My personal coming out story

I have an assignment in my journalism class to write about what it means to be gay. I've certainly given it a lot of thought over the years. Perhaps I will start with my story:

I am the child of an alcoholic, broken home. I don't think that that has anything to do with my being gay, it just sets the stage for a pretty messed up childhood. I figured out that I was probably gay when I was about 13. I noticed that everyone else was having these huge sexual things for girls. My brother and the other guys I hung out with were all very turned on by pictures of naked women and they reacted in a way that I couldn't really relate to. It didn't bother me too much at the time. I really didn't think much about it.

My father received a porn advertisement in the mail. They used to do this. I don't think that they do so much anymore, since it's all available on the internet now. I checked the mail and secreted it away in my room. I checked it out and discovered that I was really turned on by the men. Again, I didn't really think much of it, I didn't have any sexual education and I figured everyone must be turned on by men and women or else porn wouldn't have both in it.

The rest of my teenage years were pretty much a blur, I don't remember much. I had a few encounters with a couple of guys, usually with the pretense of a game of truth-or-dare. As I got older, it really started to get to me. When I was 15 or 16 I got drunk while camping and confessed to my assembled friends that I thought I might be bisexual. They were pretty cool about it. One friend said, "As long as you stay away from me."

I accepted my "bisexuality," but I secretly knew that there was more to it. I was deeply concerned about what this meant for my life. I hoped that I would grow out of it. My brother told my sister, who was pretty pissed off about it. I don't remember her reaction, but I remember it being negative.

From that point, I pretty much tried to change it. I fought tooth and nail against my growing "perversion". I wasn't like other people and I didn't like it.

When I was 16 I met Angie. We started dating and eventually I moved in with her family. My home life had been pretty terrible. I was into drugs and drinking. My male parental figure was incredibly emotionally abusive. I was a good kid. My grades sucked because of the pot I smoked on a daily basis. I had no motivation to attend school because no one had ever bothered to explain to my why it was important. The change of residence was a huge step in the right direction in my life. I went from being a loser, sissy, nerd boy to being appreciated and respected for my abilities. Angie's mother was a great parent. She was fairly permissive, but with steadfast rules which were never to be broken. During the time I lived there, she allowed several unwanted teenagers to move into the little 3 bedroom trailer. Her heart was (and is) the size of a mountain. I became her leiutenant. I presided over family meetings and came to be respected as a provider, advice-giver, and decision maker in the household. My self-esteem flourished under these conditions.

My homosexuality was always on my mind, but I mentioned it to no one. Everyone I'd told about it in the past had been informed that it had just been a phase I'd been going through, which I was happily out of. "See, I have a girlfriend."

After about a year, with no sex in our relationship, Angie started to question whether or not I found her attractive. I was head over heels in love with her, but sexually...there was nothing. I told her that I was a traditional religious boy and that we'd wait for marriage to have sex. We went to church on a semi-regular basis, and I prayed that God would change me.

He didn't.

The pressure to have sex was increasing. Angie took it very personally and assumed that I didn't find her attractive. She was very jealous because she was worried that I'd find another girl who I found more attractive. I've never been one to do something that I didn't feel like doing, so I just didn't have sex with her.

Around that time, I confessed to a close friend, and member of the teenage tribe that had formed in the house, that I was bisexual. Which, of course, I wasn't, but I was completely unwilling to admit to myself that I was gay. She told me that I should tell Angie. After much heartache and drama, I did. The backlash was that now she was jealous of both men and women.

Our relationship lasted three years. The last several months were an emotional nightmare for me. I had to face the fact that I didn't find Angie, or any female for that matter, attractive. I got very depressed and contemplated and attempted suicide. I finally had to tell Angie that we were through. It wasn't fair to her and it wasn't fair to me. I loved Angie with all my heart and it tore my soul apart to let her go. People tend to discount this. They assume that because I was gay, that I didn't have the capability of loving a woman. These people are dead wrong.

Angie reacted by moving out of her mother's house. I was left there, living with her mother and her sister. I'd just come out to Angie, and now she was gone. Her mother and sister were confused about our breakup; we'd seemed so happy. I didn't have the courage to tell them. I was afraid they'd toss me out on my ear and I'd have to go back to living in undesireable condidtions with my family. I locked myself in my room for several days. (To be continued)