I could rehash the story. As I started talking, I said how upset I was getting with the way he was referring to gays in general, and that was why I asked him what his problem was.
"Well, it's not like he knows, I mean he's not being mean to you intentionally..." she said.
"Oh, ok, so if he calls a black person a nigger, but not to their face, that's OK too?" I shot back. I was astounded at how she was taking his side, and basically saying that he wouldn't say such things if he knew I was gay. That still, in my mind, does not excuse a word of the slanderous bullshit he said.
After I finished telling her everything, she asked, "So, does that mean you 'told him', that you'd came out to him?"
"Far from it," I said, then asked if she though he'd have picked up on the implications and my not answering his 'are you telling me you're gay' question.
She seems to think he's 'intuitive' and that the notion is now planted in his mind, that he'll think about it for a few days and then ask her something about it. "That's the way he is," she said, "he'll think to himself for a while first."
"Well, that's why I'm telling you all this now," I said, "in case he turns around and asks you. I didn't want you to be caught off guard about it."
We then talked for the better part of an hour. She's decided that she's good with talking about it with him and that should he ask, she's not going to hide anything. "I think it would be best, and besides, I can't lie to him about it," she said. I agreed, thinking that if she knew him like she should, then he would probably come asking her about it.
Discussion turned to how he might react, how the family at large might find out, how we can't tell the grandparents or fear excommunication, and how the 'small town community' might talk. "But we're pretty independent anyway," she said, "so that part shouldn't really matter."
At the end, I was still shaken by the whole thing, but at the same time I felt a little positive. This might be it, I thought, finally I'll be out to those most important to me. I fantasized about the weight being lifted from my shoulders, of not having to endure the subtle questions from family and from Dad about 'having a girlfriend'.
But after that night, nothing else happened. He's never asked her anything, and never made any attempt to talk to me about it.
It's a little awkward for me, because I can feel myself pushing away from him, trying to put distance between us. For the first few days afterward, the pink elephant in the room loomed larger than ever. I could barely stand in the same room with him and not feel uncomfortable and worried.
And so life has gone for the past week, with me wondering when he's going to ask, or if he even clued in at all.
It's sort of anticlimactic, really. Not that I was hoping for major drama or big scenes, but the entire matter seems to have dropped entirely. Dad's never said a word to me, never acted differently or tried an awkward segue into the 'is there something you want to tell me' speech.
That night, after he'd gone out to cut grass and my Mom had returned home, I made small talk with her until I could rehash the story. As I started talking, I said how upset I was getting with the way he was referring to gays in general, and that was why I asked him what his problem was.
"Well, it's not like he knows, I mean he's not being mean to you intentionally..." she said.
"Oh, ok, so if he calls a black person a nigger, but not to their face, that's OK too?" I shot back. I was astounded at how she was taking his side, and basically saying that he wouldn't say such things if he knew I was gay. That still, in my mind, does not excuse a word of the slanderous bullshit he said.
After I finished telling her everything, she asked, "So, does that mean you 'told him', that you'd came out to him?"
"Far from it," I said, then asked if she though he'd have picked up on the implications and my not answering his 'are you telling me you're gay' question.
She seems to think he's 'intuitive' and that the notion is now planted in his mind, that he'll think about it for a few days and then ask her something about it. "That's the way he is," she said, "he'll think to himself for a while first."
"Well, that's why I'm telling you all this now," I said, "in case he turns around and asks you. I didn't want you to be caught off guard about it."
We then talked for the better part of an hour. She's decided that she's good with talking about it with him and that should he ask, she's not going to hide anything. "I think it would be best, and besides, I can't lie to him about it," she said. I agreed, thinking that if she knew him like she should, then he would probably come asking her about it.
Discussion turned to how he might react, how the family at large might find out, how we can't tell the grandparents or fear excommunication, and how the 'small town community' might talk. "But we're pretty independent anyway," she said, "so that part shouldn't really matter."
At the end, I was still shaken by the whole thing, but at the same time I felt a little positive. This might be it, I thought, finally I'll be out to those most important to me. I fantasized about the weight being lifted from my shoulders, of not having to endure the subtle questions from family and from Dad about 'having a girlfriend'.
But after that night, nothing else happened. He's never asked her anything, and never made any attempt to talk to me about it.
It's a little awkward for me, because I can feel myself pushing away from him, trying to put distance between us. For the first few days afterward, the pink elephant in the room loomed larger than ever. I could barely stand in the same room with him and not feel uncomfortable and worried.
And so life has gone for the past week, with me wondering when he's going to ask, or if he even clued in at all.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Do you have a problem...
My hands are still shaking, and I'm trying hard to control my legs from doing the same.
We were standing in the kitchen, washing the dishes, just me and my dad. Mom's out for the evening, and I'd just made some pork chops for dinner. He was talking about somebody who had told him their family seemed not to be the marrying type.
"Maybe they're all queers," he said.
Later, he was talking about how he heard the Provincial government was going to start pay for sex change operations again. "Like we need to be paying for turd-pushers," he said.
I could barely contain myself. I stared into the water held in the sink, aimlessly washing the same plate over and over. Finally, I asked, "Do you have a problem with gays?"
He thought for a moment. "Not really, I guess," he said. "But they seem to think they're better than everyone else, they have more rights or something."
I shook my head. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, the whole pride parade bullshit. You don't see a straight parade, why do they need to have a parade to show people they're gay?"
I didn't really answer that, but kept on washing the dishes. My heart started to sink to my feet, and my chest felt tight. I wanted to cry and vomit at the same time, but stood there idly washing what was left in the sink.
A few moments went by in silence, then he said, "Why, are you telling me you're gay?"
I froze for a moment. This is not how I wanted it to happen, with me angry and hurt and him spouting homophobic crap.
"Would you have a problem if I was?" I asked, not really answering his question but testing his waters.
He mumbled for a moment, then said something along the lines of him "preferring that I'm not."
"Yeah, I guess I'd have a problem," he said, and I felt my heart sink even further. "I might even have to suicide myself."
I stopped breathing. A moment later, I choked out, "That's a bit dramatic."
We finished the dishes and he resumed normal conversation.
---
I've always imagined how my coming out will be to my father. Mostly, I've tried to stay on the positive bent, thinking things will go alright, hoping that after the initial surprise he'll realize I'm not a different person than I was. But as each day goes by, I find myself more and more angry with his closemindness, his intolerance and his ignorance. I wonder if he even realizes how deeply he hurt me just a few moments ago.
The situation has come up before, and I hope it will not be the way it happens, but I've had to stop myself lately from blurting out that yes, I am one of those horrible people he refers to. I'm one of the fags that he seems to have such a problem with, that his son is one of the people he's running down.
Tonight was the closest it's ever come to me actually saying the words to him, and it would be out of anger and hurt, not out of hopeful confidence. I stood there, in the moments after he had said his piece, and fought with myself. Blurt it out now, and get it over with? Wait until a 'better time'?
Whatever the case may be, I was surprised to feel a bit of indignation towards him. Within myself, I felt the sense of strength, that if he's going to hate me for me, so be it. If I'm going to come out to him, I'm going to tell it like it is, and as much as I want him to
I guess the bottom line is, he will love me less when I tell him. But I'm surprised to discover that I would rather be true and honest than continue to lie and be belittled. If he's not going to love his son for being his son, than I don't need that in my life.
I'm not saying I'm going to cut him out when I come out, but I'm not going to be dragged into shame or denial because he can't accept me. I hope that when I do utter the three magic words, he'll be able to get used to it, but who knows.
---
I'm surprised even right now about how I feel. I want to get up, walk up to him and say, "You know what, yes, I am gay." I just want it off my chest, out there, in the open.
I know that as soon as I got face to face with him, I would loose my steam, fall back from my plan. But sitting here, writing this now, I am almost overcome with the urge to just have it over with, to tell him how much he's hurt me, and to try and explain that I'm not some sort of mutant being. It's so hard to control myself not to confront him, yet it's so hard to just go and confront him period.
---
I wonder what he's thinking now, after our conversation. I didn't answer his question about if I'm gay. I wonder if he picked up on that point, realized that I was really trying to pave the way. He's gone outside to cut some grass...but I wonder if it's now on his mind. So tempting to just walk up to him now and tell him. But I know it would be so hard to.
I've been trying to come up with a plan, some way that would minimize his reaction. Should it be morning, so he has a day to digest it? Evening, after he's relaxed a bit and happy? Weekday, so work can distract him, or weekend so he has time to work through it in private?
Do I stay home when I tell him, or run back to Toronto as soon as I say the words, to give him space? Would leaving a letter behind, explaining everything, be better for me, easier on both of us? Will I have the strength to tell him, in the end, that I am gay?
Another night, I'm left feeling scared and cold and alone.
We were standing in the kitchen, washing the dishes, just me and my dad. Mom's out for the evening, and I'd just made some pork chops for dinner. He was talking about somebody who had told him their family seemed not to be the marrying type.
"Maybe they're all queers," he said.
Later, he was talking about how he heard the Provincial government was going to start pay for sex change operations again. "Like we need to be paying for turd-pushers," he said.
I could barely contain myself. I stared into the water held in the sink, aimlessly washing the same plate over and over. Finally, I asked, "Do you have a problem with gays?"
He thought for a moment. "Not really, I guess," he said. "But they seem to think they're better than everyone else, they have more rights or something."
I shook my head. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, the whole pride parade bullshit. You don't see a straight parade, why do they need to have a parade to show people they're gay?"
I didn't really answer that, but kept on washing the dishes. My heart started to sink to my feet, and my chest felt tight. I wanted to cry and vomit at the same time, but stood there idly washing what was left in the sink.
A few moments went by in silence, then he said, "Why, are you telling me you're gay?"
I froze for a moment. This is not how I wanted it to happen, with me angry and hurt and him spouting homophobic crap.
"Would you have a problem if I was?" I asked, not really answering his question but testing his waters.
He mumbled for a moment, then said something along the lines of him "preferring that I'm not."
"Yeah, I guess I'd have a problem," he said, and I felt my heart sink even further. "I might even have to suicide myself."
I stopped breathing. A moment later, I choked out, "That's a bit dramatic."
We finished the dishes and he resumed normal conversation.
---
I've always imagined how my coming out will be to my father. Mostly, I've tried to stay on the positive bent, thinking things will go alright, hoping that after the initial surprise he'll realize I'm not a different person than I was. But as each day goes by, I find myself more and more angry with his closemindness, his intolerance and his ignorance. I wonder if he even realizes how deeply he hurt me just a few moments ago.
The situation has come up before, and I hope it will not be the way it happens, but I've had to stop myself lately from blurting out that yes, I am one of those horrible people he refers to. I'm one of the fags that he seems to have such a problem with, that his son is one of the people he's running down.
Tonight was the closest it's ever come to me actually saying the words to him, and it would be out of anger and hurt, not out of hopeful confidence. I stood there, in the moments after he had said his piece, and fought with myself. Blurt it out now, and get it over with? Wait until a 'better time'?
Whatever the case may be, I was surprised to feel a bit of indignation towards him. Within myself, I felt the sense of strength, that if he's going to hate me for me, so be it. If I'm going to come out to him, I'm going to tell it like it is, and as much as I want him to
I guess the bottom line is, he will love me less when I tell him. But I'm surprised to discover that I would rather be true and honest than continue to lie and be belittled. If he's not going to love his son for being his son, than I don't need that in my life.
I'm not saying I'm going to cut him out when I come out, but I'm not going to be dragged into shame or denial because he can't accept me. I hope that when I do utter the three magic words, he'll be able to get used to it, but who knows.
---
I'm surprised even right now about how I feel. I want to get up, walk up to him and say, "You know what, yes, I am gay." I just want it off my chest, out there, in the open.
I know that as soon as I got face to face with him, I would loose my steam, fall back from my plan. But sitting here, writing this now, I am almost overcome with the urge to just have it over with, to tell him how much he's hurt me, and to try and explain that I'm not some sort of mutant being. It's so hard to control myself not to confront him, yet it's so hard to just go and confront him period.
---
I wonder what he's thinking now, after our conversation. I didn't answer his question about if I'm gay. I wonder if he picked up on that point, realized that I was really trying to pave the way. He's gone outside to cut some grass...but I wonder if it's now on his mind. So tempting to just walk up to him now and tell him. But I know it would be so hard to.
I've been trying to come up with a plan, some way that would minimize his reaction. Should it be morning, so he has a day to digest it? Evening, after he's relaxed a bit and happy? Weekday, so work can distract him, or weekend so he has time to work through it in private?
Do I stay home when I tell him, or run back to Toronto as soon as I say the words, to give him space? Would leaving a letter behind, explaining everything, be better for me, easier on both of us? Will I have the strength to tell him, in the end, that I am gay?
Another night, I'm left feeling scared and cold and alone.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Finally see the light...
I have to thank Oprah for giving me the best Valentines Day I might ever know.
On that fateful day, I felt my optimism and general nonchalant-ness of VDay start to slip. Not that I was bombarded with happy couples...well, until I went out to dinner.
My mother was picking my sorry single ass up, since it was the start of reading week and I had plans to go skiing and frolicking in the north. First, I had to write a midterm that lasted until 6 p.m. (the prof had the nerve to ask me, "What are you writing, War and Peace?" when I asked him for more booklets). I finally got myself together and met up with mom.
We wandered for a bit, then decided that we should eat dinner before making any further movements. Great idea, in principal...but after being turned away from our third restaurant, it looked like we weren't going to get anything to eat.
Finally, we found an alright place that was seating those idiots without reservations on Valentines Day (which was a crowd of mostly single, mostly mid-30's people) at their bar. We pulled up to a couple seats at a small table, no bigger than a dart board, and just chatted and caught up on things.
At some point, a woman entered my peripheral vision, and put a hand softly on my arm. As I turned, recognition flashed, and I leaned out for a hug. Why, it was a semi-distant cousin who was possibly a lesbian! What are you doing here!?
We made the obligatory small talk for a few minutes, then she had to get a seat with her co-worker (a nice blond girl, whom I hoped was her date).
After she had gone, mom gave me that look, the unspoken, "Maybe she's a lesbian, maybe that was her girlfriend." Sufficed to say, it's a long story, but she's a pretty butch woman who hasn't really ever been known to have relationships with men. Not that anyone knows she's seeing women either, but of course, small-town families being what they are, the general unspoken assumption is that she's a homosexual.
Our dinners arrived, we chowed down and talked some more. As we neared finishing, somehow we got to talking about one of mom's friend's kids who got in a fight because another kid called him gay. The poor guy, bless his heart, at 10 years of age, decided to give the bully a big lesson on what being gay means, and that it's not uncool, and that calling someone gay who isn't homosexual is wrong.
Naturally, the kid beat the crap out of him.
"Gee, I thought at that age calling things 'gay' had basically stopped," I said, admittedly surprised. "I mean, high school maybe, but that young?"
She nodded. "I was surprised too," she said, "and a little sad."
We kept eating.
"So, I was watching Oprah the other day," mom said, setting her knife and fork neatly on her plate. "Did you see it?"
