Three 50-word stories about the emotional toll of living in the closet for 35 years.
| Keeping up appearances | In the interest of me | To come out—or check out |
| I’m married to a woman, but I am a terrified, closeted gay man trying to keep up the charade. So, I “ogle” at “big tits” and traveling as a trainer for work, I make sure I refer to “my wife” at least once while introducing myself. It’s kind of exhausting. | I was a young Republican because I believed I was a self-made man—before I learned about privilege. But mostly I identified as such to distance myself from “the gays.” Voting against their interests, I couldn’t possibly be one, right? I’m still embarrassed and haunted by this. I’m so sorry. | Riding home from my $100K job, to my $250K home, in my $40K car, I wonder: “Is there any way to plunge this ‘ultimate driving machine‘ into that ravine and ensure I won’t live with an ‘intended to die’ for the rest of my life?” It’s unbearable living like this. |
I hurt for you when I read these. And, I celebrate your courage daily. Love you!
Thank you, sis! I now think of that time as a contribution to becoming the person I am today. I love you, too! 😍