How best to explain this? Hm. As I start to blog more and more, I realize that I'll have to fill you in on more parts of my life so you can get a more complete sense of me. So, I have a roommate. Let's call him Noah.
He doesn't know I'm gay. Or, if he does, he hasn't said anything about it. I suspect he may know. That's not the problem, though. He definitely wouldn't care that I'm gay. He'd actually love it. He's also about 7-10 years older than me and completely in the closet. He hasn't told anyone that he's gay - not his family, friends, coworkers, no one. The thing is, he's a flaming, mincing, completely obvious homosexual. Noah doesn't actually need to tell anyone that he's gay for them to know that he's gay. Therefore, while he is technically totally closeted, he is practically out to everyone who has ever seen or heard him. And, honestly, that is not a problem for me.
I've noticed that among closeted gay men (and, I guess gay men in general), there is a general dislike of effeminate men. Most times, us closet cases will couch their dislike of queens by saying that we're just not attracted to it, but there's nothing wrong with it. To me, this amounts to a really disgusting form of gay-on-gay homophobia, but I'll write a whole separate post about that. I would say that there is a large group of people who are embarrassed to be seen or associated with effeminate gay man. I am not among that group. Honestly, I'll be seen with anyone that will have me, friend- or boyfriend-wise. Truly, I don't have a problem with effeminate gays. I'm actually quite in awe of people like that. People who can be so out and so true to themselves. It may sound cliché, but I'm envious. However, I do have somewhat of a (big) problem being seen with Noah.
The real issue between Noah and me is that he has a ginormous crush on me. Because he is not out (and because I'm not out, either), he can't exactly profess his love for me. It's a sort of tacit arrangement between us. Instead, the way his crush manifests is that he is very generous financially. I do not pay rent where I live. I do not pay for most of the food I eat. I do not pay for most of my entertainment (movies, music, etc.). I should also probably tell you that I am currently unemployed. I fully understand that that is no excuse. I know that I should not be doing this. I know that it makes me a shitty person and an awful friend. I'll write more about this later. It really deserves its own post.
So, how are the two related? Well, in my nutty, fucked-up mind it would be unfair for me to go and do things with Noah. This may sound crazy, when Noah and I do things together, I can't help but think of it as a date. He fawns over me and is so excited, and I feel bad (yes, worse than I do for letting him buy me everything) for giving him false hope. There is also the totally selfish part of me that doesn't want to be seen with him lest people think we're on a date. Yes, there is an element of not wanting to be seen with Noah, specifically, on a "date." But my apprehension about that is more about being seen on a "date" with any man. As a result, we hardly ever do anything together, just the two of us. But even when we do things with a group (or when we're home alone together) I can almost see the hope in his eyes. It's like they're saying, "if only I could do what it takes, Joe will love me and we'll be together!" In truth, that will never happen. I feel absolutely no attraction to Noah. At all. In fact, his desperation is very unattractive. Of course, he wants more than anything to go places with me, but I will simply not do that. To me, that would be a worse friend offense than having him support me financially. I don't want to dangle the prospect of a relationship with me in front of his face when it is not at all a possibility. Does that make sense at all?
Showing posts with label Gay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gay. Show all posts
July 10, 2009
July 7, 2009
My Closet is This Big
Just to clarify, the reason I'm still in the closet is not because of my mental condition. So, it is because I'm scared, but not the normal kind of scared. I've read other people's accounts of their reasons for not coming out. To be honest, I feel like if I were in any other their shoes, I would come out immediately. I'd shout it from the rooftops. I realize that sounds completely condescending. I'm by no means saying that they're having an easy time. Nor am I saying that they're overestimating the obstacles or consequences of coming out. I just know that if I didn't have this mental thing, I would be out. And, from what I can tell, no one that I've met nor talked with nor read has this mental condition. I know it sounds like I'm whining, but hopefully you'll read it more as commiserating.
On another note, while I am still in the closet, there are some people who I've come out to. My immediate family knows I'm gay. The handful of people I've hooked up with know I'm gay. And there are about ten to fifteen other people who know that I'm gay. Oh, and all of you. Whoever and however many you are. The reactions have been almost universally positive.
The worst, or, rather, least positive, was from my mother. Actually, she was the first person to find out I was gay. I was away at school and she found a notebook of mine in which I had written that I was gay. The next time I was home on a break, we had a talk in our kitchen late at night. She asked me if I were gay and I told her "yes." Then she asked me if that meant that I wanted to become a women, which lead me to laugh in her face (women are great, I just have no desire to be one). My mom realized that it was a silly question and told me that she still loved me. All of that was good. It was what happened later that absolutely sucked. On three separate occasions (so far), each about a year apart, she has made comments that both pissed me off and hurt me in equal measure. One was of the "you could still change" variety, one was of the "isn't that she cute? You could date her" variety but the worst one was the "don't you want to get married?" kind.