I shook no, and took a gulp of beer. Where was this going?
"Well, they had these couples on. And they had had children, and were the perfect families, and all that stuff," she went on. I noticed her eyes start to dart around above and behind my head, but not really looking at me.
"Anyway, well..." she said, lowering her voice, "they turned out to be gay."
"What, the kids?" I asked.
"No, no, the couple. They both were gay, and tried to make it work, but they all came out to each other and everyone." She paused. I nodded along.
"That happens more than you'd think," I said, "people just get sick of lying."
"Well, the point of it was...and what really upset me...was how unhappy they were inside, about hiding it and pretending and forcing themselves." By now her eyes started to glaze, darting to the bottles and screens behind my head.
"I just...it hit me just there, that I would never want that for you, that I don't want you to be unhappy." She started to cry now.
"I finally...I get it," she gasped. "I'm sorry."
My lip started to tremble as she went on about how she really understood I am who I am, and really accepts it and is at peace with it. And how she doesn't want me to be unhappy and miserable, and that hoping that I would wind up falling for a woman was silly and just unfair.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to get there," she said, "but I couldn't control that. But I'm there now."
I realized I had grabbed her hand across the table, and that I was now completely crying in a restaurant full of people on Valentines Day with my mother.
But I felt fucking amazing.
"Uh, I'm going to..." I said, and walked quickly to the men's room. It was deserted, thankfully, and I crashed into a stall and started to sob. I felt so...I don't even know how to describe it now...elated, relieved, accepted, understood.
I quickly realized I had never cried in a public washroom before, and had no idea what the etiquette was. I sat on a toilet, pulled out some paper and cried softly by myself.
Eventually someone staggered in to the urinal beside me, and I realized I had to quiet down and get out of the stall. I did, making sure I'd wiped everything away in the mirror before heading back to my chair.
She was still sitting there, eyes a little wet, our plates vanished. "Sorry," she said. "I always seem to have these kinds of conversations in malls." We both laughed.
I wondered on the way out if my cousin had seen the spectacle, wondered what was going on. Maybe she's more perceptive than I give her credit, and if she truly is a lesbian, maybe she's got me pegged too.
I wondered about Oprah, and how fucking amazing she can be, and I hoped that more than just my mom was changed the day they watched about how hard it is to lie about who you really are, and to accept it for yourself.
And I wondered if I should write Oprah a thank you letter, and tell her what kind of amazing Valentines Day she gave me.
On that fateful day, I felt my optimism and general nonchalant-ness of VDay start to slip. Not that I was bombarded with happy couples...well, until I went out to dinner.
My mother was picking my sorry single ass up, since it was the start of reading week and I had plans to go skiing and frolicking in the north. First, I had to write a midterm that lasted until 6 p.m. (the prof had the nerve to ask me, "What are you writing, War and Peace?" when I asked him for more booklets). I finally got myself together and met up with mom.
We wandered for a bit, then decided that we should eat dinner before making any further movements. Great idea, in principal...but after being turned away from our third restaurant, it looked like we weren't going to get anything to eat.
Finally, we found an alright place that was seating those idiots without reservations on Valentines Day (which was a crowd of mostly single, mostly mid-30's people) at their bar. We pulled up to a couple seats at a small table, no bigger than a dart board, and just chatted and caught up on things.
At some point, a woman entered my peripheral vision, and put a hand softly on my arm. As I turned, recognition flashed, and I leaned out for a hug. Why, it was a semi-distant cousin who was possibly a lesbian! What are you doing here!?
We made the obligatory small talk for a few minutes, then she had to get a seat with her co-worker (a nice blond girl, whom I hoped was her date).
After she had gone, mom gave me that look, the unspoken, "Maybe she's a lesbian, maybe that was her girlfriend." Sufficed to say, it's a long story, but she's a pretty butch woman who hasn't really ever been known to have relationships with men. Not that anyone knows she's seeing women either, but of course, small-town families being what they are, the general unspoken assumption is that she's a homosexual.
Our dinners arrived, we chowed down and talked some more. As we neared finishing, somehow we got to talking about one of mom's friend's kids who got in a fight because another kid called him gay. The poor guy, bless his heart, at 10 years of age, decided to give the bully a big lesson on what being gay means, and that it's not uncool, and that calling someone gay who isn't homosexual is wrong.
Naturally, the kid beat the crap out of him.
"Gee, I thought at that age calling things 'gay' had basically stopped," I said, admittedly surprised. "I mean, high school maybe, but that young?"
She nodded. "I was surprised too," she said, "and a little sad."
We kept eating.
"So, I was watching Oprah the other day," mom said, setting her knife and fork neatly on her plate. "Did you see it?"
I shook no, and took a gulp of beer. Where was this going?
"Well, they had these couples on. And they had had children, and were the perfect families, and all that stuff," she went on. I noticed her eyes start to dart around above and behind my head, but not really looking at me.
"Anyway, well..." she said, lowering her voice, "they turned out to be gay."
"What, the kids?" I asked.
"No, no, the couple. They both were gay, and tried to make it work, but they all came out to each other and everyone." She paused. I nodded along.
"That happens more than you'd think," I said, "people just get sick of lying."
"Well, the point of it was...and what really upset me...was how unhappy they were inside, about hiding it and pretending and forcing themselves." By now her eyes started to glaze, darting to the bottles and screens behind my head.
"I just...it hit me just there, that I would never want that for you, that I don't want you to be unhappy." She started to cry now.
"I finally...I get it," she gasped. "I'm sorry."
My lip started to tremble as she went on about how she really understood I am who I am, and really accepts it and is at peace with it. And how she doesn't want me to be unhappy and miserable, and that hoping that I would wind up falling for a woman was silly and just unfair.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to get there," she said, "but I couldn't control that. But I'm there now."
I realized I had grabbed her hand across the table, and that I was now completely crying in a restaurant full of people on Valentines Day with my mother.
But I felt fucking amazing.
"Uh, I'm going to..." I said, and walked quickly to the men's room. It was deserted, thankfully, and I crashed into a stall and started to sob. I felt so...I don't even know how to describe it now...elated, relieved, accepted, understood.
I quickly realized I had never cried in a public washroom before, and had no idea what the etiquette was. I sat on a toilet, pulled out some paper and cried softly by myself.
Eventually someone staggered in to the urinal beside me, and I realized I had to quiet down and get out of the stall. I did, making sure I'd wiped everything away in the mirror before heading back to my chair.
She was still sitting there, eyes a little wet, our plates vanished. "Sorry," she said. "I always seem to have these kinds of conversations in malls." We both laughed.
I wondered on the way out if my cousin had seen the spectacle, wondered what was going on. Maybe she's more perceptive than I give her credit, and if she truly is a lesbian, maybe she's got me pegged too.
I wondered about Oprah, and how fucking amazing she can be, and I hoped that more than just my mom was changed the day they watched about how hard it is to lie about who you really are, and to accept it for yourself.
And I wondered if I should write Oprah a thank you letter, and tell her what kind of amazing Valentines Day she gave me.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Your choice...
Be what you want to be, says the common phrase.
Everyone loves that one, that great Western ideal of choosing your life, your path. It was the driving mantra of youth since the '60's, when kids started really resisting their parents, fighting to create the life they wanted for themselves.
It really hits to the core of most contemporary culture. We are taught at the youngest ages that we should strive to reach our own goals, to aim for the moon and to do everything we can to make it happen. From Sesame Street onwards we are encouraged to be ourselves, to embrace difference and to make the best lives for ourselves possible.
Even my mother holds this ideal dear. She was listening to the radio a while ago to the song "Wild One" by Faith Hill. The lyrics roughly describe the trails of a young girl, asserting her independence from her parents by making her own choices. It touches on the hot button issues such as clothes, hair, rock music and choices in boyfriends...OK, not exactly 'controversial' topics, but things that traditionally kids and parents are at odds over, with both sides believing they are fundamentally right.
It even has the wonderful line, "Her parents' dreams went up in smoke..."
I watched as the song played. Mom's reaction was fascinating; she nodded and spoke-sang along with Faith, almost emoting a "You go girl!" smile on her face.
Pretty nice to believe that at one time my mother believed that.
But when did it change? When did the caveat get inserted, "You can be anything you want to be...as long as I approve."?
"When she was 3 years old on her daddy's knee, he said, 'You can be anything you want to be...'" That's a line, like I said, that has been drilled into the consciousness of every Western youngster. It's a basic belief of Western Liberalism, that we are all masters of our lives and indeed allowed to pursue any type of lifestyle we want to, and that's OK.
I find it infuriating when parents teach their children that ideology, then fall flat on their asses when it comes to following it through. Sure, you can squabble with your kids about how funny their hair is, and how bizarre their torn and frayed clothes are, but mostly they allow them to make their own choices.
What bothers me most is when parents have objections or really hard times in accepting what their grown children really want. Be it partners, or career paths, or even our favorite topic, sexuality, parents seem to forget that they encouraged their children to make their own choices earlier in life.
I understand where it comes from, in part. The parental drive to protect their children has become overly evident to me in recent months, and usually it's from the best possible intentions. But parents also need to learn to let go of full custody of their children's futures. Sure, we're all bound to make mistakes, but a parental "tisk-tisk" on the choice of boyfriend or girlfriend one has has very little merit, unless the partner has some serious personality flaws all but you can see.
Naturally, where I resent it most is when it comes to accepting one's sexuality. Part of 'being who you want to be' is embracing your natural sexuality. In the case of gays, it means actually having to declare your sexual preference in a world sometimes hostile to your choices. It seems like parents seem to drag their heels particularly badly when it comes to that acceptance.
I remember when my mother basically spat at me that I had 'made my choice' to be gay. I cleared up, rather angrily, that I was who I was, and it was something that I had no control over. I didn't choose to be gay, she didn't choose to be straight...it's just the way it is. When you put it in that black and white, it seems futile to argue against it, to resist accepting the decision of the other person.
What's more irritating is how parents seem to forget that open-minded attitude. It's one thing to take a little coaxing to come around on the issue, but quite another to flat out refuse to accept it.
Even to this day, I'm not sure how 'good' my mother is with the gay thing. She never really mentions it, ever. Not that I'm expecting her to ask, "How's the anal sex thing?", but I would like to know how she's adjusting to the whole thing. I just don't understand, can't understand why there is such resistance to this particular facet of my person. I grew up with the ideals I described above, yet they flew out the window the minute I came out.
She even acknowledged it that night, how she thought of herself as such an accepting person before I told her, how all through her career she really believed in it all. And she didn't say she stopped believing in it...she just, like me, couldn't understand what the problem, the hesitation with accepting my sexuality.
"You tell her life is hard, she says, 'That's alright.'" Faith sings.
You go girl.
Everyone loves that one, that great Western ideal of choosing your life, your path. It was the driving mantra of youth since the '60's, when kids started really resisting their parents, fighting to create the life they wanted for themselves.
It really hits to the core of most contemporary culture. We are taught at the youngest ages that we should strive to reach our own goals, to aim for the moon and to do everything we can to make it happen. From Sesame Street onwards we are encouraged to be ourselves, to embrace difference and to make the best lives for ourselves possible.
Even my mother holds this ideal dear. She was listening to the radio a while ago to the song "Wild One" by Faith Hill. The lyrics roughly describe the trails of a young girl, asserting her independence from her parents by making her own choices. It touches on the hot button issues such as clothes, hair, rock music and choices in boyfriends...OK, not exactly 'controversial' topics, but things that traditionally kids and parents are at odds over, with both sides believing they are fundamentally right.
It even has the wonderful line, "Her parents' dreams went up in smoke..."
I watched as the song played. Mom's reaction was fascinating; she nodded and spoke-sang along with Faith, almost emoting a "You go girl!" smile on her face.
Pretty nice to believe that at one time my mother believed that.
But when did it change? When did the caveat get inserted, "You can be anything you want to be...as long as I approve."?
"When she was 3 years old on her daddy's knee, he said, 'You can be anything you want to be...'" That's a line, like I said, that has been drilled into the consciousness of every Western youngster. It's a basic belief of Western Liberalism, that we are all masters of our lives and indeed allowed to pursue any type of lifestyle we want to, and that's OK.
I find it infuriating when parents teach their children that ideology, then fall flat on their asses when it comes to following it through. Sure, you can squabble with your kids about how funny their hair is, and how bizarre their torn and frayed clothes are, but mostly they allow them to make their own choices.
What bothers me most is when parents have objections or really hard times in accepting what their grown children really want. Be it partners, or career paths, or even our favorite topic, sexuality, parents seem to forget that they encouraged their children to make their own choices earlier in life.
I understand where it comes from, in part. The parental drive to protect their children has become overly evident to me in recent months, and usually it's from the best possible intentions. But parents also need to learn to let go of full custody of their children's futures. Sure, we're all bound to make mistakes, but a parental "tisk-tisk" on the choice of boyfriend or girlfriend one has has very little merit, unless the partner has some serious personality flaws all but you can see.
Naturally, where I resent it most is when it comes to accepting one's sexuality. Part of 'being who you want to be' is embracing your natural sexuality. In the case of gays, it means actually having to declare your sexual preference in a world sometimes hostile to your choices. It seems like parents seem to drag their heels particularly badly when it comes to that acceptance.
I remember when my mother basically spat at me that I had 'made my choice' to be gay. I cleared up, rather angrily, that I was who I was, and it was something that I had no control over. I didn't choose to be gay, she didn't choose to be straight...it's just the way it is. When you put it in that black and white, it seems futile to argue against it, to resist accepting the decision of the other person.
What's more irritating is how parents seem to forget that open-minded attitude. It's one thing to take a little coaxing to come around on the issue, but quite another to flat out refuse to accept it.
Even to this day, I'm not sure how 'good' my mother is with the gay thing. She never really mentions it, ever. Not that I'm expecting her to ask, "How's the anal sex thing?", but I would like to know how she's adjusting to the whole thing. I just don't understand, can't understand why there is such resistance to this particular facet of my person. I grew up with the ideals I described above, yet they flew out the window the minute I came out.
She even acknowledged it that night, how she thought of herself as such an accepting person before I told her, how all through her career she really believed in it all. And she didn't say she stopped believing in it...she just, like me, couldn't understand what the problem, the hesitation with accepting my sexuality.
"You tell her life is hard, she says, 'That's alright.'" Faith sings.
You go girl.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Semi-closeted/X-mas...
I'm being shoved back into the closet, albeit temporarily.
And I'm not even talking about back home! Though, naturally, like all closet issues, it relates to home. Tomorrow night a group of us are going out to celebrate the end of the semester. This group includes several good friends, as well as one girl I went to high school with, who's visiting my roommate.
Laura asked me yesterday about what we were going to do. "Actually, everybody knows about you except her of the people going with us!" she said, concerned. "What do you want us to do?"
I looked at her. What should they need to do? I mean, it's not like I'm going with a guy on my arm, and the chances that we'd get into a 'gay' conversation are pretty remote...yet I started to get a little nervous. I mean, what if she finds out? I apparently 'act differently' around my Toronto crew than I do with people from home/high school, and Laura was concerned that one of the Toronto people would out me through a casual conversation.
