come out, come out, wherever you are

The first person I ever came out to was my friend Danielle in the 9th grade.  She was the first person that I ever admitted liking a boy to.  I was at Las Vegas Academy, a performing arts magnet school, and was just wrapping up pretty much the best year of my life.  The time spent at that school strengthened my friendship with my BFF, Mike, as well as opened me up to so many beautiful and talented friends that I've had since those days.  I was a theater major, and I remember bonding over my love of the Spice Girls with my friends Eric and Cherrelle.  Later on in the year, Eric would teach me Madonna's "Don't Tell Me" dance.  At least, he tried to.

Don't get me wrong, my ass was gay from the start.  Years before that, as in the first grade, I would play Winter Olympics on the playground with all my little girl friends and make them be Tonya Harding when I was Nancy Kerrigan.  I remember feeling a strange, strong, elementary school crush on a boy in my school who, years later, ended up being one of the douchiest homophobes in the world.  I wrote epic poems for every girlfriend I ever had.  I was obsessed with Titanic and the Spice Girls.  And the entire time, whoever was my friend never doubted for a second that I was straight.  Because I had told them I was, and they believed me.  Many of them fought for me as I was incessantly teased and called 'fag.'

After 9th grade, I had to move back to North Carolina, and it was like the acceptance and love that I had found at Las Vegas Academy, which was slowly making me comfortable enough to acknowledge to others what I had acknowledged to myself so long ago, that acceptance was lost.  I felt like I was thrown back into the 6th grade.  Everyone should know that life for gay kids in middle school - most of whom may not even be gay, just different - is hell.

I was lucky enough to have a few close friends who I eventually could tell.  Once I had admitted it to one, it became harder and harder not to just tell everyone.  I was finally able to talk to my friends about the stuff I really wanted to talk to them about.  It took me till I was halfway through my junior year to admit to everyone that I was gay.  Before that, my life was slowly getting more and more dark.  I remember feeling depressed, and not knowing why.  I convinced my parents to let me see a doctor with hopes to go to therapy.  I'll never forget going to the doctor that day, and having him ask me a series of questions.  Finally, he asked if I knew what Zoloft was and if I'd like to try it out.  I wasn't looking for drugs.  I was looking for someone, an adult, an authority figure, to tell me that who I was was okay.

That came to me eventually through a teacher who I ended up feeling like I could talk to.  I remember, I finally had my first boyfriend.  I talked with my teacher about how I really wanted to come out to my mom, because I didn't like drifting apart from her.  I was given the best advice I could have been given.  It's advice I still give to this day when people ask me for it.

I decided to write a letter.  I'll never forget telling her I needed to talk to her, and going up to my parents' bedroom, closing the door and sitting on the bed.  I was shaking, and as soon as I read the first sentence, I started crying.  I remember looking at her, eyes full of concern, almost terrified at the prospect of what could possibly be troubling me so much.  I wish I still had the letter, but I don't.  All I know are the essentials, which is the advice that my teacher gave me.  Something like "Mom, I want you to know this because I love you, and I don't want to lie to you.  I want us to be close, and if I can't tell you the truth, then we can't be close.  I understand this might be a hard thing for you to deal with, so I want you to know that you can tell anyone you need to.  I also want you to feel like you can ask me anything you want, because I want to help you understand it."  I don't remember much of what she said in response.  I do remember that she said "I'll love you no matter what."

For two days, I was in a shell-shock.  It felt like my entire world had changed.  Even though she said she loved me, I still felt like I lost something I'd never get back.  After two days, things slowly returned to normal.  We didn't talk much about it.  That was a longer process.  It took me a while to realize that what I had lost was the defensive wall I had built around me years ago.  That wall was deconstructed, and I was a vulnerable person.  But I was an honest person.  I acknowledged my identity truthfully for the first time in my life to the most important person in my life.  My entire world had changed.

As time went on, it became true: my mother and I did get closer.  A few years later, when I finally got the courage to tell my dad, again, in a fit of tears, we got instantly closer as well.  My dad's reaction, which I had been terrified about - long after I knew that he knew, was in a way, better than my mom's.  He's always been better with words, and he was able to explain delicately that I'm just different and that he loves me and nothing will change.

To be honest, I've never really had a negative coming out experience.  I understand fully how lucky this makes me.  I like to think that I just know how to pick them.  And now, I'm out in all aspects of my life.  I realize that being out isn't just about being out with your sexuality.  The more you reveal of yourself to others, the stronger and more meaningful your relationships with them will be.  I can tell you from experience.  When you get down to the bottom of it, fear of any kind is not a valid excuse.  I realize that coming from a more difficult situation makes coming out ...well, more difficult - but at least you're true to yourself.

Being out means so much more than just affirming my identities.  For me, it's about fighting for the right for the validity and respect of my identities and the identities of others.  It's not enough to be just for gay and lesbian rights.  I've got to be for the rights of bisexual and transgender people too.  I've got to be for removing the red squiggly underline that appears every time I type transgender, telling me it's not a word and by extension, that it's wrong. I've got to fight for others who are queer by societies bullshit standards.  I've got to fight for everyone who is oppressed, because as hard as it may be to believe, even this white boy has been oppressed, and I know how wrong it is.  For me, it's not enough to just tell people about me, but to speak up when I hear something that contributes to homophobia, transphobia, heterosexism, racism, misogyny, sexism, and all the other "isms" of the world.  And maybe that makes me that annoying guy who won't stop telling you to be a more thoughtful person, but when I came out, I made a decision to take on these responsibilities on behalf of and to honor those who aren't in the position to do so just yet.

In my years of being out, I've discovered that there's nothing better than simply that: being true to yourself.  And no matter how lost you get along the way, as long as you find your way back to that truth, every little thing is going to be alright.

I dedicate this post to my GLBT friends who are marching on Washington today in solidarity and hope for equality.  I love you all and I wish I could be there with you.  We will get there.

I encourage everyone reading this to come out:  come out in support of the GLBT community, come out with your secrets, come out with your sexuality.  The more we unveil our secrets, the more we reveal the commonality that is within us all.  So come out, come out, wherever you are.