Going In and Coming Out (J. Wilde)

The darkness surrounds you. For so long, you have had a weight on your chest. You even have a gag in your mouth. You can't scream, but you open your mouth wider to get around the gag. You try to take in a deep breath, but the weight pressed down.

The weight vanishes.

You breathe.

The gag disappears.

You speak.

You open the door; the light almost burns your eyes. The world seems new, although in retrospect not much has changed. They know your secret. It's not a secret. It just is.

I can't remember when I realized that I was gay. I can remember the first time that I actually said the word. I was probably fifteen or sixteen and laid next to this guy I'd been sleeping with for a while. It's part of my childhood trauma, but we'd been doing this for almost five years already. We just did it in secret every couple weeks. This time stood like any other. We did what gay men do, but this time I looked over him and said "I think this makes us gay." He did not say anything. He just looked away and we cuddled for a couple minutes before we threw on our clothes quickly going back to some things teenagers do.

As I moved through High School, I called myself a bisexual. I met this girl on the Internet, which is a story all its own. I think I loved her, and some people have read the story and saw that. I think at the very least I wanted to love her. I saw us sitting on the porch together as an old couple. Perhaps we drank ice-tea. We swung together on the wooden swing, but we sat on opposite ends.

That relationship inevitably ended with us throwing giant fireballs at each other across the country. We did get a week together of bliss. We snuggled on a large couch our hands intertwined. We laid next to each other together in bed. The fantasy ended. Reality slapped us back, and college came along and my life changed.

Throughout my first few years of college, I found myself giving in too much to the purely physical pleasure. After a Halloween party in which I got a bit handsy with a girl, I had my first heterosexual sexual experience. Later that year, I slept with the first girl I kissed. Both experiences were pleasurable, but they meant nothing. Just like every other physical relationship I had.

Nothing really changed after I decided to come out, which wasn’t so much a decision as an e-mail I wrote on a whim. The story goes back a little bit further. I sat on the couch in my counselors office explaining to her how I felt I didn’t need to come out to my parents. “My sex life is my own to have. I don’t want to hear about them having sex, nor should they care who I am simply having sex with. If something serious happens, I will let them know.” I looked at my counselor with my eyes serious, and my hands behind my head on the large pillows the couch had next to each arm.

That Thursday, I sent my mother an e-mail and told her I was gay. Then, I repeatedly told her via text message to check her e-mail. I was frantic throughout the day. She sent me an e-mail back that basically told me to stop being such a bitch. They didn’t hate me. I was still their son. I finally called and talked to them that Monday. My dad answered the phone, “You done avoiding us now.” I felt the smile rise up on my face as I said, “Yeah.”

Coming out to my family was the easiest part of the entire process. The hardest remains with my decision to join the military and place myself back in the closet. The worst part was that was the time I finally decided to start dating.

I joined this website for “gay dating”, which is just code for a hook-up website. I met several guys, before finally meeting someone who would legitimately become a good friend. I had a different “date” each night leading to the meeting of the young man who was the first guy I truly dated.

We met at a bar, which seems almost a bit cliché when it comes to a date. We talked about a bunch of things getting to know each other in common date-like fashion. He seemed to know everyone downtown, which probably should have tripped a few mental triggers. He was entertaining to say the least, and things progressed. We spent the night together, and several nights afterwards. We probably saw each other once a week until the point I was leaving for the Navy.

Yes, you in fact read that right. I dropped out of school, and standing straight with my right hand up saying the oath to protect the country, I joined the United States Navy. The first relationship I found myself apart of was one with a time-stamp. We parted on good terms, although truly neither one of us was serious about the ‘relationship’.

I still remember talking to him in the park that first date. I sat on the swing on that August night. I had a few drinks lubricating my lips, and swaying my movements. We just talked, before we walked close back to the bars. My hands were in my pockets until we finally stopped next to a random house on a random street. I moved down and kissed him. Brilliant.

The Navy changed me. I spent a month keeping my mouth shut about my sexuality. I would lay in bed at night staring up at the ceiling with the small, wool blanket pulled tightly over me. I kept thinking about how trapped I felt throughout the day. I could not open my mouth about my relationships. The zipper remained zipped. My stories remained closed. When I was brought to separations that changed. I met a few other gay men. Gender-neutral pronouns revealed one to me, and the other seemed to just find the two of us. He declared “I know the dance to Beyonce’s ‘Single Ladies’ ” and we began a friendship for our short time together. I left first back to the outside world.

I came back to South Dakota in my blue smurf suit (as they called the blue sweat-shirt and sweat-pants). I began to be more open about my various sexual experiences. I lost the minimal filter I had. I fought with friends who seemed to accept me before I left, and made friends with new people. The world kept going with out me, which I knew. The problem was I kept going with the world, on a different path and they didn’t get that.

It took the night I don’t remember to begin the stabilization process. I sucked down Jello Shot after Jello Shot. I shot some Patron. I drank a glass of Morgan with a splash of Coke. I remember leaving the apartment, and everything saves for a few things that have come back…gone. I woke the next morning on my friends couch. The revolving door of my life once again forced me out. I created problems that continue to influence not only my social life but also decisions about how I handle myself.

The oddest thing about this new life as a gay male in South Dakota is the fact that you are never sure how people are going to take the information. I want to do something with Gay Studies. I mention that to people and have had many different reactions. “I’m really okay with that” one man frantically said over and over again downtown. He needed the convincing, not me. The woman who did my taxes seemed actually a bit put off by it. When I mentioned it to my class, they stood silent. I can feel the fear begin in my stomach every time I mention it and slowly crawl like a spider up my spine birthing more queasiness through my body until the tension breaks and the spider’s vanish, until I ‘out’ myself again.

My life has definitely been an experience. My entire family doesn’t know yet, but I’m not really keeping it a secret. I mention it on Facebook constantly. My grandmother actually asked my mom “Does Josh like boys?” The statement is a bit insensitive and disgusting in that context, but not everyone understands. I do get that. Some people do not believe it’s right, my father is one of those people, but I accept that too. They tolerate the life I live, and I tolerate their lives for what they are.

It’s an ongoing process. I am going to have to actually openly tell the rest of my family some day, and that scares me. The Navy gave me vigilance. My parents gave me hope. My mistakes gave me wisdom. Coming out does get easier, but here in South Dakota, you’re always afraid how people are going to react. It isn’t an end to anything; it’s the beginning of an ongoing process. I’ll keep moving forward, coming into my own as everyone does.