Author's note: This piece was tough to write, as it covers the darkest part of my life. Many years have passed since the events I detail here, but words have consequences and can create lasting, sometimes lifelong damage. One such ramification is that, as with my childhood, I blocked out most of these memories. Bear in mind that I will try to be as accurate as I can, but that my retelling of events may not 100% match what happened and/or may be out of sequence.
A lot of what I'm going to relate in this entry will not portray me in a positive light, but I believe transparency is important. Self-acceptance is hard. Coming out can be, and often is messy. You may do things in life you're not so proud of. What is important is that you learn from your mistakes, go easy on yourself, and make an effort to be open and honest with others. Your true friends will understand what you're going through, even though their experiences differ from yours.
College provided a clean slate. Along with deluding myself into thinking I could flip a switch and be straight, college gave me the opportunity to prove to myself that I am smart. All throughout high school, I had difficulty maintaining focus and pretending I remotely cared about the subject matter. And, since there was little oversight on my work, I was able to get away with less than honorable academic behavior, to the point where I pretty much copied my entire Latin textbook to index cards and hid them under my bed for exams.
All that changed when I went to college. Shame from my previous actions led me to work overtime proving that I am intelligent and capable. And, while an associate degree in and itself means little, I was proud to graduate with a 3.95 GPA.¹
A lot happened during my community college experience. A lot. I started developing friendships. In fact, my longest-lasting friendship (outside of my husband Rich) began in a school break room in 2003. There, I met Heather, who was sitting around a table with another classmate, likely discussing homework. She and I soon became inseparable. We had lunch together frequently. I never mentioned a word of my sexuality, but it was a moot point since I had already been "cured."
During my first semester in college, I also made friends with Leah, one of the female peers I unofficially tutored in a basic computer skills course. I didn't want to take the class in the first place. My technological proficiency surpassed anything on the class curriculum, but my advisor said I would learn something new. And how. The instructor began by showing us how to use a 3.5" floppy drive. To put things into perspective, that would be like having a modern-day professor show their students how to load files from a DVD or Blu-ray.
At any rate, the class ended up being far too easy, and I spent most of my time helping Leah, who actually was computer illiterate. She showed interest in me - you know, because I was doing something for her. I misinterpreted this as something more than it actually was.
In actuality, the bulk of our "friendship" consisted of me teaching her basic computer concepts so she could pass the class. And, that's all there ever could be, because she already had a steady boyfriend. But, since I had convinced myself I was now straight, I latched on to her attention so I could claim I was interested in somebody of the female sex. Once the class ended, Leah and I did not maintain any form of contact, and I gave up any notion that God/god had set my path to the straight and narrow. But the teacher loved me and my perfect 4.0 (at the time) remained unscathed, so that's all that counted, I guess.²
Later in the year, I met Ben. Of all the memories I've blocked, the ones involving Ben probably exist in my most remote brain cells. During this time, I found myself in an especially deep funk, likely because I was hopelessly in the closet and saw no way out. I used to study and relax in the student center, and I would go out of my way to present my demeanor as depressed.
One day, Ben noticed and showed interest and empathy. Ben was a psychology major, so he would seek me out and offer advice. From there, we became fast friends; primarily because I was clingy and did everything in my power to make it so. Imagine you're playing The Sims and you're trying to fast-forward your way to "WooHoo town" - minus the WooHoo part.
The truth is, I was strongly attracted to Ben, but he already had a girlfriend. I suppressed my feelings, because I was just happy to have somebody I could confide in. Bubbling under the surface, however, was tremendous jealousy, not in Ben's girlfriend (explicitly), but instead his friends. He would always talk about his best friends, whom he had known since high school.
Because I had little experience with maintaining friendships, I was constantly afraid of rejection. Why? I secretly knew our relationship was headed in that direction. At that time, I had the misguided notion that I only had room in my life for one "best" friend (a stupid and exclusionary term to begin with) and I was obsessed with the label.
Ben would only commit to calling me a "better" friend, and it played on my insecurities. Emotionally immature and mentally unstable, I doubled down. "I may not be your best friend, but you're mine," was something I'm certain I relayed to him. What of my friendship with Heather? I slowly cast her aside, because I was set to show the world that I only had room for one best friend, and that person was Ben.
I started buying expensive gifts for Ben; because, you know, that's what bestest friends who are totally secure in their friendship do, right? Right?! $200 on a rare, second edition Nintendo? Another $100 or so on some of his favorite NES games, complete in the box? $50 on a mint condition box to house his copy of Earthbound?³ All totally normal, and a drop in the hat. I didn't have a job, but who needs that when you have eBay money?
I never said I was in my right mind.
During the summer of 2004, I felt comfortable enough with Ben to confide in him that I was "attracted to guys" or perhaps that I was bisexual, but I also told him I didn't want to be that way and had no plans to pursue a same-sex relationship.⁴ Ben gave me a warm hug, and reassured me he didn't think any differently of me.