This doesn't scare me, really, but for the fact the girl visiting would no doubt be blabbing the news around bright and early the next morning. Essentially, she would be one of the people I would fear would do the very thing I want to avoid; making a big spectacle of my sexuality even though it has nothing to do with her or anyone she'd talk to.
"How about I just tell everyone not to bring it up," Laura said. "I just would feel terrible if somebody said something that outed you completely by accident, so if I say something now they'll be good with watching their conversations..."
I agreed, hesitantly. It makes me feel bad, causing such reaction that we now have to watch what we say in our own home so that I don't get outed to the town crier.
But still, is this a bad price to pay so I don't get put under the microscope?
However it goes, I don't plan on hiding too much. Worse comes to worse, though I won't be saying "I'm gay" to anyone, I don't have a problem with her drawing her own conclusions...besides, if I'm talking gay with someone, she probably wouldn't be involved in the conversation anyway. I don't plan on censoring much of anything, because there really shouldn't be anything to censor! We're not going to a strip club, it's just a bunch of people going out to celebrate Christmas and the end of school.
So why am I a little worried?...
---
Christmas shopping is not going well.
Nevermind my parents are impossible to buy for, plus my grandfather...but my few friends I plan on buying gifts aren't making it easy for me either.
The most common answer I've received is, "I don't really need anything," followed by, "There's nothing I really want."
I'll admit, I fall into that camp relatively easily. The only presents I've 'asked' for was stuff I bought and was promptly taken from me to be used as Christmas presents. But why is it so impossible for my generation to think of things they want for Christmas? I mean, we're all starving students after all...yet I can think of very few things I simply do not have or cannot afford, other than luxury items I'd never be given anyway.
Perhaps it's time to get all philosophical and tell my friends, family and neighbors that Christmas is about spreading the love and not about consumerism. I've never been bogged down in the "me-me-me" thinking of Christmas, so it's not like I'm discovering this for the first time. Still...it makes me wonder. I mean, does the fact that I don't ask for something I might really need say that I already have everything in life I currently require? Of course, that doesn't mean I bought the $600 D&G sweater I'm in love with...but damn, I don't really need that anyway.
Currently sitting under my Christmas tree, with my name on it:
-2 Boss shirts, both of which I'll be stealing for different Christmas functions so I look hot
-1 pair Boss pants, currently being tailored...so not even under the tree yet
-1 chest of Bordeaux wines
-1 1kg Cadbury's milk chocolate bar, imported from England
Hmm...other than a new camera, I really don't think I need much else (and I don't even 'need' a new camera). And looking at that little list, I've already got more than many others will see.
So now I've just got to focus on getting some things for other people. And who knows, maybe I'll buy a goat for some African village to actually get something somebody really needs.
And I'm not even talking about back home! Though, naturally, like all closet issues, it relates to home. Tomorrow night a group of us are going out to celebrate the end of the semester. This group includes several good friends, as well as one girl I went to high school with, who's visiting my roommate.
Laura asked me yesterday about what we were going to do. "Actually, everybody knows about you except her of the people going with us!" she said, concerned. "What do you want us to do?"
I looked at her. What should they need to do? I mean, it's not like I'm going with a guy on my arm, and the chances that we'd get into a 'gay' conversation are pretty remote...yet I started to get a little nervous. I mean, what if she finds out? I apparently 'act differently' around my Toronto crew than I do with people from home/high school, and Laura was concerned that one of the Toronto people would out me through a casual conversation.
This doesn't scare me, really, but for the fact the girl visiting would no doubt be blabbing the news around bright and early the next morning. Essentially, she would be one of the people I would fear would do the very thing I want to avoid; making a big spectacle of my sexuality even though it has nothing to do with her or anyone she'd talk to.
"How about I just tell everyone not to bring it up," Laura said. "I just would feel terrible if somebody said something that outed you completely by accident, so if I say something now they'll be good with watching their conversations..."
I agreed, hesitantly. It makes me feel bad, causing such reaction that we now have to watch what we say in our own home so that I don't get outed to the town crier.
But still, is this a bad price to pay so I don't get put under the microscope?
However it goes, I don't plan on hiding too much. Worse comes to worse, though I won't be saying "I'm gay" to anyone, I don't have a problem with her drawing her own conclusions...besides, if I'm talking gay with someone, she probably wouldn't be involved in the conversation anyway. I don't plan on censoring much of anything, because there really shouldn't be anything to censor! We're not going to a strip club, it's just a bunch of people going out to celebrate Christmas and the end of school.
So why am I a little worried?...
---
Christmas shopping is not going well.
Nevermind my parents are impossible to buy for, plus my grandfather...but my few friends I plan on buying gifts aren't making it easy for me either.
The most common answer I've received is, "I don't really need anything," followed by, "There's nothing I really want."
I'll admit, I fall into that camp relatively easily. The only presents I've 'asked' for was stuff I bought and was promptly taken from me to be used as Christmas presents. But why is it so impossible for my generation to think of things they want for Christmas? I mean, we're all starving students after all...yet I can think of very few things I simply do not have or cannot afford, other than luxury items I'd never be given anyway.
Perhaps it's time to get all philosophical and tell my friends, family and neighbors that Christmas is about spreading the love and not about consumerism. I've never been bogged down in the "me-me-me" thinking of Christmas, so it's not like I'm discovering this for the first time. Still...it makes me wonder. I mean, does the fact that I don't ask for something I might really need say that I already have everything in life I currently require? Of course, that doesn't mean I bought the $600 D&G sweater I'm in love with...but damn, I don't really need that anyway.
Currently sitting under my Christmas tree, with my name on it:
-2 Boss shirts, both of which I'll be stealing for different Christmas functions so I look hot
-1 pair Boss pants, currently being tailored...so not even under the tree yet
-1 chest of Bordeaux wines
-1 1kg Cadbury's milk chocolate bar, imported from England
Hmm...other than a new camera, I really don't think I need much else (and I don't even 'need' a new camera). And looking at that little list, I've already got more than many others will see.
So now I've just got to focus on getting some things for other people. And who knows, maybe I'll buy a goat for some African village to actually get something somebody really needs.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Let it snow...
Finally I've figured out what my preferred weather system is.
Snowfall.
I was joyful beyond words last night, walking from my place out to meet friends for dinner. Through the day, the snow had flown off and on, but I wasn't expecting it to be dumping when I was headed out the door.
As soon as I rounded the corner from my door, a smile crossed my face. It was cold, but a manageable cold, one you don't really notice too badly until you're frozen stiff. Gloves and scarf and iPod all firmly in place, I set out amongst the falling snow.
Like I had said before, snow silently fall is so peaceful, and even more so at night. With the beautiful glow of the city lights as a backdrop, huge fluffy white flakes settled on the asphalt and patches of grass.
The entire walk I was smiling like an idiot, humming along to my iPod and completely enjoying the feeling of walking through this storm. Really, I don't know what it is that makes me so entranced by snow over, say, a thunderstorm...but I now recognize that my favorite weather system is a good snowfall, especially at night. It turns the gray city streets into a different, magical setting.
The dinner was also nice, something I needed I guess. A few of us met up at around 7, and tried to get into a couple restaurants. But of course, no reservations on a Friday night near Christmas means a bit of a wait for a table. But it was worth it.
We wound up at a fairly nice place with a 45 minute wait. Someone suggested just buying some ingredients and cooking at my place, but I really didn't want to have to walk all the way back. We took up a spot at the bar, had a drink and just talked. The minutes blew by, and we had our table.
During the dinner conversation, I became a little apprehensive in wondering if people knew about me. There were the usual sex questions, and someone started talking about bath houses and what exactly went on in there.
"Oh, group sex, public sex, one-on-one sex in public or private...pretty much anything," I said blandly.
"And how do you know so much about this?" one of them joked.
"Well, not that I've actually been to one before," I said, laughing.
Time wore on, and I don't recall how it came up, but someone was asking a question and suddenly tagged on, "But I'm not entirely sure, your sexuality seems to be a bit ambiguous, so do you mind if I ask what orientation you are?"
I shook my head, and said, "Not at all, I'm gay."
"Ah, well that's what I thought, but wanted to make sure," he said. "Oh, and I'm totally cool with it, by the way." Why do people have to tag that on? Obviously I would suspect you're alright with it, if you didn't jump from your seat and run the other direction.
Still, it's nice to hear that people want to go the extra step and really remind you it doesn't matter.
Outside, from our seat beside a window, I could see all sort of people, and all sorts of snow. Magic.
Conversation then took another turn, as I was informed of some sort of informal declaration about people in our program. Apparently I rank as one of the 'cool' people in my program, part of a very short list according to the people privy to such information. I was also declared one of the best looking, but of course, I'm not letting this all go to my head...
Actually, it's almost funny for me to have such statements made about me. I would never consider myself a ranking member of the 'cool kids' in my program, yet I've been voted in as such. It kinda makes me feel good, considering I'm not out to impress anyone by acting any differently than I normally would. So that must mean...people like me for who I am?
Oh, there's also one person who doesn't like me much, but I like her fine so we all think it's a miscommunication.
After several drinks and hours of conversation, we left at around 12:30 a.m., light-hearted and talked out. Outside, the snow was still falling in quiet wisps, and as I walked home I still had the goofy smile on my face.
This time, it was about more than the snow.
Snowfall.
I was joyful beyond words last night, walking from my place out to meet friends for dinner. Through the day, the snow had flown off and on, but I wasn't expecting it to be dumping when I was headed out the door.
As soon as I rounded the corner from my door, a smile crossed my face. It was cold, but a manageable cold, one you don't really notice too badly until you're frozen stiff. Gloves and scarf and iPod all firmly in place, I set out amongst the falling snow.
Like I had said before, snow silently fall is so peaceful, and even more so at night. With the beautiful glow of the city lights as a backdrop, huge fluffy white flakes settled on the asphalt and patches of grass.
The entire walk I was smiling like an idiot, humming along to my iPod and completely enjoying the feeling of walking through this storm. Really, I don't know what it is that makes me so entranced by snow over, say, a thunderstorm...but I now recognize that my favorite weather system is a good snowfall, especially at night. It turns the gray city streets into a different, magical setting.
The dinner was also nice, something I needed I guess. A few of us met up at around 7, and tried to get into a couple restaurants. But of course, no reservations on a Friday night near Christmas means a bit of a wait for a table. But it was worth it.
We wound up at a fairly nice place with a 45 minute wait. Someone suggested just buying some ingredients and cooking at my place, but I really didn't want to have to walk all the way back. We took up a spot at the bar, had a drink and just talked. The minutes blew by, and we had our table.
During the dinner conversation, I became a little apprehensive in wondering if people knew about me. There were the usual sex questions, and someone started talking about bath houses and what exactly went on in there.
"Oh, group sex, public sex, one-on-one sex in public or private...pretty much anything," I said blandly.
"And how do you know so much about this?" one of them joked.
"Well, not that I've actually been to one before," I said, laughing.
Time wore on, and I don't recall how it came up, but someone was asking a question and suddenly tagged on, "But I'm not entirely sure, your sexuality seems to be a bit ambiguous, so do you mind if I ask what orientation you are?"
I shook my head, and said, "Not at all, I'm gay."
"Ah, well that's what I thought, but wanted to make sure," he said. "Oh, and I'm totally cool with it, by the way." Why do people have to tag that on? Obviously I would suspect you're alright with it, if you didn't jump from your seat and run the other direction.
Still, it's nice to hear that people want to go the extra step and really remind you it doesn't matter.
Outside, from our seat beside a window, I could see all sort of people, and all sorts of snow. Magic.
Conversation then took another turn, as I was informed of some sort of informal declaration about people in our program. Apparently I rank as one of the 'cool' people in my program, part of a very short list according to the people privy to such information. I was also declared one of the best looking, but of course, I'm not letting this all go to my head...
Actually, it's almost funny for me to have such statements made about me. I would never consider myself a ranking member of the 'cool kids' in my program, yet I've been voted in as such. It kinda makes me feel good, considering I'm not out to impress anyone by acting any differently than I normally would. So that must mean...people like me for who I am?
Oh, there's also one person who doesn't like me much, but I like her fine so we all think it's a miscommunication.
After several drinks and hours of conversation, we left at around 12:30 a.m., light-hearted and talked out. Outside, the snow was still falling in quiet wisps, and as I walked home I still had the goofy smile on my face.
This time, it was about more than the snow.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Unintentionally hard-hitting question...
An old friend asked me an interesting question the other day.
"And personally?"
We'd bumped into each other in the hall, and tried to catch up with each other. A little difficult when both flanked by two other people, none of which know each other. We covered the little bit of ground that we normally would, just the very basic, "How's the semester treating you."
She talked a little more, because she's overly-talkative and slightly self-centered. Not that I mind, because I'm always interested in hearing how others are doing. I sometimes find it hard to talk about myself, and I really don't know why. It seems like it's my nature just to draw stories out from others, not simply talk about my own life.
I find that happens often, especially when meeting new people, always unhelpful when thinking dating or trying to hit it off with someone. Sometimes I draw on a piece of inner vitality that super-charges my wit and storytelling capabilities, and I can hold someone entranced in conversation.
But mostly, I find it difficult to just talk casually about myself. Often, I find myself saying I'm kinda boring, simply because I can't think of interesting things to say, or things I think other people would find interesting.
When reviewing my life, I've actually got lots of experiences and things going for me. But it's hard to translate that sort of thing into everyday conversation. Which is what made her question so profound for me.
"So, how about school. What fun academically are we having this year?" she asked. I filled her in on the power-struggle with the prof, and the general comments about the year. She nodded along, tossing in a story quite like my own professor. Then came the one I find most difficult to answer.
"And personally? How are you doing?" she asked, wide eyed.
I paused for a moment, drawing a blank stare. Really, I'd never considered this. I think about my problems (real and perceived) far more than I think about the good things in life, but I don't recall the last time someone so pointedly asked how 'I' was doing.
"Fine...oh fine, you know, things aren't bad. Just kinda wrapping up the semester..." I said.
I'm fairly certain that her question was aimed at finding out if I was single or not. From her end, that was probably all it meant. But it opened a great question within myself.
How can one answer that question honestly, much less to someone who isn't a 'best friend'? It's so personal. The public answer will always be a variation of 'fine', but if one is being honest, the answer is probably going to be a lot darker.
I thought about it as I walked home. If one of my closest friends asked me how I was doing personally, how would I respond?
The answer would be, I feel isolated. That's the one clear label I think defines my current apprehensions with my life. Sure, there's the loads of good, but we usually (and unfortunately) concentrate on the bad.
My isolation comes in many forms. I feel isolated from friends of yesterday, isolated from the friends of today, who seem to do very little in the span of a week. Isolated at home in Toronto, single in an apartment full of couples. Isolated in companionship, as in, lacking it in any adult form. Isolated from the mystical 'gay community', which I seemingly can find no secret knock to open the door and start spreading my wings. Even isolation within my family, with my horrible secret standing in the corner whenever I'm in the same room as my father.
