Eight People

I am thus far openly gay to exactly eight people. Here’s a long post on them, for my benefit and for anyone else who might draw any kind of comfort from them. And please forgive the extensive use of parentheses - as I posted this I kept on thinking of details to add.

I came out to a friend of mine in September or October 2009, just a few days after I realized that I like boys. I had been acting strangely, very downtrodden and almost depressed, for several days, and she noticed. When she asked me through an instant message if I was okay I was extremely nervous, literally trembling in fear to tell her (not that I didn’t trust her – she has other gay friends and I knew she was completely fine with it – but emotions were running stronger than rationality at the time). I asked if she was alone, then said “I think I might be gay.” It took me a minute to hit the “enter” button and send it off, but her reaction after I did was a tremendously helpful one. She said she understood why I had been acting strangely and said that if I ever needed her for “ANYTHING” I was to let her know. I also got her assurance that she'd keep it between us (I'm in a very conservative small town). She’s been my best help every step of the way since then, despite an age difference that puts me in my junior year in high school when she’s now a college freshman.

A few weeks later I came out in a similar way to her brother, who I had actually known first and who is a year older than she is. The previously year he had been a mentor to me in speech and drama and I knew he would be understanding, so the fear there was much weaker. He was more direct in his response, outright asking if there were any guys I was specifically attracted to (I said yes but wouldn’t give details, still being somewhat depressed and probably a bit ashamed), but as we don’t talk much anymore I mostly discussed this with him in person months later in the summer rather than online as I did (and do) with his sister.

The biggest mistake (and even it proved alright in the end) was telling my eighth-grade brother. He’s a natural worrier but I had to tell someone in person. It was terrifying but I drove myself to do it, and seconds later I wished I hadn’t. He reacted badly enough that after a night dwelling on it I retracted it the next day as casually as I could, saying it may have been just a phase.

After my original six-month period of conflict and unhappiness (in which I came out to the first three people) I accepted my orientation and decided that the summer would be the time to tell my (Catholic but politically center-left) parents. I was met with numerous delays – a (fantastic) trip to Washington, DC, that lasted a week; busy schedule all through June; and stubborn timidity in July – but ultimately I came around in early August. By this time I had built up my esteem enough and had gotten completely over any moral conflicts, and I had to get out of the closet before we got busy with the school year.

I told my mother first, late in the evening in her bedroom. Her immediate reaction was fine: surprised but compassionate, calmly laying out her list of concerns and saying she wasn’t utterly shocked by it. The medium-term reaction was awful: after two days she was crying about it incessantly, mainly because of how hard it was to hide it (and my younger brother and sister meant that she had to). As she had to talk to somebody about it without getting me upset, two other people joined the circle through her via telephone: her sister and one of my dad’s sisters, both of whom were very supportive of her and of me (and her sister told her husband, adding another to the count).

That time period – the worst by far for me, as it was no longer just me suffering and I had lost all the control offered by the closet – climaxed with coming out to my father, as my mother simply couldn’t stand to keep it secret from him any longer. This was the hardest part, because I had heard him refer to gays as “perverse” “queers” on one occasion in the past, and I tried hard to push it down the road, but I forced myself to accept that that was not going to be an option. Three very long and painful days after telling Mom I told him, with her at the table across from me, early in the morning before the day got going. I recapped my whole story up to that point, voice full of fake confidence and not stumbling too much over the information. It wasn’t a perfect reaction – his eyes got a bit watery (and this is one of the most stoic people I know), he asked how I knew and how I was sure (as Mom had repeatedly), he suggested it was just a phase or confusion (in a bit of desperation, I think, and totally wrong), and he feared it would get out in public (which is obviously going to happen sooner or later) – but ultimately he said “I still love you,” and we moved on. With some prodding from me, even Mom got back to normal (though I still think she has some insecurity about it).

A few weeks later my brother asked me if I was definitely gay and I said yes, which meant that ultimately my earlier mistake had just meant getting the shock value out of the way earlier. That didn’t make it any easier, but it did take one more thing off my mind.

As of now, that’s where I stand. My sixth-grade sister doesn’t know but everyone else in the household does, plus my two aunts, one of my uncles, and my two friends. My experience, based on what I’ve read here, was a whole lot better than those of some but worse than those of a few others. On balance, I’d say it was most likely on the better end. If nothing else, it wasn't wildly good or wildly bad. Either way I am proud of it, and I want to go further – but that’s another subject for another day.