Then I Crawled Out the Closet
Actor & comedian Marlon Wayans acting a fool on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon crawling on the floor away from Jimmy, who’s laughing at him from his desk.
Have you ever wondered why the very thing you’re running from catches up with you? This has certainly crossed my mind. Soon after, one particular question would pop into my mind: Why am I this way? And about 99.9% of the time, I’d follow up with a prayer asking God to take the gay away from me. It never worked, obviously, and I’m so glad it didn’t.
That prayer, which varied each time because I didn’t know how to pray, was one I’d recite more times than I’d like to admit. Even after I got away from the anti-gay hell I called my hometown, I still had to battle homophobia at college. So, I struggled with the inner turmoil alone because I did not want another fiasco like I did back home.
Well, there were a few people on campus who knew I were bisexual. One girl that I’ll call Kira, whom I was acquainted with, a guy that used to date my homophobic roommate sophomore year, and my ex-boyfriend. They all discovered my bisexuality at different times, and each reacted differently.
One day, Kira and I were at her place chatting away. She was talking about how confusing bisexual people were. She said she couldn’t understand why they claimed to be bisexual when they didn’t seem to be. I don’t remember what these folks said to discredit themselves and make them seem like frauds. Nevertheless, I remember understanding where she was coming from. I think she was referring to chicks that were just trying it out or just curious. I don’t remember. This was years ago.
I took a leap of faith and explained to her that I was bisexual, and I explained my attraction to both sexes.
“It’s not that I like girls more than boys or vice versa. I just like what I like, and if I meet someone I find attractive and really get along with, I pursue it,” I said or something along those lines.
She nodded. “You’ve made the most sense out of anyone I’ve talked to,” she said. “I feel that.”
Kira lives lavishly somewhere around here, as she should! She was so chill about it. There was no judgment or any negativity. It was what it was, and that’s all that was to it. I have so much respect for her and her beautiful mind.
Then, there was the unfortunate guy I’ll call Joe, who used to date my homophobic roommate. He didn’t care about sexuality at all. Where he grew up, he was exposed to all kinds of people, so he just treated everyone like a human being. I believe I was drunk one night when it slipped out of my mouth that I thought this one chick was kind of hot.
“Ooh! You like girls?” he asked excitedly.
Oh fuck! I have a boyfriend, I’m in the closet, and I don’t need this shit right now! I panicked internally.
And I guess Joe could see the panic all over my face because he rubbed my shoulder and said, “Hey! It’s okay. I’m not coming onto you or anything, or making fun of you. I was just curious because … you know … you brought it up.”
Valid! My dumb ass did bring it up. I couldn’t blame him for being curious.
We were at a kickback at my boyfriend’s place at the time. I stepped outside to get fresh air and tried to figure out what I would do if shit got out. I didn’t have anything to worry about, though. Joe came out right behind me and apologized because he thought he had said something wrong and was worried. I told him the truth and told him that no one, including my boyfriend, didn’t know. He understood and kept my secret under wraps.
Then, there was the boyfriend, Joe #2, because he shares the same name as my roommate’s boyfriend. I remember that he used to get upset with me because I wouldn’t ever share my personal thoughts or feelings. I just didn’t feel comfortable, which should’ve been a glaring red flag, but I was young and inexperienced in dating. So, I stayed for a while.
Though there was one night when we did have a deep talk, and I did open up a bit. It was the night I shared that I was bisexual with him, too, and his response just killed me.
“I never would’ve dated you if I knew you were bi.”
Yep! I looked just like this cute cat. Shocked at the audacity of that motherfucker.
I couldn’t believe it. After months of begging me to open up and be honest about any and everything, he said that. I closed up like a clam and never shared anything else with him ever again. Everything between us was surface level after that.
Eventually, the relationship just dwindled to nothing. I tried breaking it off, but this idiot didn’t want to break up. We were inevitably growing a part—literally and figuratively—and he wanted to stay together. He also hated who I was and wanted me to be more—I believe the words were—“more feminine and normal.” I was confused. Like, do you hate me or not, bruh?!
A few months and a sidepiece later, we finally broke up. It was devastating because he was my first love. We had some firsts together and some memorable moments. However, not all of them were great, which made it a bit easier to get over him. I was so glad I broke up with him because I started healing after that and focused on myself more.
Still in the closet, I was going back to church, meeting new people, and doing whatever I wanted to do without Joe #2 hovering over me. I was having a great time, and during this time, I met a woman, I’ll call her Lisa, who was also struggling with her sexuality. Only she was more open about it than I was.
I never told Lisa I was bisexual. I didn’t want to open that can of worms, but she told me she used to date and have sex with women often. Lisa’s mother hated it, so she used to hide it (or try, she used to get caught often) to avoid any arguments with her. She also used to pray about it all the time at church, at home, wherever, or whenever she felt like she needed to pray about it.
Then, one day, she met a nice guy. They were each other’s opposites. She was skinny. He was fat (no shade). She was tall, and he was short. She was hyper, and he was chill. Their personalities fit really well, though. Everything was going well, and eventually they got married. I even got along with him, and everything seemed to be going well between the two.