The other label I was tempted to use was loneliness, but I don't necessarily think that tells the story. Sure, I'm 'lonely' for some added nights out, and certainly chronically 'lonely' in the relationship department, but I think the term isolated really captures the better meaning of it.
As I continually remind myself, there is lots to be grateful and happy about. My education is something I'm proud of, as are my scholastic accomplishments. And of the intricate knitting of my friendships, I'm also quite happy to report complete comfort with them all. I'm happy that I get to live my 21-year-old life in many ways that I want to, happy to sweep my floors and clean by bathroom.
But inevitably it always goes back to the bad. Academics and cleaning products won't keep you warm at night.
I feel like I'm missing the 'big picture', the 'out there' part of life. I read enough and see enough to at least begin to understand things I may (or may not, depending on how you see it) be missing out on. And I wonder, when will I?
Something within me is begging for a dash of immaturity, a dash of the wild side. If anything, I want it simply to let me know if I'm happy in the place that I am after all, or if I really do want some of the things I wonder about. At the same time, I don't know how one pursues that without being 'in for a penny, in for a pound.'
In High School, I always carried with me a buoyant optimism. Things would be better, once I was a little older. The awkward teenage years would be behind me. And so it went, indeed, as I got older things did get better. My optimism helped keep me afloat, with the possibly naive chanting in my brain that good things come to he who waits, and, once you make some changes, things will be better.
These days, I'm forgetting my buoyancy. I really need to re-light that flame within myself, to look back at how things indeed had changed for the better, as time went by. Sure, I'm still not in the place where I think I want to be yet, but Rome wasn't built in a day. And when I think about how my life has changed in the past year, I get dizzy because I never even imagined that things would have happened as they did.
But still, there are the elusive moments that I'm still wondering about. I'm not getting any younger, and when I think about kids who are 18, even 20, and have more of that cultural capital than I do, more connections, more understanding and acceptance, I get a little upset.
I'm not getting any younger.
But things take time, the other side says.
You have to make your own path.
Only if the doors are open, the other side says.
This is your fault, you've failed, you're the same person you've always been even if you want to believe change is around the corner.
I can't be blamed if it's just 'not my time' yet. Remember when I said, "It just wasn't in the cards?..."
I guess it's time for a change again. But I thought I'd already done what I needed to do. Guess not, after all.
Same old question. How?
"And personally?"
We'd bumped into each other in the hall, and tried to catch up with each other. A little difficult when both flanked by two other people, none of which know each other. We covered the little bit of ground that we normally would, just the very basic, "How's the semester treating you."
She talked a little more, because she's overly-talkative and slightly self-centered. Not that I mind, because I'm always interested in hearing how others are doing. I sometimes find it hard to talk about myself, and I really don't know why. It seems like it's my nature just to draw stories out from others, not simply talk about my own life.
I find that happens often, especially when meeting new people, always unhelpful when thinking dating or trying to hit it off with someone. Sometimes I draw on a piece of inner vitality that super-charges my wit and storytelling capabilities, and I can hold someone entranced in conversation.
But mostly, I find it difficult to just talk casually about myself. Often, I find myself saying I'm kinda boring, simply because I can't think of interesting things to say, or things I think other people would find interesting.
When reviewing my life, I've actually got lots of experiences and things going for me. But it's hard to translate that sort of thing into everyday conversation. Which is what made her question so profound for me.
"So, how about school. What fun academically are we having this year?" she asked. I filled her in on the power-struggle with the prof, and the general comments about the year. She nodded along, tossing in a story quite like my own professor. Then came the one I find most difficult to answer.
"And personally? How are you doing?" she asked, wide eyed.
I paused for a moment, drawing a blank stare. Really, I'd never considered this. I think about my problems (real and perceived) far more than I think about the good things in life, but I don't recall the last time someone so pointedly asked how 'I' was doing.
"Fine...oh fine, you know, things aren't bad. Just kinda wrapping up the semester..." I said.
I'm fairly certain that her question was aimed at finding out if I was single or not. From her end, that was probably all it meant. But it opened a great question within myself.
How can one answer that question honestly, much less to someone who isn't a 'best friend'? It's so personal. The public answer will always be a variation of 'fine', but if one is being honest, the answer is probably going to be a lot darker.
I thought about it as I walked home. If one of my closest friends asked me how I was doing personally, how would I respond?
The answer would be, I feel isolated. That's the one clear label I think defines my current apprehensions with my life. Sure, there's the loads of good, but we usually (and unfortunately) concentrate on the bad.
My isolation comes in many forms. I feel isolated from friends of yesterday, isolated from the friends of today, who seem to do very little in the span of a week. Isolated at home in Toronto, single in an apartment full of couples. Isolated in companionship, as in, lacking it in any adult form. Isolated from the mystical 'gay community', which I seemingly can find no secret knock to open the door and start spreading my wings. Even isolation within my family, with my horrible secret standing in the corner whenever I'm in the same room as my father.
The other label I was tempted to use was loneliness, but I don't necessarily think that tells the story. Sure, I'm 'lonely' for some added nights out, and certainly chronically 'lonely' in the relationship department, but I think the term isolated really captures the better meaning of it.
As I continually remind myself, there is lots to be grateful and happy about. My education is something I'm proud of, as are my scholastic accomplishments. And of the intricate knitting of my friendships, I'm also quite happy to report complete comfort with them all. I'm happy that I get to live my 21-year-old life in many ways that I want to, happy to sweep my floors and clean by bathroom.
But inevitably it always goes back to the bad. Academics and cleaning products won't keep you warm at night.
I feel like I'm missing the 'big picture', the 'out there' part of life. I read enough and see enough to at least begin to understand things I may (or may not, depending on how you see it) be missing out on. And I wonder, when will I?
Something within me is begging for a dash of immaturity, a dash of the wild side. If anything, I want it simply to let me know if I'm happy in the place that I am after all, or if I really do want some of the things I wonder about. At the same time, I don't know how one pursues that without being 'in for a penny, in for a pound.'
In High School, I always carried with me a buoyant optimism. Things would be better, once I was a little older. The awkward teenage years would be behind me. And so it went, indeed, as I got older things did get better. My optimism helped keep me afloat, with the possibly naive chanting in my brain that good things come to he who waits, and, once you make some changes, things will be better.
These days, I'm forgetting my buoyancy. I really need to re-light that flame within myself, to look back at how things indeed had changed for the better, as time went by. Sure, I'm still not in the place where I think I want to be yet, but Rome wasn't built in a day. And when I think about how my life has changed in the past year, I get dizzy because I never even imagined that things would have happened as they did.
But still, there are the elusive moments that I'm still wondering about. I'm not getting any younger, and when I think about kids who are 18, even 20, and have more of that cultural capital than I do, more connections, more understanding and acceptance, I get a little upset.
I'm not getting any younger.
But things take time, the other side says.
You have to make your own path.
Only if the doors are open, the other side says.
This is your fault, you've failed, you're the same person you've always been even if you want to believe change is around the corner.
I can't be blamed if it's just 'not my time' yet. Remember when I said, "It just wasn't in the cards?..."
I guess it's time for a change again. But I thought I'd already done what I needed to do. Guess not, after all.
Same old question. How?
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
"You do realize I'm gay..."
So I found a way to tell Becca today.
We had sat down to lunch, and were digging into our sandwiches when she asked me what we'd done in our Monday class she had conveniently slept in and missed.
I gave a brief recap, with the things that immediately came to mind.
"But really, I don't so much take notes for that class, I write down how many minutes he spends harping on a topic. For instance, he spent 15 minutes talking about our midterm results, even though he didn't give them back to us," I said. "Here, let me grab my notebook and we'll see what else he said.
As I was reaching into my bag, she gave me my introduction. "You just don't like him because he's a fag."
There was one of those seconds-that-feels-like-years pauses, and I looked back up across the table at her.
"You do realize I'm gay," I said, staring her straight in the eye.
The sandwich that was halfway in her mouth fell from her hands and onto the wrapper on the tabletop, followed by the chunk she'd just taken a bite out of. Her eyes bugged out a little, and she gaped at me with now-empty hands.
"Uh, NO!" she said. She whipped herself into this fluster, waving her hands and repeating, "No way, you're kidding, I didn't know!"
I smiled tightly. She calmed down a moment later.
"Oh, wow," she said. "I mean...wow. So I really don't have any straight male friends. And here I thought you were the only one."
I laughed, and reminded her of at least one guy I know is straight she hangs out with. But I had to bite my tongue and refrain from asking her about the other 'straight' guys she hangs out with...who must not be so straight after all.
"So, how's being gay?" she asked, clearly looking for a clever comeback to such bombshell news.
"Oh, you know, it's fine. I'm not the exciting kind," I said, "so there's no shameless nudity and group sex."
"Damn," she said, "see, those are the only types I know, flaming homos they are...dancing around the bar with no clothes on...I think I like you better."
"Ha," I said, "you're a lucky girl, enjoy the view when you guys are out!"
"So, tell me about your notes then..." she said, ending the gay portion of our conversation.
All I can say, definitely one of the more memorable coming-out's I've had.
We had sat down to lunch, and were digging into our sandwiches when she asked me what we'd done in our Monday class she had conveniently slept in and missed.
I gave a brief recap, with the things that immediately came to mind.
"But really, I don't so much take notes for that class, I write down how many minutes he spends harping on a topic. For instance, he spent 15 minutes talking about our midterm results, even though he didn't give them back to us," I said. "Here, let me grab my notebook and we'll see what else he said.
As I was reaching into my bag, she gave me my introduction. "You just don't like him because he's a fag."
There was one of those seconds-that-feels-like-years pauses, and I looked back up across the table at her.
"You do realize I'm gay," I said, staring her straight in the eye.
The sandwich that was halfway in her mouth fell from her hands and onto the wrapper on the tabletop, followed by the chunk she'd just taken a bite out of. Her eyes bugged out a little, and she gaped at me with now-empty hands.
"Uh, NO!" she said. She whipped herself into this fluster, waving her hands and repeating, "No way, you're kidding, I didn't know!"
I smiled tightly. She calmed down a moment later.
"Oh, wow," she said. "I mean...wow. So I really don't have any straight male friends. And here I thought you were the only one."
I laughed, and reminded her of at least one guy I know is straight she hangs out with. But I had to bite my tongue and refrain from asking her about the other 'straight' guys she hangs out with...who must not be so straight after all.
"So, how's being gay?" she asked, clearly looking for a clever comeback to such bombshell news.
"Oh, you know, it's fine. I'm not the exciting kind," I said, "so there's no shameless nudity and group sex."
"Damn," she said, "see, those are the only types I know, flaming homos they are...dancing around the bar with no clothes on...I think I like you better."
"Ha," I said, "you're a lucky girl, enjoy the view when you guys are out!"
"So, tell me about your notes then..." she said, ending the gay portion of our conversation.
All I can say, definitely one of the more memorable coming-out's I've had.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
All I'm saying...
I need to work on a segue for the, "I'm gay," revelation.
There are people who are becoming friends this semester that don't know. And even though I think they should have bloody well figured it out by now, I've gotta start saying it out loud to make sure.
Short of mentioning how cute I think the boy is who sits a few desks away, I don't know of any subtle ways to clue them in. (Though that boy is damn cute...I spent 2 hours staring at him today, and I think he was, at some point, making eye contact. That could, however, be because I was looking in his direction, as his eye contact wasn't followed through with many smiles.)
For instance, today I found myself alone with Becca after our class ended. We grabbed coffee and hit up an office supply store so I could get some more notepads. I've been wanting to mention the fact that I'm gay pretty badly, for several reason. One would be that she's got lots of gay friends, and would be accepting. Another, in that vein, is the fact she'd probably open up a little more to me knowing that I was gay.
And it seems impossible that she doesn't. I don't censor myself when I'm with that group of people, short of not saying anything about being gay.
Today I probed subtly into the situation. She had mentioned something about, "Who wouldn't want to sleep with me? I'm fabulous."
I paused. I wanted to say, "Well, me." But it seemed like that wouldn't completely paint the picture.
"Uh...homosexuals," I said. She laughed aloud.
"I just keep telling those guys, I'll be the one to turn them. They don't believe me, but I haven't tried yet," she said, shaking her head.
Her gay friends are part of the 'gay elite' at school. I hear things through her that surprise and delight me, like stories of the 'straight' frat students that wind up in the gay elite's beds. But, these guys are absolutely flamingly gay. I mean, you can see their sequins from the space shuttle. I probably don't hold a candle to them.
Then again...
We found ourselves shopping, as one does when buying coffee and paper products. I had no intention of buying anything, but I wanted to check out some Kenneth Cole and Clairborne stuff. We did the usual bitching..."Hideous!" "Disgusting." "Plaid."
Moments later, she was cooing over a Calvin Klein sweater. I thought it was pretty nice, and called it "cuteish". First she wanted to take it for herself, then decided she could give it to her boyfriend. I was taking off my jacket when she turned around to ask if I could try it on for her.
"Of course, hell, I'm in love with it," I said, pulling it on. It fit beautifully, and looked pretty damn nice. "Oh God, it's great!" I said, looking in the mirror standing beside us. "What do you think?"
"Oh, shit. It's pretty nice," she said.
"Yeah, but the sweater, or the sweater on me."
"On you, on you...Jesus," she laughed.
As she was looking down at the pile in front of her, I twirled back over the the mirror for another look. I ran my hand up and down the opposite arm, and smiled. She looked up and caught me, laughing.
"Oh, you can take it off now..."
Point is, and there was a point to that ramble, I don't know how straight she thinks I am. I mean, what straight boy goes shopping without the intent to buy anything, instead simply walking around trashing most clothes?
After our shopping trip, she walked me home. I tried desperately to think up a way to tell her, but I came up with nothing other than my standard, serious-discussion, "Can we talk about something," intro. I didn't use it, because it's not the proper situation.
I got used to telling good friends, people I've known a while. It usually went the same way every time; I never flippantly said, "Oh, I'm a homo," in passing. It just didn't happen that way, because those people always deserved the 'sit down' conversation.
Now that I'm coming out to people at school, things are casual. It's not as if every person I know needs me to sit them down for the shocking news. What happened with Joe was perfect, that segue of, "So about that dating..." led to me casually saying I'm gay. But what about friends that don't just throw me that open door?
I need some lines. Some way of guiding the conversation to that casual coming out point, without me having to just stop what I'm doing and say the two words I need to.
Help! What do you say?
There are people who are becoming friends this semester that don't know. And even though I think they should have bloody well figured it out by now, I've gotta start saying it out loud to make sure.
Short of mentioning how cute I think the boy is who sits a few desks away, I don't know of any subtle ways to clue them in. (Though that boy is damn cute...I spent 2 hours staring at him today, and I think he was, at some point, making eye contact. That could, however, be because I was looking in his direction, as his eye contact wasn't followed through with many smiles.)
For instance, today I found myself alone with Becca after our class ended. We grabbed coffee and hit up an office supply store so I could get some more notepads. I've been wanting to mention the fact that I'm gay pretty badly, for several reason. One would be that she's got lots of gay friends, and would be accepting. Another, in that vein, is the fact she'd probably open up a little more to me knowing that I was gay.