Finally! Somebody who wasn't my mom knew the turmoil I was experiencing inside, even if I wasn't fully up front about my sexuality. Unfortunately, the events that transpired in the following months would turn my world upside down.
I got the distinct impression that, for whatever reason, Ben didn't like Heather. And, since I was already creating distance between herself and me, I played into his bias by saying she was clingy. (She wasn't.) And then I did something I'm especially not proud of.
My 21st birthday was less than a year away, and I still felt I needed to manifest a reality where I was straight. I started panicking. One day, I was hanging out with Heather, and I asked her if she had feelings for me. Deep down, I knew that, no matter the answer, I could only see her as a friend. But I wanted to know: If I forced myself to reject my natural feelings, would a woman find me attractive? She gave it some thought for a few days before she revealed the answer was yes.
Gulp.
I quickly backtracked and told Heather I only saw her as a friend. I said I hadn't asked her in seriousness. I was just curious (or something like that). That became one of several moments where I turned into that which I now hate most: a manipulative gaslighter. The previous distance I created between became continental for several months following this.
Meanwhile, I continued to pour all of my efforts (read: obsess) into my friendship with Ben, who was preparing to transfer to a university on the opposite side of the state in fall 2005. I had no aspiration to continue my education post-community college, but I wanted to do everything in my power to maintain contact with Ben. So, I went to with him cross-state to tour the institution.
Ben and I were going to go to the same university. What a fun idea!
Following the summer of 2004, I began to see changes in Ben. He started picking me apart, little by little. "I don't like it when you do this" or "You should change that," he would say. And, so I did. I became his clone. I listened to the same music he did, showed interest in whatever his passions were, and even grew my hair out to match his. I even went out of my way to take some of the same classes he did. (Can you say creepy stalker?) The more I altered myself, the more he asked of me.
This led to even more insecurities. I could see the writing on the wall. He had been treating me like a test patient for his eventual career as a psychologist and was likely tiring of it. I began to have discussions with him about my insecurity and jealousy. I even started writing him letters, because I express myself better through writing (but more likely, because I was terrified of having face-to-face conversations).
Ultimately, I knew our friendship (or whatever it was) was a train wreck. I just didn't have the guts to end it. I was in the habit of needing constant affirmation due to low self esteem and, up until that summer, he indulged me.
One day in April 2005, I remember having a particularly heated discussion with him while we were sitting in his car. Once again, it revolved around him calling me a "better" friend. (I'm cringing as I write this, because I realize how childish and manipulative I was.) I had previously gotten him to say I'm one of his best friends, but he backtracked. I lost my temper, and we had an argument. I was ready to leave, but he interjected: "We're having an important conversation. Do you really want to stop?" We spoke for another hour, during which time he seemed eerily calm and cold.
I knew things had reached a breaking point. For my part, I had planned to write him a letter airing my grievances and giving him an ultimatum. Though we were both responsible for the unstable nature of our friendship, I began to realize how toxic it was and that it needed to end. Ben and I had plans to hang out that weekend, but I never got to personally give him the letter I wrote, as intended. When I called to confirm our original plans, he responded icily: "I don't think we're going to hang out. In fact, I don't ever want to see you again."
Ben proceeded to tell me I was manipulative and that he hated me and everything I stood for. He never felt comfortable around me and could only envision being my friend if I completely changed myself.
I screamed at him and threw the phone across my bedroom. To say I was crushed was an understatement. Suicidal thoughts entered my mind. I panicked. I knew my shouting and crying was loud enough for my parents to hear, so I had to say something. I also felt naked. Ben was the only person who knew my secret (or, at any rate, the parts I was willing to share), and I could not fully go back into the closet. Not now, not ever.
I called my mom into my room, wept openly into her arms and explained what happened with Ben. And then I told her, once more, that "I had feelings for guys," and that I didn't want to. I also asked her to keep it a secret from my dad. I can't remember the conversation that transpired, but her reaction was largely the same. She probably said something about how she loves me unconditionally, but can't accept this "lifestyle." That is to say, she sympathized, but saw it as an affliction.
As is commonplace with my mom, she started making unfounded assumptions. She suspected there was more to my friendship with Ben and asked, perhaps more than once, if I had sex with him. I hadn't. But once she makes up her mind on something, it's impossible to persuade her to any other reality.
The following Monday, I boxed up all the items I'd been borrowing from Ben and left the package in his parents' garage, along with the final letter I wrote and a note that read, "Thanks for a year-and-a-half of nothing."
That evening, Ben stopped by my house to drop off most of the gifts I had given him ("most" being the operative word, because he still kept a few expensive items). Also in his vehicle were two other people, whom I believe were the high school friends he always spoke about.⁵ I asked my dad to answer the door. I couldn't face Ben.