However, good things never seem to last long. Sometime later, Lisa met a woman, and they were spending a lot of time together. Sometimes I’d hang out with them. She was cool. I didn’t think anything of it until her husband started asking me questions. He seemed upset and suspicious, which are two emotions I’ve never seen come from him, so I knew something was wrong. And boy was he right! Lisa was cheating on him with that woman.
He was so angry and devastated, and I felt so bad for them both. Yep! Felt bad for the cheater, too, because I knew she was struggling with something that she was trying to run from, just like me.
That’s when I knew hiding wasn’t the answer. Pretending to be something I’m not or pretending something doesn’t exist, such as my bisexuality, wasn’t going to make it disappear. I am who I am, and there was nothing I could do about it except accept it. There was nothing wrong with me. If anything, denying who I am would do more damage than not, and I saw that firsthand being Lisa’s friend. I didn’t want to end up like that, and I certainly didn’t want to hurt anyone in the process of finding myself, which was the next thing on my agenda.
It took me some time to actually do that, find myself, that is. I didn’t feel comfortable exploring and dissecting my sexuality while living deep in Alabama. So, I still continued to live closeted, and I lived there for a few more years until I couldn’t anymore.
Times were rough! I was so poor. I couldn’t afford to stay anywhere because I had a shit job. I was living on my friends’ couch. Things were bad, and I was tired of it. Then, I decided to do something I thought I’d never do. Move back to Virginia. It was a hard decision, but I did it. I didn’t move back home, but I moved close enough to home in case I needed help from my relatives, who often didn’t help. To be quite frank, they still don’t, but that’s a story for another time.
Sometime mid-May, I moved to the capital and settled in the best way I knew how. It was another new beginning for me. New city. New people. New everything. I’d never lived outside of my hometown besides going to college in Alabama, so it was all new to me.
As I got settled into a new city, I noticed that there were quite a few gay bars around town. I’ve lived here for some time now, so I know there aren’t that many, but back then it seemed like a lot. I didn’t go to any gay or lesbian bars for a long time. For some odd reason, I just didn’t feel like I would’ve been welcomed. Probably because I didn’t feel comfortable with myself, but that quickly changed.
I started picking and choosing my friends a little more wisely. If they seemed laidback and accepting of folks, I’d hang out with them. Bonus points if they were LGBTQ, BIPOC, or very hipster! If they were too religious or really white (you know, the “I’m not racist because I have 1 ½ Black friends” white people that know it all and believe they’re your godsend), I avoided them altogether. Sooner or later, I had a nice little community and friend group that I could rely on and who would accept me no matter what, because people are people, love is love, so forth and so on.
As time went by, I felt more comfortable being myself. I was okay discussing women, how attracted I am to them, or talking to a woman because I felt safe. I even went on a few dates with some nice ladies eventually. No one was going to judge me. Even if they did, they were assholes, and I’d ignore them and put them on my mental shit list.
What? Confidence? Where did that come from?! My friends and the people I surrounded myself with, which is so important. Now that I think about it, that’s why coming out is such a big deal. To live in your truth safely and comfortably, you need to make sure the people around you aren’t going to tear you down or hurt you. They need to be able to accept you for who you are, no matter what.
The kids at my high school looked down on homosexuality and bullied me and my straight brother every day. My family, the people I came out to first, were not on my side and tried to change me. It’s a very harsh reality, but it’s the truth. My father did everything he could to straighten me out and told me often that I was going to hell until he perhaps decided to focus on something else. Maybe something happened all those years back that made him magically forget that I was bisexual. I’m not sure. It’s not like he was ever going to talk about it with me, but now I know why it’s such a big deal. Coming out, that is.
Coming out is the day, after all the years of hiding or figuring things out, when you tell people who you really are. It’s the day you should be able to breathe a sigh of relief and walk in your truth. It’s a day that deserves celebration, like your birthday. Except it doesn’t always go that way. People aren’t always accepting. People have their own views and beliefs, which they are entitled to, but when those views stem from hate or ignorance, it makes things more difficult and harmful. And those people that you want to come out to may be a significant part of your life, not some Joe Schmoe off the street, which is the difficult part. Dealing with the folks who don’t agree with your life choices, with whom you happen to be close. At any rate, that was my case in the beginning and throughout my college years.
Anyway, life in Virginia’s capital got better, and I became the woman that I always wanted to be: myself. I now live as a queer Black woman with a decent job that I absolutely hate and plenty of supportive friends that love me just the way I am. I also live in a community that accepts me for who I am. They don’t seem to judge. Well, not outwardly. If they are judging, I think they may be too afraid to say so. I’m very head strong now and don’t put up with a lot of shit anymore. Life is good.
My family doesn’t acknowledge my queer identity. I’m not sure if they just think that I’m straight now because I haven’t mentioned anyone I’m dating or don’t remind them that I like eating pussy or what. However, things seem to be as good as they’re going to get, and I’m okay with that for now. If there’s a time when I meet a nice lady I want to keep around, I’ll be sure to burst their bubble once again. This time, however, I’ll be able to stand firmly on my own two feet and not get the wind knocked out of me when they express their displeasure. I’ll stand tall and strong as myself with the new confidence and support that I have, and they’ll either accept me or not. Either way, I’ll be living my truth where it’s nice and cozy.