And it seems impossible that she doesn't. I don't censor myself when I'm with that group of people, short of not saying anything about being gay.
Today I probed subtly into the situation. She had mentioned something about, "Who wouldn't want to sleep with me? I'm fabulous."
I paused. I wanted to say, "Well, me." But it seemed like that wouldn't completely paint the picture.
"Uh...homosexuals," I said. She laughed aloud.
"I just keep telling those guys, I'll be the one to turn them. They don't believe me, but I haven't tried yet," she said, shaking her head.
Her gay friends are part of the 'gay elite' at school. I hear things through her that surprise and delight me, like stories of the 'straight' frat students that wind up in the gay elite's beds. But, these guys are absolutely flamingly gay. I mean, you can see their sequins from the space shuttle. I probably don't hold a candle to them.
Then again...
We found ourselves shopping, as one does when buying coffee and paper products. I had no intention of buying anything, but I wanted to check out some Kenneth Cole and Clairborne stuff. We did the usual bitching..."Hideous!" "Disgusting." "Plaid."
Moments later, she was cooing over a Calvin Klein sweater. I thought it was pretty nice, and called it "cuteish". First she wanted to take it for herself, then decided she could give it to her boyfriend. I was taking off my jacket when she turned around to ask if I could try it on for her.
"Of course, hell, I'm in love with it," I said, pulling it on. It fit beautifully, and looked pretty damn nice. "Oh God, it's great!" I said, looking in the mirror standing beside us. "What do you think?"
"Oh, shit. It's pretty nice," she said.
"Yeah, but the sweater, or the sweater on me."
"On you, on you...Jesus," she laughed.
As she was looking down at the pile in front of her, I twirled back over the the mirror for another look. I ran my hand up and down the opposite arm, and smiled. She looked up and caught me, laughing.
"Oh, you can take it off now..."
Point is, and there was a point to that ramble, I don't know how straight she thinks I am. I mean, what straight boy goes shopping without the intent to buy anything, instead simply walking around trashing most clothes?
After our shopping trip, she walked me home. I tried desperately to think up a way to tell her, but I came up with nothing other than my standard, serious-discussion, "Can we talk about something," intro. I didn't use it, because it's not the proper situation.
I got used to telling good friends, people I've known a while. It usually went the same way every time; I never flippantly said, "Oh, I'm a homo," in passing. It just didn't happen that way, because those people always deserved the 'sit down' conversation.
Now that I'm coming out to people at school, things are casual. It's not as if every person I know needs me to sit them down for the shocking news. What happened with Joe was perfect, that segue of, "So about that dating..." led to me casually saying I'm gay. But what about friends that don't just throw me that open door?
I need some lines. Some way of guiding the conversation to that casual coming out point, without me having to just stop what I'm doing and say the two words I need to.
Help! What do you say?
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Woes (Part 1)...
The ride back to Toronto was more or less uneventful, until we were 20 mintues from my place.
"You haven't said anything about me seeing someone," I said cautiously. It had been nagging me in the back of my mind for the past few days. I needed to know how she was reacting.
"Well, I'm not good with it," she said. "I just can't get used to it, I'm not happy with it."
My heart sank. Here I was thinking that things were getting better.
She went on to explain that she isn't getting comfortable with it, how I'd given her a "glimmer of hope" by saying that maybe, at some point, there would be a girl instead.
"No. I'm gay, I've explained that," I said. "I'd never close the door completely, but it's not a big attraction for me."
I tried not to get upset, but as each sentence was spoken, I got more hurt. She just doesn't understand. And neither do I. Why can't she just accept me for who I am, seven months after she found out? I told her that I haven't grown a third arm, I'm not some mutated monster.
"I know, you're not a different person. I still love you."
She said that my being gay was a choice (uh, no, it's not), then asked why I didn't just come out in highschool if I 'knew all along'.
"Because! It's called accepting it yourself, and I didn't exactly grow up in a gay-happy environment."
"I never contributed to that," she said, "never."
Also, she doesn't like flamboyant homosexuals, which apparently for some reason makes it hard to accept the truth about me. I told her even if I was flamboyant (which I'm not, she says everyone 'thinks I'm straight' even though I watch Sex and the City, drink Pinot Grigio by the gallon and have only close female friends) it would be 'who I am' and I would never apologize for it.
She said it was better that I'm not flamboyant, because she just couldn't handle it if I were.
I kept pushing the conversation because I needed to know what I can do to help move this forward. She says the biggest problem she's having right now is that my Dad doesn't know. She needs to have no secrets between them, and claims that it's tearing her apart that she can't talk about it with him. Plus, she's worried he'll be furious at her for not including him in the knowledge when I told her originally.
"It's not about you and him!" I exclaimed, "it's about him and me. That's IT."
I can't wrap my head around the fact her biggest problem right now is that my Dad doesn't know. I mean, she's worried about how he'll react towards her, whats up with that?
She then went on to demand I tell him soon, because she's almost told him three times already. She had to physically leave the room, on three different occasions, to keep from blurting it out to him.
Apparently she cries herself to sleep some nights. And tells herself every day that I'm not straight, and that I won't have the picket fence. That killed me the most, because I don't know why it's hurting so much after so much time. It's almost as if she's refusing to let go and simply start moving forward.
"I know that on the other side, we'll be fine," she said. "It's just getting there that I'm not sure about."
I suggested that maybe it was time for her to talk to someone about this, like PFLAG or another support group. We're not the support-group type of family, but she's obviously not getting anywhere by herself. And I don't know how she's going to get anywhere by talking to my Dad, because it's not like he has any answers himself I'm sure.
She refused flat out. "NO, I'm not talking to anyone. No, I'm just not doing it," she said, as if she's the only person to know about my sexuality, and we've got to keep it under wraps.
We left things very awkwardly. I just didn't know what to say, how to make her feel better, to lift weight off her shoulders. I tried to tell her it's really not that big of a deal, and that I'm happier than before, but I didn't really get that out clearly. I was just working on not crying mostly.
I had never felt so rejected in my life. That night, I understood why there's a gay community. Because when your family tries to pretend you're not gay, and tells you how they can't handle it, you have somewhere to go. I mean, up until now, I saw the community as a 'fun' thing, a safe place for gays to socalize. I now realize the serious aspect of it too.
I also realized that I had nobody to lean on right then. I talked with Laura for an hour, and she was very sympathetic, but as she said, "There's noting I can do, I can't offer you any advice. I just don't know how to help."
It was very hard going to bed that night. Realizing how badly I wished I had some gay friends in Toronto to help me through this.
I talked to a few people online, and I'm trying not to undermine the friendships that I've made thanks to the blog. But in this instance, I needed a person, in front of me. A shoulder, to literally cry on.
The next morning I woke and wanted to vomit. My stomach rolled while I tried to clear my mind. I don't want to become some depressed homo, but my family means more than anything to me. Thankfully I had to throw myself into work, finishing an essay before rushing off to class.
Again, this morning, I woke with a sense of dread in my chest. I felt unloved. I've got friends I love, but I've never felt so distant from my family. And at times like these, I don't know how to call on the support of my friends. Thankfully I didn't feel as ill as I did Wednesday morning.
I still haven't talked to my Mom since our discussion on Tuesday night. I'll be calling her now...but I don't really know what to say.
"You haven't said anything about me seeing someone," I said cautiously. It had been nagging me in the back of my mind for the past few days. I needed to know how she was reacting.
"Well, I'm not good with it," she said. "I just can't get used to it, I'm not happy with it."
My heart sank. Here I was thinking that things were getting better.
She went on to explain that she isn't getting comfortable with it, how I'd given her a "glimmer of hope" by saying that maybe, at some point, there would be a girl instead.
"No. I'm gay, I've explained that," I said. "I'd never close the door completely, but it's not a big attraction for me."
I tried not to get upset, but as each sentence was spoken, I got more hurt. She just doesn't understand. And neither do I. Why can't she just accept me for who I am, seven months after she found out? I told her that I haven't grown a third arm, I'm not some mutated monster.
"I know, you're not a different person. I still love you."
She said that my being gay was a choice (uh, no, it's not), then asked why I didn't just come out in highschool if I 'knew all along'.
"Because! It's called accepting it yourself, and I didn't exactly grow up in a gay-happy environment."
"I never contributed to that," she said, "never."
Also, she doesn't like flamboyant homosexuals, which apparently for some reason makes it hard to accept the truth about me. I told her even if I was flamboyant (which I'm not, she says everyone 'thinks I'm straight' even though I watch Sex and the City, drink Pinot Grigio by the gallon and have only close female friends) it would be 'who I am' and I would never apologize for it.
She said it was better that I'm not flamboyant, because she just couldn't handle it if I were.
I kept pushing the conversation because I needed to know what I can do to help move this forward. She says the biggest problem she's having right now is that my Dad doesn't know. She needs to have no secrets between them, and claims that it's tearing her apart that she can't talk about it with him. Plus, she's worried he'll be furious at her for not including him in the knowledge when I told her originally.
"It's not about you and him!" I exclaimed, "it's about him and me. That's IT."
I can't wrap my head around the fact her biggest problem right now is that my Dad doesn't know. I mean, she's worried about how he'll react towards her, whats up with that?
She then went on to demand I tell him soon, because she's almost told him three times already. She had to physically leave the room, on three different occasions, to keep from blurting it out to him.
Apparently she cries herself to sleep some nights. And tells herself every day that I'm not straight, and that I won't have the picket fence. That killed me the most, because I don't know why it's hurting so much after so much time. It's almost as if she's refusing to let go and simply start moving forward.
"I know that on the other side, we'll be fine," she said. "It's just getting there that I'm not sure about."
I suggested that maybe it was time for her to talk to someone about this, like PFLAG or another support group. We're not the support-group type of family, but she's obviously not getting anywhere by herself. And I don't know how she's going to get anywhere by talking to my Dad, because it's not like he has any answers himself I'm sure.
She refused flat out. "NO, I'm not talking to anyone. No, I'm just not doing it," she said, as if she's the only person to know about my sexuality, and we've got to keep it under wraps.
We left things very awkwardly. I just didn't know what to say, how to make her feel better, to lift weight off her shoulders. I tried to tell her it's really not that big of a deal, and that I'm happier than before, but I didn't really get that out clearly. I was just working on not crying mostly.
I had never felt so rejected in my life. That night, I understood why there's a gay community. Because when your family tries to pretend you're not gay, and tells you how they can't handle it, you have somewhere to go. I mean, up until now, I saw the community as a 'fun' thing, a safe place for gays to socalize. I now realize the serious aspect of it too.
I also realized that I had nobody to lean on right then. I talked with Laura for an hour, and she was very sympathetic, but as she said, "There's noting I can do, I can't offer you any advice. I just don't know how to help."
It was very hard going to bed that night. Realizing how badly I wished I had some gay friends in Toronto to help me through this.
I talked to a few people online, and I'm trying not to undermine the friendships that I've made thanks to the blog. But in this instance, I needed a person, in front of me. A shoulder, to literally cry on.
The next morning I woke and wanted to vomit. My stomach rolled while I tried to clear my mind. I don't want to become some depressed homo, but my family means more than anything to me. Thankfully I had to throw myself into work, finishing an essay before rushing off to class.
Again, this morning, I woke with a sense of dread in my chest. I felt unloved. I've got friends I love, but I've never felt so distant from my family. And at times like these, I don't know how to call on the support of my friends. Thankfully I didn't feel as ill as I did Wednesday morning.
I still haven't talked to my Mom since our discussion on Tuesday night. I'll be calling her now...but I don't really know what to say.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Seeing someone...
Well, I told her.
Thursday afternoon, while we were driving to the grocery store. She seemed to be in a good mood, chatty, so I cut through the fear that was clenching my throat and told her I had, "Exciting news."
"Oh, that's good! We always need good news."
There has been some confusion: I am indeed out to my mother. For those stories, see: Telling Her Pt. 1, Telling Her Pt. 2, She Deals With It, I Cry, We Fight About It.
I sucked in air, and proceeded. "I'm seeing someone. His name is Danny."
"Oh..." she said, and the pressure of the air surrounding us increased. "So...it's a guy?"
"Uh, yeah."
I proceeded to tell her about him, where he studies, works, what he does in his spare time, all the while trying to keep it as 'normal' as possible. All the things she would want to know if this was a 'girlfriend'.
Silence filled the car. "Well, where did you meet him?"
"Online," I said, completely and finally.
"Oh, well, everyone I talk to says people you meet online are creeps, and it's always a disaster..."
"Sorry, but I really don't think that's the case," I said, defensively.
More silence. "So tell me about him..." she managed. I retold what I had said, adding that he was very sweet and good natured.
"What does 'seeing someone' mean," she then asked, suspiciously. I shook my head in disbelief.
"Well, we've spent some time together, we've gone out on dates...I guess you could say it's the early part of a relationship, if things continue the way they have," I attempted to explain. She paused again, and I knew she wanted to ask the sex question. But to my great surprise, she didn't.
That was pretty much the conversation.
I was pretty upset at first about how much of a shock it seemed to be, and how unenthusiastic she was. The biggest thing that bothers me is, if this were a girl, she would be happy beyond words for me to have found someone. But she could barely ask what he was like, and all she wanted to know was about this notorious 'seeing someone' label.
It hurts. After all these months of her knowing, and me thinking she would have grown to accept things a little more by now, she showed little improvement.
Now I'm scared about how to proceed. I've been told to bring him up in normal conversation, when I'm asked what's new or what I've been doing. Keep up the mentioning, and it'll become just another normal part of life.
What scares me is what I discovered last night, while driving a friend home after a mini-reunion. I don't want to lead two lives. I don't want to have my life in Toronto, with boys and my friends and school, then a separate life at home where it's something that we just don't discuss. It frightens me to think after I come out to my Dad that we just won't talk about it; like some proper British household we'll just sweep it under the carpet and pretend nothing has happened. The whole point of coming out is so I don't have to hide myself from my parents, not to lead two separate lives.
So now what do I do? Since I never really had girlfriends before, I don't know what constitutes 'normal' amounts of conversation about your relationship. It's not like I brought a lot of girls around home, or was always receiving calls from people. And obviously that's not happening right now. But still, how do I proceed?
The other thing that shocked me was her complete lack of dating knowledge. I mean, did she marry my father before they went on their first date? I thought the progression was always the same, no matter what decade: Meet, first date, second date, on and on until either turning into a relationship or simply ending because of lost interest.
Obviously there's many more stops in that road...and many detours. But I wasn't going to say, "Oh, this could just be a physical thing..." or she would have needed to go to the hospital.
And this wall all a conversation with my mother. God knows how it's going to go when I come out to Dad (though it won't be this weekend!).
Thursday afternoon, while we were driving to the grocery store. She seemed to be in a good mood, chatty, so I cut through the fear that was clenching my throat and told her I had, "Exciting news."
"Oh, that's good! We always need good news."
There has been some confusion: I am indeed out to my mother. For those stories, see: Telling Her Pt. 1, Telling Her Pt. 2, She Deals With It, I Cry, We Fight About It.
