I Popped Out of the Closet
A hand with brown colored painted nails holding a pride flag out from behind a wall of pink, blue, and purple streamers.
I feel as if I have two coming out stories. I know that sounds crazy and impossible, but for me, it's true. Coming out part 1 and coming out part 2, and I am sure I will have a part 3.
The first time, I came out like anyone else. I sat there and told whoever I wanted to tell and took their reactions as they came. However, despite how bold and determined I was to be myself, I'm one of those who didn't have a great coming out.
But let me back it up a bit. So, I knew I liked girls very early. It just took me a long time to come to terms with it. My first kiss was in first grade with a girl named Kelsey. I remember it like it was yesterday. We were laying on our mats during nap time, and of course, we were talking. (What kid actually took a nap back then?) I'm not sure how it happened or what we said to each other, but the next thing I knew, my lips were on hers, and we did this several times. She tasted fruity, like strawberries. It was a very good experience, and it only happened once.
Throughout my childhood, I'd admired girls, but always from afar. I knew that being gay in a small rural town was a death sentence. I'd be bullied and treated differently. Was I necessarily afraid? Yes, but not for being openly gay per se. I was afraid to date in general. I cared a lot about what the other kids thought and even more about my parents finding out. I knew my dad, in particular, wouldn't want any guy near me, let alone a girl.
So, while my classmates had boyfriends and girlfriends, I just focused on schoolwork and hanging out with my friends in my free time. I'd get jealous and lonely from time to time, but I never acted on it. It was like one of those things; you don't know if you want something until you see it. And I never saw or met anyone I truly wanted to date until later.
Fast forward, I am a junior in high school taking some computer class. There's a girl that I sit next to who's pretty cool, cute, and just as dorky as me. We get along pretty well, and I'm starting to feel things. I wasn't entirely confident about what I was feeling at the time. I had never felt this way about anyone, but I knew I had to do something about it. So, I up and told her that I was bisexual one day while we were sitting in class.
Thinking back on that day, she was the first person I ever told I was bisexual. I hadn't shared that part of myself with anyone else before, and I remember being nervous as hell. I didn't think she would have a bad reaction—and she didn't—but I guess I didn't know how she would treat me after that.
Maybe a day or two later, we took the long way to class from our lockers, and that's when she told me she was bisexual, too. I stopped in my tracks as the butterflies filled my stomach. I looked at her. She looked at me. Then, she dragged me into a corner where no one could see us and kissed me. We made out for quite some time. Actually, we made out a little too long because we were both late for class.
Anyway, she became my girlfriend sometime after that. I liked spending time with her and loved having sex with her even more. (Oh, my raging teenage hormones!) Plus, being with her felt right. Well, for as long as it lasted, it felt right. Naturally, I wanted to be open, hold hands, and kiss like my other classmates and their significant others, but I knew that would come at a cost. I just didn't know what it would cost me.
Also, I wanted to make sure that word of my having a girlfriend didn't get to my parents before I could tell them. They were significant people in my life, after all, and I'm sure hearing it from me would be better than someone else. So, while I was at school, I told my girlfriend I decided to tell them before they went to bed one night.
"That's a bad idea! Don't do it!" she begged me.
She had been to my house a couple times and met my parents, so she had an idea of what I was up against. But did I listen to her? Of course not! First of all, I knew I wouldn't be able to hide having a girlfriend if I was going to be open in a small town. Second, I wanted to rip the bandaid off because I knew this wasn't a phase for me. So, I did what any zealous teenager would do and popped out of the closet on my folks one night.
I used to regret that decision. Not anymore, but I'll explain that much later.
My mother was very silent. She didn't say a word. I never knew what she thought of my relationship or my sexuality. 'Til this day, she's never said a word. My father, however - God rest his soul - had plenty to say and was very disappointed. Very!
"God didn't intend for you to be with a woman! It's not right! God this, and God that," was all I heard, and it baffled me. How could my father bring God into this when he had shunned Him so long ago? The very man who was angry with God for being terminally ill was now bringing Him up to serve his own purpose and get his point across.
So, yeah, I was baffled, sad, mad, and ultimately and inevitably regretful. I was also disappointed in my parents for not accepting me and living by their stupid, conservative ways, which made me resistant to anything they had to say to me. "Should I have kept this to myself?" I thought in that moment getting grilled by my father. And after that night, for some time, I always wondered, since my mom was so quiet if she was upset that I was bisexual or that I said anything at all.
That night, my angry father told me to never see my girlfriend again and sent me to bed, where I cried for at least an hour. So many thoughts were running through my mind. I didn't know what was next, so I did the only thing I knew I could do. Just live my life as normally as possible.