The first time it happened, I was more shocked than anything. My mother is a very smart woman. She has a master's degree from an Ivy League university and is generally a smart person. She's also a wonderful mother. I have no question in my mind that she loves me and would do absolutely anything for me. I never thought she would have a problem with my being gay. Or, if she did, I thought she would be the type of parent who totally comes around after her own child came out. Instead she sort of just disregards it. Which, all things considered, isn't that bad. I mean, it could be much worse. It's just annoying that instead of keeping her ridiculousness to herself, she has to ask me inane, insulting questions. And she asks them as if they're totally innocent and she doesn't know that they hurt me. In truth, she may not know that they're hurtful questions, but, as I said, she's not an ignorant person. So, that's the way that goes.
Incidentally, this is how it went with my father, and I quote:
Dad: "Your mother told me about the talk you two had last night."
Me (more than a little terrified) : "Oh yeah?"
Dad: "Yeah. I just want you to know, you're still my Joe."
And that was that. We got out of the car and went back into the house. That was by far the best reaction I've gotten.
When I come out, I do not want to become gay Joe. Or someone's gay friend. I just want to be Joe who likes music, works at his job and who also likes guys. I don't want my homosexuality to define me. In my mind, the ideal situation would just be for everyone to know that I was guy. Like if I everyone I have ever known, know or will know could just be born with the knowledge that Joe is gay. It's not the people knowing that gets me. It's having to say the words "I'm gay" and then having to see as their opinion of me changes and how they will interact with me differently.
Hopefully that was all somewhat coherent. I wrote it in bits an pieces, so I hope it came together in the end. Maybe I'll read over it later to see. Maybe.
So, that's the way that goes.
On another note, while I am still in the closet, there are some people who I've come out to. My immediate family knows I'm gay. The handful of people I've hooked up with know I'm gay. And there are about ten to fifteen other people who know that I'm gay. Oh, and all of you. Whoever and however many you are. The reactions have been almost universally positive.
The worst, or, rather, least positive, was from my mother. Actually, she was the first person to find out I was gay. I was away at school and she found a notebook of mine in which I had written that I was gay. The next time I was home on a break, we had a talk in our kitchen late at night. She asked me if I were gay and I told her "yes." Then she asked me if that meant that I wanted to become a women, which lead me to laugh in her face (women are great, I just have no desire to be one). My mom realized that it was a silly question and told me that she still loved me. All of that was good. It was what happened later that absolutely sucked. On three separate occasions (so far), each about a year apart, she has made comments that both pissed me off and hurt me in equal measure. One was of the "you could still change" variety, one was of the "isn't that she cute? You could date her" variety but the worst one was the "don't you want to get married?" kind.
The first time it happened, I was more shocked than anything. My mother is a very smart woman. She has a master's degree from an Ivy League university and is generally a smart person. She's also a wonderful mother. I have no question in my mind that she loves me and would do absolutely anything for me. I never thought she would have a problem with my being gay. Or, if she did, I thought she would be the type of parent who totally comes around after her own child came out. Instead she sort of just disregards it. Which, all things considered, isn't that bad. I mean, it could be much worse. It's just annoying that instead of keeping her ridiculousness to herself, she has to ask me inane, insulting questions. And she asks them as if they're totally innocent and she doesn't know that they hurt me. In truth, she may not know that they're hurtful questions, but, as I said, she's not an ignorant person. So, that's the way that goes.
Incidentally, this is how it went with my father, and I quote:
Dad: "Your mother told me about the talk you two had last night."
Me (more than a little terrified) : "Oh yeah?"
Dad: "Yeah. I just want you to know, you're still my Joe."
And that was that. We got out of the car and went back into the house. That was by far the best reaction I've gotten.
When I come out, I do not want to become gay Joe. Or someone's gay friend. I just want to be Joe who likes music, works at his job and who also likes guys. I don't want my homosexuality to define me. In my mind, the ideal situation would just be for everyone to know that I was guy. Like if I everyone I have ever known, know or will know could just be born with the knowledge that Joe is gay. It's not the people knowing that gets me. It's having to say the words "I'm gay" and then having to see as their opinion of me changes and how they will interact with me differently.
Hopefully that was all somewhat coherent. I wrote it in bits an pieces, so I hope it came together in the end. Maybe I'll read over it later to see. Maybe.
So, that's the way that goes.