I sucked in air, and proceeded. "I'm seeing someone. His name is Danny."
"Oh..." she said, and the pressure of the air surrounding us increased. "So...it's a guy?"
"Uh, yeah."
I proceeded to tell her about him, where he studies, works, what he does in his spare time, all the while trying to keep it as 'normal' as possible. All the things she would want to know if this was a 'girlfriend'.
Silence filled the car. "Well, where did you meet him?"
"Online," I said, completely and finally.
"Oh, well, everyone I talk to says people you meet online are creeps, and it's always a disaster..."
"Sorry, but I really don't think that's the case," I said, defensively.
More silence. "So tell me about him..." she managed. I retold what I had said, adding that he was very sweet and good natured.
"What does 'seeing someone' mean," she then asked, suspiciously. I shook my head in disbelief.
"Well, we've spent some time together, we've gone out on dates...I guess you could say it's the early part of a relationship, if things continue the way they have," I attempted to explain. She paused again, and I knew she wanted to ask the sex question. But to my great surprise, she didn't.
That was pretty much the conversation.
I was pretty upset at first about how much of a shock it seemed to be, and how unenthusiastic she was. The biggest thing that bothers me is, if this were a girl, she would be happy beyond words for me to have found someone. But she could barely ask what he was like, and all she wanted to know was about this notorious 'seeing someone' label.
It hurts. After all these months of her knowing, and me thinking she would have grown to accept things a little more by now, she showed little improvement.
Now I'm scared about how to proceed. I've been told to bring him up in normal conversation, when I'm asked what's new or what I've been doing. Keep up the mentioning, and it'll become just another normal part of life.
What scares me is what I discovered last night, while driving a friend home after a mini-reunion. I don't want to lead two lives. I don't want to have my life in Toronto, with boys and my friends and school, then a separate life at home where it's something that we just don't discuss. It frightens me to think after I come out to my Dad that we just won't talk about it; like some proper British household we'll just sweep it under the carpet and pretend nothing has happened. The whole point of coming out is so I don't have to hide myself from my parents, not to lead two separate lives.
So now what do I do? Since I never really had girlfriends before, I don't know what constitutes 'normal' amounts of conversation about your relationship. It's not like I brought a lot of girls around home, or was always receiving calls from people. And obviously that's not happening right now. But still, how do I proceed?
The other thing that shocked me was her complete lack of dating knowledge. I mean, did she marry my father before they went on their first date? I thought the progression was always the same, no matter what decade: Meet, first date, second date, on and on until either turning into a relationship or simply ending because of lost interest.
Obviously there's many more stops in that road...and many detours. But I wasn't going to say, "Oh, this could just be a physical thing..." or she would have needed to go to the hospital.
And this wall all a conversation with my mother. God knows how it's going to go when I come out to Dad (though it won't be this weekend!).
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
A boy's white night (part 2)...
Things could only get better after having sat in a room silently with my ex-roommate for 45 minutes.
I tried to rebound, personality wise, as best I could. After all, I'd just sat practically without saying anything. So I took a few more swigs and we headed out on the town.
Almost immediately I got the sense that Katie was flirting with me. She adjusted my hair, pulled on my jacket, and threw my bag at a different angle on my shoulder. Oh, and the fact that halfway through the night, she pulled off my glasses and cooed, "Yeah, you're hot. Without these."
Gee, thanks.
Flirtations aside, we had a good time stalking the city after dark. It's not as if we were alone, as predictions showed nearly 1 million people turned out for the festival/show. We saw toilets floating on water, acrobats on ropes, silent looped films...it was all very artistic. We were even going to venture into the abandoned subway station, opened specifically for this show, but the lineup was around the block.
What's with that! Can't people just not attend these things so I don't have to wait?
Along the way we ran into several people we knew, mixing and mingling with people from all walks of life. Really, the magic wasn't so much the art, but the fact a huge portion of the population was out in a festive spirit. It was like when people cared about Christmas.
Keeping with the Christmas tradition, we warmed ourselves up with coffee and Baileys. How rebelious, walking the streets with spiked coffee...at least we didn't smoke anything, like so many of the other pretentious hippie kids.
At 1:30 we'd taken in enough art, and headed to a local bar for a few drinks. On the way, Katie got a call from her friend, who wanted us to meet in the Village and go out there.
My stomach leaped. Was this it? I was going to hit a gay bar? With my straight friends?
We started out in that general direction, and I got a little tense. I mean, I'm paranoid of actually going, yet this crowd would be a lot of fun. And I would have the guise of an overcrowded bar to keep me semi-hidden, lost in a sea of randoms out for the festival.
Also, part of me was excited. I do want to get out there...maybe this was my ticket.
Alas, it wasn't meant to be. When we got there, Katie called her friend, who had already gone home. We trundled down the street into another bar she knew of and closed the place down.
Back out on the street, we headed back to Katie's place, though not really knowing why. We continued drinking, our small party in her small apartment. One thing led to another, I went to the washroom, and came back to find them all knee-deep in a game of truth or dare.
I took my seat, and was given the 'truth or dare' question. I chose truth, because to be honest, I'm not very daring. I'm still not crazy enough to strip, run naked or otherwise fulfill most of the dares people like to come up with. I took my truth.
"What percentage of men have you slept with over women," Katie asked, straight faced.
Well, this is unexpected. I smiled wryly, and was happy with my reaction. I didn't really care that she knew, much less anyone else there.
"It's a lot higher with the boys than with the girls," I laughed. She smiled dangerously at me. Apparently this new shocked nobody in the room.
After Laura and Katie made out as part of a dare, I wound up taking a dare myself. "Kiss Katie," Laura giggled like a 10th grader.
We moved in and made out for a minute or two. She was a good kisser, I now understand why gay guys make out with women for no other reason that to have someone to kiss.
When we pulled away, Katie had put on that dangerous smile again. "You're good at that," she said, biting her lower lip.
On the walk home, I grilled Laura. "How did she know!?" I begged.
"Oh, she asked me when we were just leaving her place actually. I was surprised she knew that early, but she's a good judge of character," Laura said.
Wow. I got discovered! People can tell! I may be broadcasting signals! At the entirely wrong sex and orientation, true, but this is big news for me.
We made eggs for breakfast, I showered, and finally went to sleep at 5:30, a smile still on my face. I guess I may not be such a failure in the broadcasting department as I thought I was.
I tried to rebound, personality wise, as best I could. After all, I'd just sat practically without saying anything. So I took a few more swigs and we headed out on the town.
Almost immediately I got the sense that Katie was flirting with me. She adjusted my hair, pulled on my jacket, and threw my bag at a different angle on my shoulder. Oh, and the fact that halfway through the night, she pulled off my glasses and cooed, "Yeah, you're hot. Without these."
Gee, thanks.
Flirtations aside, we had a good time stalking the city after dark. It's not as if we were alone, as predictions showed nearly 1 million people turned out for the festival/show. We saw toilets floating on water, acrobats on ropes, silent looped films...it was all very artistic. We were even going to venture into the abandoned subway station, opened specifically for this show, but the lineup was around the block.
What's with that! Can't people just not attend these things so I don't have to wait?
Along the way we ran into several people we knew, mixing and mingling with people from all walks of life. Really, the magic wasn't so much the art, but the fact a huge portion of the population was out in a festive spirit. It was like when people cared about Christmas.
Keeping with the Christmas tradition, we warmed ourselves up with coffee and Baileys. How rebelious, walking the streets with spiked coffee...at least we didn't smoke anything, like so many of the other pretentious hippie kids.
At 1:30 we'd taken in enough art, and headed to a local bar for a few drinks. On the way, Katie got a call from her friend, who wanted us to meet in the Village and go out there.
My stomach leaped. Was this it? I was going to hit a gay bar? With my straight friends?
We started out in that general direction, and I got a little tense. I mean, I'm paranoid of actually going, yet this crowd would be a lot of fun. And I would have the guise of an overcrowded bar to keep me semi-hidden, lost in a sea of randoms out for the festival.
Also, part of me was excited. I do want to get out there...maybe this was my ticket.
Alas, it wasn't meant to be. When we got there, Katie called her friend, who had already gone home. We trundled down the street into another bar she knew of and closed the place down.
Back out on the street, we headed back to Katie's place, though not really knowing why. We continued drinking, our small party in her small apartment. One thing led to another, I went to the washroom, and came back to find them all knee-deep in a game of truth or dare.
I took my seat, and was given the 'truth or dare' question. I chose truth, because to be honest, I'm not very daring. I'm still not crazy enough to strip, run naked or otherwise fulfill most of the dares people like to come up with. I took my truth.
"What percentage of men have you slept with over women," Katie asked, straight faced.
Well, this is unexpected. I smiled wryly, and was happy with my reaction. I didn't really care that she knew, much less anyone else there.
"It's a lot higher with the boys than with the girls," I laughed. She smiled dangerously at me. Apparently this new shocked nobody in the room.
After Laura and Katie made out as part of a dare, I wound up taking a dare myself. "Kiss Katie," Laura giggled like a 10th grader.
We moved in and made out for a minute or two. She was a good kisser, I now understand why gay guys make out with women for no other reason that to have someone to kiss.
When we pulled away, Katie had put on that dangerous smile again. "You're good at that," she said, biting her lower lip.
On the walk home, I grilled Laura. "How did she know!?" I begged.
"Oh, she asked me when we were just leaving her place actually. I was surprised she knew that early, but she's a good judge of character," Laura said.
Wow. I got discovered! People can tell! I may be broadcasting signals! At the entirely wrong sex and orientation, true, but this is big news for me.
We made eggs for breakfast, I showered, and finally went to sleep at 5:30, a smile still on my face. I guess I may not be such a failure in the broadcasting department as I thought I was.
Friday, September 7, 2007
What I've been doing...
Today is my lazy day, and it feels earned.
Strange to say, since I've just moved back to Toronto on Monday, but it's been a crazy week. Totally unexpected. Everything from my move in day to now has basically been unplanned.
So today, I slept late (9:20!), and have been puttering almost ever since. Except for the last half hour, when I was doing actual work, which is important and time-sensitive.
-----
It's incredibly hot outside. Warmer than usual, considering our summer was a scorcher some days. The heat is an oppressive wave from which there is no relief. I keep my blinds closed to block sun, but the stagnant air flowing through does little to cool my body.
The fan is running on 3, it's highest setting, and even it does little. How much can it improve, if all it does is blow the already hot air around the room? I miss air conditioning. Every crack and crevice of the apartment is hot, including the cupboards. It makes me afraid of some type of spontaneous combustion of my package of bread crumbs or whole wheat pasta.
The weather man says that it's going to be cool mid-70's by tomorrow. One more day of heat. I remember when heat meant blissful relaxation in the shade. Now it just means melting in your shoes on your walk home, then melting some more in your bed.
Plus, I smell bad. Stupid sweat.
--
Joe is big, lanky and has a grin incomparable to others. Honest, fair and balanced. Genuine.
We ran into each other yesterday afternoon, along with a few other friends. People chatted, and slowly the crowd dispersed. It left just the two of us, and he needed to get something done before he could call it a day.
I accompanied him while he finished working, which took 90 minutes. I had no other pressing plans, and our obscure location afforded me time in a place I have visited only once before. We plan on returning another day to watch some more.
Afterwards, we were walking down the street, and simultaneously said, "Lets get a beer!" Beer and pub food, and good catching up time.
"So this year...I wanna actually date," he tells me, and I smiled along. Sounds good, after all, doesn't everyone? "What about you, how's the lady-front going?"
I paused. This was it. Do I choose to out myself to a trustworthy friend, or just shrug it off with an "I'm-not-seeing-anyone."
"Actually, I'm gay," I said, strangely sounding more confident and concrete than I had expected to.
He smiled. "Oh, I didn't know!"
"I don't think a lot of people do," I said. "Not something that comes up often I guess."
"Dude, if I've ever said anything offensive, I'm sorry," he offered, but he's never done so. Straight-up stand-up guy.
He asked if my parents know, and how it went with my mom. "I kinda wouldn't have a big deal with it," he said, "my parents would probably be excited for me!" I told him I was jealous.
The conversation resumed it's normal tenor, as if I had told him I was left handed.
--
I saw my ex-roommate in the grocery store yesterday. Maybe she didn't see me, or so I'm telling myself. I had bought my salad for lunch, and was just about to leave when she angled by me, thankfully far enough away. She had a bemused smirk on her face, which makes me wonder if she was already laughing at me. I turned and went to he floral section, checking out the bouquets and potted plants with immense interest. Eventually I tore my phone from my pocket, holding it to my ear as if deep in conversation. I frowned, nodded, then hung up and made another call.
I probably looked like an idiot. But I really don't want to face her. I still get that sick feeling in my stomach when I think about having to ever see her again.
--
Tonight I will travel to the Bank of Montreal's Football field and be one of the lucky people who hear Genesis' newly re-formed tour. It's very exciting, I've never been to the 'first concert' in a tour before. Hopefully there will be lots of surprises (the good kind).
The possible bad surprise is the fact it may rain. None of the weather sources can agree on when it will start; some swear not until after midnight, while others cast a gloomy (pun intended) picture, claiming an 8:30 p.m. shower is not out of the question.
Strange to say, since I've just moved back to Toronto on Monday, but it's been a crazy week. Totally unexpected. Everything from my move in day to now has basically been unplanned.
So today, I slept late (9:20!), and have been puttering almost ever since. Except for the last half hour, when I was doing actual work, which is important and time-sensitive.
-----
It's incredibly hot outside. Warmer than usual, considering our summer was a scorcher some days. The heat is an oppressive wave from which there is no relief. I keep my blinds closed to block sun, but the stagnant air flowing through does little to cool my body.
The fan is running on 3, it's highest setting, and even it does little. How much can it improve, if all it does is blow the already hot air around the room? I miss air conditioning. Every crack and crevice of the apartment is hot, including the cupboards. It makes me afraid of some type of spontaneous combustion of my package of bread crumbs or whole wheat pasta.
The weather man says that it's going to be cool mid-70's by tomorrow. One more day of heat. I remember when heat meant blissful relaxation in the shade. Now it just means melting in your shoes on your walk home, then melting some more in your bed.
Plus, I smell bad. Stupid sweat.
--
Joe is big, lanky and has a grin incomparable to others. Honest, fair and balanced. Genuine.
We ran into each other yesterday afternoon, along with a few other friends. People chatted, and slowly the crowd dispersed. It left just the two of us, and he needed to get something done before he could call it a day.
I accompanied him while he finished working, which took 90 minutes. I had no other pressing plans, and our obscure location afforded me time in a place I have visited only once before. We plan on returning another day to watch some more.
Afterwards, we were walking down the street, and simultaneously said, "Lets get a beer!" Beer and pub food, and good catching up time.
"So this year...I wanna actually date," he tells me, and I smiled along. Sounds good, after all, doesn't everyone? "What about you, how's the lady-front going?"
I paused. This was it. Do I choose to out myself to a trustworthy friend, or just shrug it off with an "I'm-not-seeing-anyone."