The next day, when I went to school, I told my girlfriend what happened, and of course, she said, "I told you so," but hugged and kissed me and told me we'd be okay. I didn't break up with her. I don't even know if I told her my father didn't want me to see her again. I don't remember, honestly. That was years ago!
I also don't remember exactly when this happened, but my parents told me that I had to go to therapy. Apparently, I needed to be straightened out. So, my mom took me to this janky place to talk to some white dude about my sexuality, but that never happened. He broke confidentiality mid-session, so my mom and I left and never returned. Not a traumatizing experience at all!
I, a regular churchgoer then, started noticing the members treating me differently. A deaconess tried to make me look more "feminine" and behave differently. I knew my mother or father must have said something to someone. Then, one day, someone tried to pray the gay away. I was appalled and didn't sit there for that crazy bitch to finish. I got up, found my brother, and we both left. It took me a long time to step back into another church after that.
Church wasn't the only place I was getting mistreated. My classmates and my cousins made fun of me at school. I lost friends, too. Random boys in the hallway would ask my girlfriend and me for threesomes. My computer science teacher, the religious crusader she was, told me that it was wrong in the eyes of God and that, as a Black person, I was making my life harder. My extended family stopped calling and answering the phone when I called. Then, my favorite aunt (I know I shouldn't have a favorite, but I did) stopped picking me up for our weekly girls' day out. That's when I knew I was really outcasted. Out of everyone that mistreated and ignored me, she is the one that hurt me the most.
Then, I found out I wasn't the only one getting bullied. My brother, who was in a grade behind me, seemed upset all the time when we were boarding the school bus to go home. He wouldn't tell me for a while, but eventually, he told me that this guy was picking on him for having a gay sister. "You like having a fag as a sister?" was one of the things my brother told me he said.
Up until that moment, I felt sad and defeated and wanted to hide. However, my brother was my rock at the time and one of the few people in my family who could care less about what I was. Who I was was his sister; he loved his sister, and that's all that mattered to him. He kept this secret to himself because he didn't want to upset me, but I was already upset, so it didn't matter.
After my brother told me what was happening and who was bullying him, I told him I'd take care of it. I didn't feel sad and defeated anymore. I felt angry and tired of the bullshit. When I got to school the next day, I went looking for that motherfucker. I found him talking to some of his friends by their lockers. So, I took out the largest textbook I had in my backpack, ran at him full speed, and whacked the fuck out of him with it. His big ass fell to the ground, and his friends backed away, hands in the air. They didn't say much either because I think they knew.
I stood over him. "You better stop making fun of my brother and making fun of me. If I hear you doing that shit again, I'm gonna come back and kick your ass again!" Then, I grabbed my textbook off the ground and headed to class.
Surprisingly, I didn't get sent to the principal's office. No one came looking for me. No one ever brought it up, and no one ever made fun of my brother again. At least, not that I know of, and my classmates stopped harassing me and my girlfriend.
Shortly after that, my girlfriend and I joined an LGBT group that one of the counselors had formed. We'd meet weekly just to chat and support each other. It was nice, and I enjoyed it. Eventually, the counselor recommended I talk to the school psychologist, and I'm so glad I did. I don't remember her name at all. It saddens me, but I can remember what she looks like.
Average height white woman with brown hair, friendly brown eyes, and a cheerful face. She wore work-casual clothes all the time. She looked comfy and relaxed, like she had no worries in the world. I mean, she's a white woman, so I'm sure she had way less to worry about, but that's just my opinion. Nevertheless, she was very attentive and let me speak freely and share my thoughts and feelings.
As my junior year passed, things changed. People stopped bullying me and my brother. My parents miraculously forgot I was bisexual and pretended I was okay after all. I found my core friends and stuck to them like glue, and I became single toward the end of the school year. My girlfriend was getting too jealous of my friends, my guy friends specifically, and I felt like she was ready to cheat on me with a girl from the LGBT group. So, I broke it off. I wasn't upset or heartbroken. I just didn't dwell on it and moved on with my life.
In a flash, summer came, left, and I was a senior in high school planning my future with my counselor. I applied to my dream school and a few others in case I wasn't accepted to my first pick, but I did! Getting that acceptance letter was amazing! I had something to look forward to. A new beginning. A beginning, I determined, that wouldn't be as tough as the hell I went through recently. Therefore, I consciously decided that when I got to college, I would go back into hiding. So, on that fateful day sometime in mid-August, in the SUV with my parents and my brother on my way to college with my things in tow, I silently retreated into the closet, attempting to protect myself and my future.
