A Lifestory with No Idea What to do Now

Sorry, but this will be long. First, let me say that when I was growing up I believe that my mom and dad tried to protect me in their own way. No one is perfect, and this is rural West Virginia.
I can remember being a little boy. I remember some things from before I was even in Kindergarten. I can remember a story on the local news mentioned men being gay and then asking my mom what it meant when people say someone is "gay." "It means happy." I said, "Oh, I'm gay." Dad told me not to say that; it meant that a man loves another man and wants to be a woman. (I've never wanted to be a woman, btw.) I'm not sure how much longer after that there was another time when I said that I was gay. Of course, Dad said that I didn't know what I was talking about.
I can remember then that I had a lisp. I was also somewhat feminine. I remember mentioning that I was gay a few more times. I was still fem and had a fem way of speaking. After a while, I started getting punished for it. I got a spanking or sent to bed.
That didn't stop things completely, but I was sort of trained after a while. I couldn't hide it completely though. There were times when I would slip and say something that was homosexual. I think I once said, "He's pretty," while watching an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. (It was that comedy western one, very early Arnold, and yes, he was hot in that very tight baby blue cowboy shirt.)
Later, late grade school or early junior high, Dad said I needed to learn to protect myself. That's when the "boxing lessons" started. Probably because I wasn't hiding those tendencies very well. Mom didn't like this idea, but... A sassy remark, a lisp and flail of the wrist, some comment about a guy I didn't even realize was a "gay" thing to say, and it was time to put my hands up. Block this, hold your fists up here like this, swing from here. I got the crap beat out of me... No one ever physically hurt me before. I was bigger than most kids my age; they left me alone other than some mean remarks. There were only three or four boxing lessons. I can't remember much of the last one, except that it hurt. I remember getting off the floor feeling hot, scalding hot, from the inside. I jumped on my dad and put him into the couch. I was on top and somehow he couldn't get his hands up. I punched him over and over in the face as hard as I could. My right hand hit him in his left cheek and eye. Then I hit him in the nose several times he started to scream. I broke his nose. Blood was pouring out all over his mouth and chin. I got off of him and ran crying to my room. I don't remember anything else about that night or anything else from around that time. I believe that was the end of Dad's training.
The only other homosexual learning experiences I had was with a neighborhood boy that I played with. We stayed nights together growing up, bathed together as little kids. As far back as I can remember we were flirtatious. He was a year older. He would come over to swim or play video games. We would touch each other over our clothes on the buttocks or genitals. He always started it. He always ended it too, with a punch and a "Faggot!" Over the clothes turned into lifting each other's shirts or unbuttoning and unzipping each other's pants and rubbing each other. It would still end with a hit and a "Faggot." The last time, I was 13, we were doing the usual, but this time he got in the floor and pulled the back of his pants down. That was how I lost my virginity. After, I wanted him to let me see his penis; I still hadn't, though I'd touched it in his pants a few times. I tried to open the front of his pants, and he beat the shit out of me. I didn't hang out with him after that, but every time I saw him, which was still often since we lived near and went to school with each other, he would still grab my butt and run his hand towards my anus, or he would grab my crotch. If I ever tried to reciprocate, he hit me, call me a name.
All through high school and into my mid-twenties, true friends would ask if I was gay. I would tell them no. They would tell me that it was ok and they loved me anyway. I still said no. When I was 24, I somehow managed to get a girlfriend. That was fun at first, but after a while, I realized that I really wasn't attracted to her. I guess any kind of sex mixed with denial and a fear of disappointing my loved ones was enough to keep that going for a while. Needless to say, she eventually left once it was obvious that I was not attracted to her but still willing to have sex. She made the right choice; I had been using her to make myself feel better.
My relationship with my Dad had its rocky points, but we did get closer and closer over time. He asked me several times after high school if I was gay. He would say, "I don't care. I love you. Just tell me the truth; are you gay?" I denied it every time. I had a roommate once that I developed a crush on. It (me) ruined our friendship. Our friendship ended with a fight. I called home crying hysterically. I lived 100 miles away from home at that time. Two hours after the phone call, Dad shows up at my house with a four foot long piece of hickory reading to take it to my roommate. I calmed him down somehow, and he went home. He was trying to protect me. I didn't know it until then.
I moved back home. I had some fun recovering from my broken heart. Drinking and doing drugs to excess was fun at the time, all with money mooched from my parents. Dad started to get weak and sick after I was home for a year. I would take him to the VA hospital, and they would tell him to quit drinking, quit smoking, and eat better. He tried it. He got sicker, weaker, and had pain everywhere. I calmed down and stopped my irresponsible living after another year or so.
One night Dad fell down while trying to walk to the bathroom. He was in awful pain. I called an ambulance. They took him to the hospital. They found that a tumor had been growing on his spinal cord, and it had gotten so large that it broke the vertebrae from the inside out. They said the cancer would kill him within a few months. He was home for the rest of his time. He was awake, and he was himself. I made it a point to sit and talk with him every day. In one of those talks, he asked me again if I was gay, and again, he said he'd love me no matter what I answered. I still lied and told him no. I regret that, painfully. He died a few days later. It was one month after the diagnosis, one week after my birthday. He was a good father, no matter what mistakes he may have made. He did love his children.
After that, I went back to school. I earned a degree in Elementary Education and went to work teaching 6th Grade. I just turned 34. I have worked and taken care of others for the last 7 years. I work 12 hours a day at my school, sometimes more. I work ballgames, after school dances, and other events.
No one asks me anymore if I'm gay. I still live at home. My friends have all gotten married, had kids, moved away, or died. I work. I come home. I eat dinner. I watch TV. I bath, and I go to bed. I feel alone. I always feel alone. Work eases it a bit. I like my students and my coworkers, but when I come home, I say a few things to my Mom, pass awkwardly by her new husband who I rarely speak to, go to my room, and sit alone, watching TV and smoking cigarettes. No one asks how my day was. No one asks me personal questions. No one asks if I'm gay.
I sit alone. I think. I go to gay websites to exchange pleasantries with other gay people that I do not know. I think about telling my friends, my sister, and mother. I feel my heart race. I feel my asthma. I struggle to calm myself and get my breath back. I know my current life, my arm's length between everyone else and myself, my work hours, my hiding, and my loneliness are unsustainable. I balance spinning plates on top of long sticks, and I know that no matter how fast I run, sooner or later, a plate will fall. I will turn to look, and one by one, the other plates will fall and shatter to pieces.
I have no idea what to do. I know that to be happy, to have a relationship, I will have to tell my family I'm gay. I fear they will reject me since there is this distance between us now. I fear my brother-in-law will not want my nephew to come see me anymore. I fear the status quo. I'm afraid of the crushing loneliness. I'm afraid of what change will bring.

 

Thanks for listening to me. I felt a doubtful and foolish about posting a life story, but there's been so much eating at me lately that I had to get some of it out.

I've been taking baby steps to make things better. I've told a friend/coworker I'm gay. I've been trying to socialize with gay guys on the web, and I've been trying to meet guys in person too. I had a few drinks two nights ago with a nice guy. I told another friend/coworker I did that, trying to hint at my orientation.

There's a few support groups I found after doing some searching that meet about an hour away from me. I am going to one of their meetings ASAP. Being some distance from home, that is probably a good place to let my gay self out too.

Again, thanks for listening. I'm not usually this dramatic or needy or whatever that was, but I feel like it's time to care for myself. I've been taking care of so many needs of others if I don't do something to make myself happy I think I might go mental. It's weird, but I think part of me needs to have the permission or support of others to do that.