"Actually, I'm gay," I said, strangely sounding more confident and concrete than I had expected to.
He smiled. "Oh, I didn't know!"
"I don't think a lot of people do," I said. "Not something that comes up often I guess."
"Dude, if I've ever said anything offensive, I'm sorry," he offered, but he's never done so. Straight-up stand-up guy.
He asked if my parents know, and how it went with my mom. "I kinda wouldn't have a big deal with it," he said, "my parents would probably be excited for me!" I told him I was jealous.
The conversation resumed it's normal tenor, as if I had told him I was left handed.
--
I saw my ex-roommate in the grocery store yesterday. Maybe she didn't see me, or so I'm telling myself. I had bought my salad for lunch, and was just about to leave when she angled by me, thankfully far enough away. She had a bemused smirk on her face, which makes me wonder if she was already laughing at me. I turned and went to he floral section, checking out the bouquets and potted plants with immense interest. Eventually I tore my phone from my pocket, holding it to my ear as if deep in conversation. I frowned, nodded, then hung up and made another call.
I probably looked like an idiot. But I really don't want to face her. I still get that sick feeling in my stomach when I think about having to ever see her again.
--
Tonight I will travel to the Bank of Montreal's Football field and be one of the lucky people who hear Genesis' newly re-formed tour. It's very exciting, I've never been to the 'first concert' in a tour before. Hopefully there will be lots of surprises (the good kind).
The possible bad surprise is the fact it may rain. None of the weather sources can agree on when it will start; some swear not until after midnight, while others cast a gloomy (pun intended) picture, claiming an 8:30 p.m. shower is not out of the question.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Eggshells...
Everything is walking on eggshells.
Most specifically, it's my 'out' status. I'm out to nearly all the important people in my life, save my father and a few friends. But I find myself walking on eggshells, remembering who knows, who doesn't and who ought to find out next.
What's worse is how my friend act with it. Really, they do nothing wrong, and have been completely supportive and tight-lipped about it. We had dinner in a group last week and I had assumed person X had told her boyfriend and my mutual friend Y, because I never specifically said, "Don't tell anybody!" when I came out to her. So I had a little voice in the back of my head, unsure of censoring some topics of conversation. Since nothing about sexuality came up for quite a while, I carried on the assumption that he in fact might know.
Then he asked me something about, "Women, haha," and I knew he didn't know. Later I asked X if she's said anything, and she was horrified.
"No, never! I'm not going to blab it around town," she said reassuringly.
In many ways, I could not ask for better friends. People who understand that it's a delicate issue, and that it's not something I want to fly through the gossip mill. I've seen it done to another of our friends, and it's just not right.
But at the same time, it feels like the coming out process is being hindered by everyone being so careful about it. Many of the reasons lie in the location right now; I don't want it spread all over small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere. It's more to protect my family than it is for me, because I don't plan on living here the rest of my life.
So will it be any different in Toronto? When I go back to school, what'll happen with my continued adventures in coming out? Do I have to literally greet every friend with, "Good to see you! How was summer? Oh and I'm gay..."?
I always harken back to my belief that my sexuality isn't my entire personality. The people I have gotten to know know me as a friend, not as a love interest, so really my sexual status isn't exactly important to our relationships. Still, if you don't tell everyone, then you are assumed to be straight...
The other weekend someone was at a party with friends from highschool. Nobody was around, save the host, his girlfriend, and my new roommate, and the host asked about me, how I was, was I seeing anybody...was I big on women...
"Why'd he as that?" I said. This is a guy who I maybe talked to twice in school.
"Oh, just curious about you, because we're living together and everything. I dunno, he liked you fine in High School."
"That's because I didn't talk to him more than three times."
"True enough, but aren't those the people you actually still like from high school?"
She was actually going to tell him, "Well, Steve's coming out right now, so he's not really into too many women," but she stopped herself.
"I just didn't know if that would be ok," she said. "He wouldn't gossip about it, and it was only the three of us there, but still it's kinda personal..."
Very sweet of her to keep it under wraps, but ultimately is it helping my situation?
Being at whatever stage I am of the closet, I'm getting more and more frustrated. In many ways I just want it to be over, to be out and to actually maybe finally carry on with 'normal' life. But I still have reservations about broadcasting it on Facebook, or telling every person I know, or having others spread the news.
Hell, I don't even know where I stand on the 'out' scale. Obviously I'm out to some family and close friends, but that's where it ends (I think, anyway). So how 'out' is that? And what do I have to do next, so I can walk confidently into the next stage of my life, not tip-toe, afraid of breaking any eggshells?
Most specifically, it's my 'out' status. I'm out to nearly all the important people in my life, save my father and a few friends. But I find myself walking on eggshells, remembering who knows, who doesn't and who ought to find out next.
What's worse is how my friend act with it. Really, they do nothing wrong, and have been completely supportive and tight-lipped about it. We had dinner in a group last week and I had assumed person X had told her boyfriend and my mutual friend Y, because I never specifically said, "Don't tell anybody!" when I came out to her. So I had a little voice in the back of my head, unsure of censoring some topics of conversation. Since nothing about sexuality came up for quite a while, I carried on the assumption that he in fact might know.
Then he asked me something about, "Women, haha," and I knew he didn't know. Later I asked X if she's said anything, and she was horrified.
"No, never! I'm not going to blab it around town," she said reassuringly.
In many ways, I could not ask for better friends. People who understand that it's a delicate issue, and that it's not something I want to fly through the gossip mill. I've seen it done to another of our friends, and it's just not right.
But at the same time, it feels like the coming out process is being hindered by everyone being so careful about it. Many of the reasons lie in the location right now; I don't want it spread all over small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere. It's more to protect my family than it is for me, because I don't plan on living here the rest of my life.
So will it be any different in Toronto? When I go back to school, what'll happen with my continued adventures in coming out? Do I have to literally greet every friend with, "Good to see you! How was summer? Oh and I'm gay..."?
I always harken back to my belief that my sexuality isn't my entire personality. The people I have gotten to know know me as a friend, not as a love interest, so really my sexual status isn't exactly important to our relationships. Still, if you don't tell everyone, then you are assumed to be straight...
The other weekend someone was at a party with friends from highschool. Nobody was around, save the host, his girlfriend, and my new roommate, and the host asked about me, how I was, was I seeing anybody...was I big on women...
"Why'd he as that?" I said. This is a guy who I maybe talked to twice in school.
"Oh, just curious about you, because we're living together and everything. I dunno, he liked you fine in High School."
"That's because I didn't talk to him more than three times."
"True enough, but aren't those the people you actually still like from high school?"
She was actually going to tell him, "Well, Steve's coming out right now, so he's not really into too many women," but she stopped herself.
"I just didn't know if that would be ok," she said. "He wouldn't gossip about it, and it was only the three of us there, but still it's kinda personal..."
Very sweet of her to keep it under wraps, but ultimately is it helping my situation?
Being at whatever stage I am of the closet, I'm getting more and more frustrated. In many ways I just want it to be over, to be out and to actually maybe finally carry on with 'normal' life. But I still have reservations about broadcasting it on Facebook, or telling every person I know, or having others spread the news.
Hell, I don't even know where I stand on the 'out' scale. Obviously I'm out to some family and close friends, but that's where it ends (I think, anyway). So how 'out' is that? And what do I have to do next, so I can walk confidently into the next stage of my life, not tip-toe, afraid of breaking any eggshells?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
More talking...
We always have our 'discussions' in the kitchen.
I don't really know why, probably because the layout allows us to each have our own personal space, without feeling too in each other's faces. I always stand closer to the fridge, she stands by the sink, and there's about 7 feet between us. Lots of light, too, so you can judge your words based on the look in each other's eyes.
Tonight it started over the usual, mundane things, mostly over differences in opinion in doing different household chores. More specifically, because of my new duties as house-husband, and lack of proficiency at window washing, etc. We'd gotten into it a little heavier than usual (usual being once every few months, I don't want to give the impression this is a constant thing...) and she was phrasing things with a little more emphasis than normal. I was scared, because I didn't want to push things over the limit.
So after we'd exhausted all of what was bothering us, and were standing awkwardly, wondering if we were finished, I decided to unload some of the things that have been bothering me. I waited a few beats, then explained that I've been a little run down since the Friday discussion, and hadn't realized I would feel that emotionally worked up.
We talked about things that we'd already talked about. I said how I was upset by the 'disappointed' comment, knowing that she wasn't disappointed in me per se, but that it still was hard to hear. This time it was a lot more about her feelings, less about worrying about my dad.
I don't know what to do with it any more. We've clearly made some progress, but how do I act now? Do I simply speak as if it were one of my friends, talking about some guy who I thought was cute? Or pretend as if we've really never discussed anything. I guess it's time to find new ground with this, especially since my sexuality doesn't have a lot do do with my relationship with my mother.
She also commented that she 'didn't know what she wanted me to do' now. I really couldn't answer that, other than to hope she was getting more alright with the notion and was accepting it for what it was.
One thing she's decided, "If anyone asks me if you're gay, I'm just going to say that your sexuality has nothing to do with me. It's like saying the sky is blue, nothing to do with me."
We wrapped up the conversation a little awkwardly. I hugged her, but she just stood there. "Well, I thought you were mad at me," she said. It can be so frustrating trying to explain something and having another person hung up miles behind your last point. Eventually she was more reassured, but I got the feeling she was drained from the conversation.
Each small step...
I don't really know why, probably because the layout allows us to each have our own personal space, without feeling too in each other's faces. I always stand closer to the fridge, she stands by the sink, and there's about 7 feet between us. Lots of light, too, so you can judge your words based on the look in each other's eyes.
Tonight it started over the usual, mundane things, mostly over differences in opinion in doing different household chores. More specifically, because of my new duties as house-husband, and lack of proficiency at window washing, etc. We'd gotten into it a little heavier than usual (usual being once every few months, I don't want to give the impression this is a constant thing...) and she was phrasing things with a little more emphasis than normal. I was scared, because I didn't want to push things over the limit.
So after we'd exhausted all of what was bothering us, and were standing awkwardly, wondering if we were finished, I decided to unload some of the things that have been bothering me. I waited a few beats, then explained that I've been a little run down since the Friday discussion, and hadn't realized I would feel that emotionally worked up.
We talked about things that we'd already talked about. I said how I was upset by the 'disappointed' comment, knowing that she wasn't disappointed in me per se, but that it still was hard to hear. This time it was a lot more about her feelings, less about worrying about my dad.
I don't know what to do with it any more. We've clearly made some progress, but how do I act now? Do I simply speak as if it were one of my friends, talking about some guy who I thought was cute? Or pretend as if we've really never discussed anything. I guess it's time to find new ground with this, especially since my sexuality doesn't have a lot do do with my relationship with my mother.
She also commented that she 'didn't know what she wanted me to do' now. I really couldn't answer that, other than to hope she was getting more alright with the notion and was accepting it for what it was.
One thing she's decided, "If anyone asks me if you're gay, I'm just going to say that your sexuality has nothing to do with me. It's like saying the sky is blue, nothing to do with me."
We wrapped up the conversation a little awkwardly. I hugged her, but she just stood there. "Well, I thought you were mad at me," she said. It can be so frustrating trying to explain something and having another person hung up miles behind your last point. Eventually she was more reassured, but I got the feeling she was drained from the conversation.
Each small step...
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Please, let me be (maybe...)...
I think my family is trying hard to kill me.
Two afternoons ago, my mother fell over the dog. For the first time in 8 years.
Naturally, since nothing is easy and everything has to be some sort of pain in the ass, she wound up doing quite a bit of damage to herself. As she explained, it was either land on her head or her wrist...and sadly the wrist lost out against the interlock in the garden.
When it happened, she assumed it wasn't a big deal. The day wore on, I went to a friend's for a bonfire and come-out session, and collapsed into bed at 2 a.m.
Yesterday morning I was awoken by mom cracking my door open and stage-whispering my name over and over. I think my first thought was, 'Oh, fuck.' This was a little before 8 a.m., and with a few hours of sleep behind me (and not quite being over the lack of sleep since Thursday) I energetically bounded out of bed to take her to the doctors office.
The rest of the day was taken up by visits to 4 doctor's offices, with the confirmation and casting of a broken wrist. At one point, at a stop at the grocery between doctors, she was relaying the news to my dad. She then started to cry, in the middle of the frozen food's section, because this ailment puts her out of commission for the rest of the summer.
It's not as if she's whining about the pain, it's more the fact that her summer pastime as part of a woman's racing team was now going to be cut off completely. So there I stood rubbing her back in the aisle as she said how pissed she was at herself for doing such a stupid thing. I stared at her, not really knowing what to say.
We then got home where an e-mail was waiting to let her know that an acquaintance of hers from her team had died the day before. This brought on more crying and back rubbing, with her becoming very emotional and concerned over this woman's death. The entire time, I sat there trying to think of what to say, but nothing very calming or compassionate escaped my lips. After she had composed herself, I slouched into my chair and exhaled, trying to pull myself back together.
I then spent the remainder of the afternoon doing all the things I was doing when my parents were away, since she cannot now lift or otherwise move her arm. Through most of this, she followed me around changing her attitude from 'this can't be happening' to 'you're not doing that how I would...'
My father has been equally 'interesting' lately. Last night he literally followed me around the house recounting the finer points of American domestic policy in Alaska during the Second World War. I attempted a few times to either change the subject or end the conversation all together, but to no avail.
This all makes me feel guilty, because while I'm listening to the history lesson he's lecturing on I simply want to become invisible and walk away. But afterwards, I feel horrible because, after all, he's my father whom I don't get to see a lot and I should take advantage of the opportunity to spend time with him.
Still, its a fine line. I hope he's not mistaking my somewhat blank-faced stares as there being something wrong with me (though I suppose there is...), and trying even harder to engage me in conversation. But when it gets to the point where he's waiting for you to get out of the shower (on your way to bed, mind you) to talk about the thunderstorms moving further east than expected, one wants to scream.
To top it all off, I ended up checking out my Facebook and getting more great news. Remember Rez Guy? The one who wants to sleep with me, and who I was gladly going to befriend? Well, guess what he's been up to lately...apparently he is now listen in a relationship with someone. Bloody hell. I give up. One of the 'perks' I had to look forward to upon returning to Toronto has now shacked up with some guy. How dare he!
All in all, I just feel at then end of my tether. Half of me says, "Oh for Christs sake, you've got nothing to complain about, suck it up!" Then the other half thinks I have the right to, at every alternate moment, want to burst into tears and hide under my bedsheets. Being not completely self-absorbed, I have the side that feels dutiful and responsible for my parents, but it's reaching such an emotional plateau right now that I'm starting to have trouble dealing with it.
Two afternoons ago, my mother fell over the dog. For the first time in 8 years.
Naturally, since nothing is easy and everything has to be some sort of pain in the ass, she wound up doing quite a bit of damage to herself. As she explained, it was either land on her head or her wrist...and sadly the wrist lost out against the interlock in the garden.