A few days later, my mom approached me and asked me if I would consider coming out to my dad. I said no, to which she replied, "What if he already knows?" A wave of terror washed over me. How could he possibly know unless she betrayed my confidence? Either way, I had no plans to approach my dad. As with my mom, I already knew what his position would be, and there was no sense talking about it. Instead, I actively ignored the elephant in the room.
In the weeks that followed, I rekindled my friendship with Rich. While I had come out to my mom a second time, I realized it was a misstep. What I really needed was a friend with whom I could speak candidly about what I was going through. (I may have also been dealing with the hormones of a 21-year-old and looking for something more than friendship, but I'll pretend my intentions were completely pure.)
My original emails to Rich were long gone and I had no idea how to contact him. After a bit of internet sleuth work, I found his email address and reached out with the same subject line I used the very first time we spoke. Rich felt bad that we lost touch, and it didn't take long for us to pick up where we left off. A few days later, we met in person.
Things advanced quickly. At first, I wouldn't commit to anything other than being "friends with benefits." I didn't want to get hurt and was terrified of entering into a gay relationship because of my parents, my religious upbringing and the shame I felt because I was going against their beliefs. However, on May 5, Rich and I began officially dating. We started seeing each other several times a week. My parents grew suspicious after he came to my graduation.
A few days later, my dad was sitting in the living room watching TV. When I entered, he gruffly called out: "Jason, come here." I pretended I didn't hear him. He called my name, again; this time, more forcefully.
"I don't like the path you're headed down," he began. "It can only bring you heartbreak and grief."
As it turns out, Ben gave my dad one (or more) of the letters I had written him, in which I candidly spoke about my sexuality. That's how my dad found out. I blocked out much of the ensuing conversation, but I remember him telling me he wasn't yet ready to "accept this lifestyle." (Seventeen years later, he still isn't). He then asked me if I would be willing to go to conversion therapy for six months, because my mom wanted me to. I agreed.
Though I had years upon years of internalized homophobia and Catholic shame to work through, things were going well with Rich. I had no intention of being influenced by the presiding priest or anybody else in the group therapy sessions. I only went because I hoped my parents would see that I wasn't magically cured and realize the error in their ways.
Oh, how hopelessly wrong I was! After six months, I stopped going. Lo and behold, I was still gay! (At this point, I think I had become more comfortable with saying the word "gay," and no longer labeled myself as bisexual or "having feelings for guys.") Unfortunately, my parents remained steadfast. And no matter what I did or said over the years, they stubbornly held on to their social/religious beliefs. After many, many years tolerating their emotional abuse and inability to even acknowledge Rich's existence, I distanced myself from them in 2016 and went no contact in 2021.
It took me years to even begin to move past the trauma I experienced when I took my first steps into adulthood. I still deal with crippling social anxiety and fear of rejection, low self-esteem, depression and a generally negative outlook on life and people. And it's not like those didn't exist prior to 2005, but Ben's hurtful actions, along with my parents' inability to love me unconditionally as they claimed, amplified these issues one hundred fold.
Thankfully, I navigated my way out of the closet, overcame most of my biases, and am now able to live authentically as an out, gay man. Along the way, my brother welcomed Rich into the family, as Rich's parents eventually did with me. We've also formed many healthy friendships (including with Heather, who I came out to right after Rich and I started dating).
Finally, through years of growth and self-reflection, I have started sharing my story online - and now with all of you. And there's so much more I could and will tell. I do so not for sympathy, not as a way of rehashing traumatic events, but that you might learn from my past.
Because I lagged so far behind other people mentally, emotionally and socially, I spent many years beating myself up for not being at the same place in life as others my age. Stunted development is a common phenomenon in the LGBTQ+ community. Maybe you're 40 and feel you're living the experiences of a 25-year old. That's okay. Perhaps you're 30 and are at the same point in your career as colleagues who are nine years your junior. So what? You've been through immense pain and suffering, and the cards you were dealt left you no other choice. You'll get to where you want to be in life at your own pace.
Take a selfish. Go easy on yourself and know that no matter where you are in your journey to self-acceptance, I am proud of you.
Notes:
¹ I would have graduated with a perfect 4.0, if it wasn't for the damned biology professor who gave me a B. Petty much? You bet!
² On the last day of class, the teacher pulled me aside and told me I was the best student she ever taught. What did I say about making a good impression on mother- and grandmother-figures?
³ These are all guesstimates since so many years have transpired.
⁴ Aside from the shame I felt because of my upbringing, I can't emphasize enough that American society was still largely against the LGBTQ+ community in 2004. As a country, we still has a long way to go, but things have since improved dramatically.
⁵ Years later, I discovered these two friends are the sister and brother-in-law of one of my good friends (entirely different social circle), and that the sister used to date Ben. Sometimes, I just have to accept that I live in a small and confusing world, and that if there is some kind of higher being, they have a very strange sense of humor.
Commentaires