June 30, 2009
The Second Post is the Hardest
The second blog post seems like a difficult one. It makes a blog a blog, rather than just a single statement. I want this to be a blog, so I thought I'd get my second post out of the way. I thought I'd tell you how I realized I was gay. And, how I realized I had my other condition.
So. I realized I was gay at what I would say is a a young age. I was ten. I knew that I liked boys before that. And that I was different from other boys even before that. When I was very little, I liked to dress up in my mother's and grandmother's high heels. I also liked to play with Barbies, My Little Ponies and other typically girly toys. But, I'm pretty sure that by the time I was in 1st grade, I had stopped playing with those kinds of toys. No one told me to stop, nor was I ashamed. I think it was just that by the age of five, sports had taken over as my main activities - soccer, baseball, basketball, and tennis. So I played more with boys and Nerf guns and action figures.
Now, to the day when I realized I was gay. As I said, I realized before that day that I liked boys rather than girls. I just didn't know that there was a name for it. I was in fifth grade and my class had lined up to go somewhere, because in elementary school, if a class was going somewhere, it was going there in a line. So we were all in line waiting to leave, and the girl in front of me, Emily, said, "Being gay means being a boy with the mind of a girl." I can't remember what lead a group of fifth-graders to talk about that, nor can I remember what happened after that. But, to my ten-year-old mind, it was perfect. I knew that I was gay. Or, rather, that what I was had a name. Then several things fell into place very quickly. I realized that Emily's definition of gay was a good effort, but not accurate. I knew that I didn't have the mind of a girl, but I instinctively knew I was gay. I was absolutely not ashamed. I knew that there was absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. I have never, ever, not even once wished that I wasn't gay. Though I also instinctively knew that I would tell no one for a long time.
My realization about my mental condition happened over a much longer time period. Looking back, I can see it starting to affect my life around the 7th grade. But I don't think I realized that something was wrong until my freshman year in high school. I would find myself getting extremely uncomfortable in certain situations. Slowly, I began to realize that my discomfort was not a normal response, that it was in fact completely irrational. When I realized my discomfort was actually fear and that it also had physical manifestations, I was able to research what my probelm was and give it a name. I guess it was nice to know the name of my condition, but any relief I felt was tempered with the pain and disappointment of actually having it.
So, that's that. For some reason, it seems to me like I came to these realizations in the opposite way I should have. It just feels like I should have come to a gradual realization that I was gay and that I should have realized something was wrong with me much earlier than I did. Maybe that would have made things easier, at least.
So. I realized I was gay at what I would say is a a young age. I was ten. I knew that I liked boys before that. And that I was different from other boys even before that. When I was very little, I liked to dress up in my mother's and grandmother's high heels. I also liked to play with Barbies, My Little Ponies and other typically girly toys. But, I'm pretty sure that by the time I was in 1st grade, I had stopped playing with those kinds of toys. No one told me to stop, nor was I ashamed. I think it was just that by the age of five, sports had taken over as my main activities - soccer, baseball, basketball, and tennis. So I played more with boys and Nerf guns and action figures.
Now, to the day when I realized I was gay. As I said, I realized before that day that I liked boys rather than girls. I just didn't know that there was a name for it. I was in fifth grade and my class had lined up to go somewhere, because in elementary school, if a class was going somewhere, it was going there in a line. So we were all in line waiting to leave, and the girl in front of me, Emily, said, "Being gay means being a boy with the mind of a girl." I can't remember what lead a group of fifth-graders to talk about that, nor can I remember what happened after that. But, to my ten-year-old mind, it was perfect. I knew that I was gay. Or, rather, that what I was had a name. Then several things fell into place very quickly. I realized that Emily's definition of gay was a good effort, but not accurate. I knew that I didn't have the mind of a girl, but I instinctively knew I was gay. I was absolutely not ashamed. I knew that there was absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. I have never, ever, not even once wished that I wasn't gay. Though I also instinctively knew that I would tell no one for a long time.
My realization about my mental condition happened over a much longer time period. Looking back, I can see it starting to affect my life around the 7th grade. But I don't think I realized that something was wrong until my freshman year in high school. I would find myself getting extremely uncomfortable in certain situations. Slowly, I began to realize that my discomfort was not a normal response, that it was in fact completely irrational. When I realized my discomfort was actually fear and that it also had physical manifestations, I was able to research what my probelm was and give it a name. I guess it was nice to know the name of my condition, but any relief I felt was tempered with the pain and disappointment of actually having it.
So, that's that. For some reason, it seems to me like I came to these realizations in the opposite way I should have. It just feels like I should have come to a gradual realization that I was gay and that I should have realized something was wrong with me much earlier than I did. Maybe that would have made things easier, at least.
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