Coming out is a sad necessity, because nobody should really
care. But alas, I live in this world, so it had to happen in one way or
another. People say, with all good intentions, that saying “I’m gay” is like saying
“I’m white”, because it’s an inherent characteristic that shouldn’t define you.
But being gay is so much different, particularly because, when a child is born,
nobody has any idea whether he or she will be interested in the opposite sex,
the same sex or both, and can’t plan ahead to raise them accordingly. Obviously,
everyone can clearly see your race, and usually (hopefully) they can sort of
get the gist of what colour their kid is going to be. Being born as a certain
race or nationality or whatever also means you are around people in your family
who are like you in that respect. But again, being gay is different. Gay kids,
more often than not, are born into a world where they don’t know any gay
people. At least that’s how it was for me.
When I was little, I didn’t even know that gay people
existed, and I was never educated about the phenomenon at all. “Gay” came in
alongside all the swearwords I didn’t know until I was ten (it was a very
innocent childhood). When I was about eleven (the dawn of puberty), I watched Desperate Housewives with my mum (a
habit I’ve thankfully left behind), in which there were gay characters and I
saw them kiss. I thought nothing of it at the time, though I strangely enjoyed
it, but I think it must have awakened something (that’s not to say a TV episode
made me gay; it just put men in an
accessible light I’d never been confronted with before – then again, I think
kissing is one of the most beautiful things ever, so of course I strongly
reacted to it).
After that, puberty brought with it a slippery slope that I
just was sort of ignorant about. Despite the fact that I ignored my
increasingly growing feelings (once I think I was attracted to my young
basketball couch), I was aware with the concept of homosexuality, and I thought
gay people were cool (refusing to use the word “gay” as an insult, though I now
do so ironically) and I empathised with their struggles, which were very
usefully depicted on shows I liked such as Glee
(and here I stress the word “liked”). But when I thought of the possibility
that I might have been gay, I thought of the struggle that they went through.
No. I was either bisexual or straight. I liked girls. I had to like girls.
And I do love girls! Among my greatest friends there have
always been girls, and I love how they smell, I love their sense of humour and
I love what they wear. I even prefer female singers over male singers. I always
wanted to marry a woman and have a family with her but … Life happens. As I
slowly realised that I would never feel for girls what I felt for guys, it
upset me. I didn’t want that to be what my life was. But last September I
realised that I might as well accepted it, so I did.
Self-acceptance was the hardest and most liberating thing I
could have done. It happened almost like an epiphany; the idea that I was gay
had slowly crept forward over the years, but until that fateful day I’d never
thought to myself, “Hey, I am gay.” I suddenly let go of everything that was
holding me back and gave into it, so to speak.
I remained in the closet for a few weeks before 11 October
2012, when I sat my parents down and told them that I was gay. Their response
was more valuable to me than all the Christmas and birthday presents they’ve
ever given me (and I’ve had some good ones). It changed absolutely nothing, and
they went on loving me as they always had. They were, however, a bit afraid of
me going out and telling my friends, not because they were ashamed (they are
very proud of me) but because they were afraid that not everyone would be so open-minded.
But I chose to go with my gut, and about a week later all of my close friends
at school knew, and after that I had to tell my brothers in case they heard it
from rumours. Thankfully neither of my brothers have since changed whatsoever
in their behaviour towards me, and nor have most of my friends (although we’ve
opened ourselves up to a wide assortment of hilarious gay-related jokes).
With my coming out, I had fully accepted myself. I had taken
a leap of faith and landed more or less where I wanted to be; safe and sound. I
wish I could say the same for all people, which is why I currently want to
spend my life educating people on homosexuality (because I myself really could
have used it) and trying to help people who feel alone in the closet to come
out and embrace themselves, knowing that their feelings are perfectly normal.
While I don’t define myself by my sexuality, it’s certainly an important part of
my life that I’m glad I have, and others should feel the same way.
Opening myself up to homosexuality meant opening myself up
to the emotional side of my sexuality, which is awesome and has made my liking
of guys so much more sentimental and “real”, whatever that means. But it came at
a cost; I had to live through an obsessive crush that, at its worst, made me
feel horrible and helpless, although now I think I’m stronger for it, and it
inspired the best and most depressing poetry I’ve ever written. But that, I
think, is a story for another time.
If you’ve ever felt like you’re stuck in a closet, or if you
have queries (or should I say “queeries”) of any kind, please comment! Share
your story, and if you did overcome it, share your experience. You can also
safely and reliably ask me anonymous questions on Ask.fm, if you’d prefer.
Everyone do what you need to do to be happy! The last year
has been so pivotal in the best way ever, so thanks to everyone for being so
kind as I’ve gone through all I’ve had to go through.
That wraps up the two-part "From the Top" detailing the eccentricities of my sexuality from early days. Excuse me while I brainstorm for good sign-offs for this
blog. Or perhaps my sign-off, like so many, will just be an endless musing of the
fact that I don’t have a sign-off … I think that’s a paradox …
Until next time, adieu!