When it happened, she assumed it wasn't a big deal. The day wore on, I went to a friend's for a bonfire and come-out session, and collapsed into bed at 2 a.m.
Yesterday morning I was awoken by mom cracking my door open and stage-whispering my name over and over. I think my first thought was, 'Oh, fuck.' This was a little before 8 a.m., and with a few hours of sleep behind me (and not quite being over the lack of sleep since Thursday) I energetically bounded out of bed to take her to the doctors office.
The rest of the day was taken up by visits to 4 doctor's offices, with the confirmation and casting of a broken wrist. At one point, at a stop at the grocery between doctors, she was relaying the news to my dad. She then started to cry, in the middle of the frozen food's section, because this ailment puts her out of commission for the rest of the summer.
It's not as if she's whining about the pain, it's more the fact that her summer pastime as part of a woman's racing team was now going to be cut off completely. So there I stood rubbing her back in the aisle as she said how pissed she was at herself for doing such a stupid thing. I stared at her, not really knowing what to say.
We then got home where an e-mail was waiting to let her know that an acquaintance of hers from her team had died the day before. This brought on more crying and back rubbing, with her becoming very emotional and concerned over this woman's death. The entire time, I sat there trying to think of what to say, but nothing very calming or compassionate escaped my lips. After she had composed herself, I slouched into my chair and exhaled, trying to pull myself back together.
I then spent the remainder of the afternoon doing all the things I was doing when my parents were away, since she cannot now lift or otherwise move her arm. Through most of this, she followed me around changing her attitude from 'this can't be happening' to 'you're not doing that how I would...'
My father has been equally 'interesting' lately. Last night he literally followed me around the house recounting the finer points of American domestic policy in Alaska during the Second World War. I attempted a few times to either change the subject or end the conversation all together, but to no avail.
This all makes me feel guilty, because while I'm listening to the history lesson he's lecturing on I simply want to become invisible and walk away. But afterwards, I feel horrible because, after all, he's my father whom I don't get to see a lot and I should take advantage of the opportunity to spend time with him.
Still, its a fine line. I hope he's not mistaking my somewhat blank-faced stares as there being something wrong with me (though I suppose there is...), and trying even harder to engage me in conversation. But when it gets to the point where he's waiting for you to get out of the shower (on your way to bed, mind you) to talk about the thunderstorms moving further east than expected, one wants to scream.
To top it all off, I ended up checking out my Facebook and getting more great news. Remember Rez Guy? The one who wants to sleep with me, and who I was gladly going to befriend? Well, guess what he's been up to lately...apparently he is now listen in a relationship with someone. Bloody hell. I give up. One of the 'perks' I had to look forward to upon returning to Toronto has now shacked up with some guy. How dare he!
All in all, I just feel at then end of my tether. Half of me says, "Oh for Christs sake, you've got nothing to complain about, suck it up!" Then the other half thinks I have the right to, at every alternate moment, want to burst into tears and hide under my bedsheets. Being not completely self-absorbed, I have the side that feels dutiful and responsible for my parents, but it's reaching such an emotional plateau right now that I'm starting to have trouble dealing with it.
Monday, July 9, 2007
For everyone...
Lyrics that I've hearkened to coming out to your family, dedicated to everyone who's at that stage in their life... make sure you read the last post before this one...
"Well I have know you
Since you were a small boy
And your mama used to say
My boy is gonna grow up and be
Some kind of leader some day.
Then you'd turn on the radio
And sing with the singer in the band
And your mama would say to you
This isn't exactly what she had planned.
But you're a legend in your own time
A hero in the footlights
Playin tunes to fit your rhyme
But a legends only a lonely boy
When he goes home alone.
And although I know you
Still have the heart of that small boy
Well, you lend it out far too much
And no one woman loving you
Can ever tell if you've been really touched.
Then you turn on the radio
And sing with the singer in the band
And think kind of sadly to yourself
This isn't exactly what you had planned.
But you're a legend in your own time
A hero in the footlights
Playin tunes to fit your rhyme
But a legends only a lonely boy
When he goes home alone..."
legend in your own time - carly simon
"Well I have know you
Since you were a small boy
And your mama used to say
My boy is gonna grow up and be
Some kind of leader some day.
Then you'd turn on the radio
And sing with the singer in the band
And your mama would say to you
This isn't exactly what she had planned.
But you're a legend in your own time
A hero in the footlights
Playin tunes to fit your rhyme
But a legends only a lonely boy
When he goes home alone.
And although I know you
Still have the heart of that small boy
Well, you lend it out far too much
And no one woman loving you
Can ever tell if you've been really touched.
Then you turn on the radio
And sing with the singer in the band
And think kind of sadly to yourself
This isn't exactly what you had planned.
But you're a legend in your own time
A hero in the footlights
Playin tunes to fit your rhyme
But a legends only a lonely boy
When he goes home alone..."
legend in your own time - carly simon
That was hard...
It's been a very long and confusing few days.
It all started happening on Friday morning. I was doing my thing, getting ready to go downtown with a few friends for an overnighter at my new apartment (long story there...) and had taken some laundry downstairs where my mom was working.
She was standing at the washer, then looked over at me. I don't remember what she said before, but then she asked, "Can I ask you something that might sound silly?"
Immediately I got that gut-rush feeling, and I wondered what she was about to say.
I don't even remember what the first statement was about really, but it had basically come down to if I'd 'decided' if I was gay or not. She phrased it a little strangely, I guess avoiding the big 'G' word, asking if I'd completely given up on girls and the whole thing.
I told her honestly that I was more attracted to guys, but that I would never rule out the possibility that someday I might fall for a woman. I was a little taken back by the question, since I thought I'd made it pretty clear before that I was indeed interested in guys...you know, I thought telling her about dating one would make it pretty concrete. But she seemed to think that maybe I'd changed my mind. She said she'd been thinking a lot about it, but didn't know if she should talk about it or not. Since I always told her that she should ask me anything she went ahead with it.
The conversation flowed pretty strangely after that initial question, I can't recall what was said in what order, but the thing that really got her going was something she discovered on vacation. "People were all talking about their grandkids," she said, eyes starting to well up in tears. "I just realized I really wanted that too, someday..." And she started to cry.
I didn't know what to say. Sure, I could tell her that maybe one day I would adopt, but seeing as she thought I might have changed my mind about guys, I guessed she might not be ready for such news. I opted for the truth, that I had no intention, gay , straight or otherwise, to have children for a long time. Who knows when it would be, but it's something that I never intended for my immediate future.
"I know that, I wouldn't want you to have kids now..." she said. "But still, will you ever?"
She continued to cry, and I hugged her close. After a few minutes she got a little more composed and we kept talking about lots of stuff. She questioned my weight loss and renewed interest in my appearance as related to sexuality. She asked if anyone had hurt me, then started to cry again saying she could never stand to loose me. I hugged her again, trying to assure her nobody would hurt me.
Then she wondered who I'd told, and what their reactions were. I answered I had told almost all my close friends, and that everyone had been supportive and quite alright with it. She said it might not be a good idea to tell anyone else, because if I haven't decided if I was, "Gay or straight yet," I probably shouldn't let people get the wrong ideas. And how was I supposed to get a girl if everyone thought I was gay? I just said, as I believe, that if it were the case it would be between myself and whomever, and other people could think/say what they want, as they do naturally.
We then hit the most sensitive topic...telling my father. "Do you think we should tell him at all?" she said. Obviously, I replied, since I do plan on actually having a life, and he needs to know. "But I don't know how he'll take it...I just don't know..." she said, stifling another round of tears. I told her of course I've played through in my mind all the different things that could go really badly when telling him, how I'm terrified of his reaction. The hardest thing for me is the thought that he might not love me as much as he did the moment before I told him ever again, simply because. Then I collapsed into tears.
We stood there, in the basement with the washer door open, crying and holding on to each other. I haven't cried like that in a while, my body shaking and twitching as salt slid onto my lips. I tried to catch my breath, but couldn't stop. "Jesus," I whispered in her ear, "I'm so scared."
I asked her if she loved me still, and she answered, "Of course I love you, you should know that." I do know that. "But are you disappointed?"
She paused. "Well, yes, I mean it's not what I would have preffered..."
I don't really take offence to that. I think.
We talked a few minutes more about it, then moved on to other things. For the rest of the day I felt horrible inside, and I don't know why. I mean, here I was being pretty damn honest with her, confirming that I hadn't changed my mind, and talking about the future. But I guess it was the future part that scares me.
There are moments where I feel like pulling on the brakes and getting off this train. After talking to her, it felt like things were going to be so much harder than I had envisioned before, in all respects. How would my father react? And what about my life from here on, would I be segregated?
I also realized that afternoon that I just don't feel strong anymore. Before I had all that pent up frustration that just ended up channeling itself into inner strength. After crying my eyes out, I just didn't feel strength anymore. I'm sick of having to be the strong one in all of this. But I don't have anyone to lean on, since it's pretty clear that mom is still working through her own issues with it, and not really ready to help me.
At one point she asked if I had anyone to talk about this stuff with. I said my friends had been good about it, but no, really I didn't have any gay friends or people in my life who I talk to on a person-to-person basis. But I said I did have people. "Don't think this is weird..." I told her, "But I talk to people online. Not freaks and rapists, but bloggers and people who are in the same situations as me." Surprisingly she seemed alright with this.
I ended up recounting the story to my friends that afternoon, and had to bite my lip a few times so I wouldn't re-erupt into tears. They were good about listening, but of course couldn't offer much advice other than just being support for me.
Saturday I felt the flip side of the bizarre post-crying terror, and actually was really happy we'd had another conversation about it. I was closer to being out, and being clear that things weren't going to change. The world hadn't exploded after talking about it some more, and the ground we covered seemed to be a positive step forward. I wound up at a friend's birthday kegger in another city, so I didn't really spend any time at home until getting back Sunday night.
Today I don't know how I feel. I guess a mixture of good and bad, with the overwhelming sensation of, "Did that just happen?" thrown in for good measure. I don't know if I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, or the headlights of a train barreling down at me...
It all started happening on Friday morning. I was doing my thing, getting ready to go downtown with a few friends for an overnighter at my new apartment (long story there...) and had taken some laundry downstairs where my mom was working.
She was standing at the washer, then looked over at me. I don't remember what she said before, but then she asked, "Can I ask you something that might sound silly?"
Immediately I got that gut-rush feeling, and I wondered what she was about to say.
I don't even remember what the first statement was about really, but it had basically come down to if I'd 'decided' if I was gay or not. She phrased it a little strangely, I guess avoiding the big 'G' word, asking if I'd completely given up on girls and the whole thing.
I told her honestly that I was more attracted to guys, but that I would never rule out the possibility that someday I might fall for a woman. I was a little taken back by the question, since I thought I'd made it pretty clear before that I was indeed interested in guys...you know, I thought telling her about dating one would make it pretty concrete. But she seemed to think that maybe I'd changed my mind. She said she'd been thinking a lot about it, but didn't know if she should talk about it or not. Since I always told her that she should ask me anything she went ahead with it.
The conversation flowed pretty strangely after that initial question, I can't recall what was said in what order, but the thing that really got her going was something she discovered on vacation. "People were all talking about their grandkids," she said, eyes starting to well up in tears. "I just realized I really wanted that too, someday..." And she started to cry.
I didn't know what to say. Sure, I could tell her that maybe one day I would adopt, but seeing as she thought I might have changed my mind about guys, I guessed she might not be ready for such news. I opted for the truth, that I had no intention, gay , straight or otherwise, to have children for a long time. Who knows when it would be, but it's something that I never intended for my immediate future.
"I know that, I wouldn't want you to have kids now..." she said. "But still, will you ever?"
She continued to cry, and I hugged her close. After a few minutes she got a little more composed and we kept talking about lots of stuff. She questioned my weight loss and renewed interest in my appearance as related to sexuality. She asked if anyone had hurt me, then started to cry again saying she could never stand to loose me. I hugged her again, trying to assure her nobody would hurt me.
Then she wondered who I'd told, and what their reactions were. I answered I had told almost all my close friends, and that everyone had been supportive and quite alright with it. She said it might not be a good idea to tell anyone else, because if I haven't decided if I was, "Gay or straight yet," I probably shouldn't let people get the wrong ideas. And how was I supposed to get a girl if everyone thought I was gay? I just said, as I believe, that if it were the case it would be between myself and whomever, and other people could think/say what they want, as they do naturally.
We then hit the most sensitive topic...telling my father. "Do you think we should tell him at all?" she said. Obviously, I replied, since I do plan on actually having a life, and he needs to know. "But I don't know how he'll take it...I just don't know..." she said, stifling another round of tears. I told her of course I've played through in my mind all the different things that could go really badly when telling him, how I'm terrified of his reaction. The hardest thing for me is the thought that he might not love me as much as he did the moment before I told him ever again, simply because. Then I collapsed into tears.
We stood there, in the basement with the washer door open, crying and holding on to each other. I haven't cried like that in a while, my body shaking and twitching as salt slid onto my lips. I tried to catch my breath, but couldn't stop. "Jesus," I whispered in her ear, "I'm so scared."
I asked her if she loved me still, and she answered, "Of course I love you, you should know that." I do know that. "But are you disappointed?"
She paused. "Well, yes, I mean it's not what I would have preffered..."
I don't really take offence to that. I think.
We talked a few minutes more about it, then moved on to other things. For the rest of the day I felt horrible inside, and I don't know why. I mean, here I was being pretty damn honest with her, confirming that I hadn't changed my mind, and talking about the future. But I guess it was the future part that scares me.
There are moments where I feel like pulling on the brakes and getting off this train. After talking to her, it felt like things were going to be so much harder than I had envisioned before, in all respects. How would my father react? And what about my life from here on, would I be segregated?
I also realized that afternoon that I just don't feel strong anymore. Before I had all that pent up frustration that just ended up channeling itself into inner strength. After crying my eyes out, I just didn't feel strength anymore. I'm sick of having to be the strong one in all of this. But I don't have anyone to lean on, since it's pretty clear that mom is still working through her own issues with it, and not really ready to help me.
At one point she asked if I had anyone to talk about this stuff with. I said my friends had been good about it, but no, really I didn't have any gay friends or people in my life who I talk to on a person-to-person basis. But I said I did have people. "Don't think this is weird..." I told her, "But I talk to people online. Not freaks and rapists, but bloggers and people who are in the same situations as me." Surprisingly she seemed alright with this.
I ended up recounting the story to my friends that afternoon, and had to bite my lip a few times so I wouldn't re-erupt into tears. They were good about listening, but of course couldn't offer much advice other than just being support for me.
Saturday I felt the flip side of the bizarre post-crying terror, and actually was really happy we'd had another conversation about it. I was closer to being out, and being clear that things weren't going to change. The world hadn't exploded after talking about it some more, and the ground we covered seemed to be a positive step forward. I wound up at a friend's birthday kegger in another city, so I didn't really spend any time at home until getting back Sunday night.
Today I don't know how I feel. I guess a mixture of good and bad, with the overwhelming sensation of, "Did that just happen?" thrown in for good measure. I don't know if I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, or the headlights of a train barreling down at me...
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