In a rare form of self-sabotage, with the best of intentions, I decided to come out of the closet. However, this was only part uno of dos. Dos would occur in three years.
Following my 9th grade year in high school, and several all-nighter conversations with my best friend at the time, I finally seized the moment to come out to my mom. Staying true to myself, I like to ensure that a plan, an important action that I want to occur, actually occurs. With finally admitting that I like boys and not girls, it was imperative to me that I not back out and that once the dominos began to tumble, that each and every last one, filled with years and years of pressure, fell to their fullest potential.
AOL, yes, America Online. I'd like to thank AOL for this self-sabotage per se. Why? Well, my plan was to drop a note, a physical piece of loose leaf paper, onto the ground outside of her door during the night, because in the morning I knew she would awake before me. That way, she could read it. It was something tangible that I couldn't just wish away or decide to delay yet again – it was literally there on the ground and she was about to know that her son was gay.
This wasn't enough, however. After roughly fourteen years of pressure and knowing damn well that being gay was not the societal “norm” or what was accepted, I had to ensure even further that she would read it. This is where AOL, on good old dial-up, plays its intimate role in my coming out story.
I decided to send the exact words written on the note at the foot of my mom's bedroom door in virtual form, via email, to her. That way, in my young mind, I figured even if I decided to wake up in the middle of the night and remove the note the ways of the World Wide Web would not allow me to turn back time. She was guaranteed to find out the truth no matter my wishes beyond that point.
And she did find out. Was she shocked? No. Was she totally happy that I would lead a “harder” life than the average person? No.
Time passed and the years flew by. Slowly but surely I grew into my own, and as I grew and matured, so did my mom's acceptance of my true self – as a gay man. She was the only one who knew, aside from a few select friends, until my first year in college. By then being gay was something I rarely thought about in terms of it being a personal stressor – it was finally becoming what it should be, a positive and natural thing. I was beginning to date and live life as the gay human I was.
The idea of “coming out” through those three years had gone from feeling like an extremely stressful, large burden to a nonchalant mentionable aspect of myself. By then, I was in college, free of the bullying of high school and the fag comments. I was happily in love with my first boyfriend and on top of the world. I personally emailed my closest aunt and my grandparents. My mom informed the rest of my family casually at a family function. She was able to “casually” tell them that I was gay because that's the way it should be. It's who I am, who some people are, and what some people will always be. Here in 2011, being gay to both my family friends is nothing but an afterthought. In a good, content way. My homosexuality is open and I am so comfortable with myself and the thick skin I have acquired that I would do nothing to trade it. I am gay, indeed.
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