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I decided that this week I am going to publish each of the heavy posts I told you about in The Darkness Before the Light. I’m just ready to share some of the unexpected and more beautiful parts of this journey and to go back to blogging as usual. I hope that’s okay. It might be a rough few days around here first, though. (Insert uncomfortable laugh.)
Anyway, last week I came out of the closet.
God , that sounds so strange being that it was only recently that I was able to admit even to myself that I was anything other than straight.
Coming to acknowledge that I am often as attracted to men as I am to women has been very challenging. Today I will attempt to share my journey of the last five months with you.
In June, I wrote a response on my blog to another blogger’s coming-out post. I didn’t just say I wasn’t gay in that response. I went into great detail telling you all about a fairly recent time of my life when I really questioned my sexuality. I also told you that at the end of the journey, I determined that I am indeed straight.
As I typed that post, I began feeling like the world’s biggest perjurer, even though I didn’t really tell a single lie while writing it. I was and still am attracted to women. I love boobs more than you can imagine (okay, maybe don’t imagine that). I have no doubts about my attraction or my capability to be attracted to the opposite sex.
Yet, as I wrote that response and then published it, something began perching very heavily and uneasily upon me. Telling the world that I wasn’t gay this time hadn’t done what I needed it to do in order to let me distance myself from the nagging attraction I’ve experienced toward men since I was eleven years old.
Instead, it pushed me hard and fast into the single greatest hopelessness of my life.
You see, after writing that post, I suddenly knew the truth. And I couldn’t deny it.
And I did not, under any circumstances, want to admit the truth.
So I didn’t. And you wouldn’t believe how badly and how quickly my life spiraled out of control after that.
In vain attempts to bury my ever-escalating feelings and emotions, I spent the next several weeks chasing anything that I thought would prove how straight I was. That chase involved a lot of booze and hurting a lot of women.
Yet every step I took to cover it up, “it” pushed harder and louder against the outer walls of both my heart and mind until I finally snapped.
And as I drove up the mountain to my home, drowning beneath perhaps the greatest depression of my life, two thoughts struck me. You can’t let this happen, and you don’t have to deal with this.
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