It Gets Better
In response to this, and inspired by this and this, here is my coming out.
People say that it's a choice, but it's not - any more than handedness is. And to those who think that it is, when and how did you make the choice?
Anyway.
I have a startlingly clear memory of something that happened when I was about five or six. Someone had made a comment about kids of that age group segregating themselves according to gender with amazing speed, but it would all change in a few years. My thought to that was along the lines of, ""I'll NEVER like girls as much as I like boys!"
Fast-forward to 1987/88. One Friday lunchtime at middle school (which no longer exists, courtesy of Surrey County Council), I was chatting with some friends about the previous night's "Top of the Pops". Dollar had featured on it, with their cover of "Oh L'Amour". One friend commented that Thereza was hot. Without thinking, I responded, "The man wasn't bad either!" That got me a funny look but nothing more.
Up until that point, my life hadn't stood out too much. Only child of affluent parents who both worked, I was passed from a succession of child-minders from 1977-1979 until finally my mother found Georgie van Dintel, the sixth that I can remember. She put up with me for the next ten years, and was pretty much a mother to me. I keep meaning to try to get back in touch with her, and then worrying that I might be too late.
At school, I was never popular, but I wasn't hated either. I was simply there. I got on with the teachers, but tended to be baffled by my peers. They seemed interested in the strangest things, and couldn't understand why I enjoyed the process of learning and education. On the whole, though, it was a good time. I had a reputation for being a bit weird (bookish, always knew the answers to teachers' questions, liked plants and sci-fi), but my friends didn't mind, so I didn't mind that they liked football and "Eastenders".
After my revelation in 1987, I had a bit of a think. The result of that was possibly a mistake. While I wasn't hated at school, I was also pretty much a constant target for certain individuals, who would delight in mischief and petty teasing. Never enough to make me want to report them (for all the good that it would do), but enough to make me feel rotten occasionally. Anyway, I thought that there was a good chance that I was gay, and that there was no way that I was going to give those individuals that amount of ammunition. (There were two boys in my year group who were rumoured to be having a relationship. I have no idea if this was the case or not, but I ignored silently condoned the homophobic taunting that they endured, relieved that someone else was taking the flak for a little while. I'm a coward, in case you hadn't worked it out.) So I decided that I would not talk or think about my sexuality for a long time.
This was about the same time that my parents' marriage started to show signs of strain. In fact, a couple of years later, my father told me one Saturday morning that he and Mum were getting divorced. I hoped that that would mean an end to the fights, but that took a while longer. This gave me something else to worry about!
In the time that I was denying my sexuality to myself, I still had crushes - at least five friends at school, including one whom I still occasionally see around town (who still looks pretty much as he did 20 years ago, to my eyes). However, I didn't let myself act on them. Even when I had perfect opportunities, I passed up every chance for a physical encounter. *Kicks self* When I was about 14, Dad once out-and-out asked me if I was gay. I denied it without thinking about it, because having seen how he expressed his displeasure around Mum, I didn't want to provoke him. (I turned out to be mistaken in this impression, but I'll come back to that.)
Also at the same time, partially in order to spend more time with the friend mentioned above, I was part of the school's Christian Union. It was non-denominational and really friendly, and the feeling of certainty that it engendered was something that I really craved. However, some Christian teachings only fuelled my inner turmoil.
This was a low point. I thought about ending everything, although my cowardice stopped me - I don't like pain! Once I even started running away from the arguments at home, and got as far as the end of the garden before my practical side asserted itself and pointed out that I had nowhere to go and no means of supporting myself.
In 1991, the paperwork came through and Mum decided to up sticks to Bristol. I knew that this was coming, and already had been given that wonderful child-sized poisoned chalice, the chance to choose between my parents. I thought about it, and even prayed about it. Finally, what I remember happening is hearing a voice say, "Go with Mum". Religious experience? Minor nervous breakdown? Thoughts achieving clarity? You decide - I've been wondering for years. Dad didn't take the news well, but he accepted it.
So, after spending all of my life in suburban Surrey in either the boroughs of Runnymede and Elmbridge, I found myself living on the outskirts of urban Bristol. Fun! My education was in total upheaval, with a new syllabus in all but two subjects. Of those two, French was fine, but I had to drop the other and pick up a new one. A challenge which gave me something else to worry about, although I did passably well.
The social order of a grammar school in Bristol is somewhat different to that of a secondary school in Elbridge, though. There was no way that I could find to fit in. Even the games lessons were different - we went off site! I think for the first term or two, I totally withdrew. It didn't help that the first person to talk to me in my new tutor group was absolutely stunning, and it was all I could do not to stare open-mouthed at him. While still trying to deny being gay.
During this time, I decided not to bother trying to fit in. A few misplaced comments about other matters had already got me teased a few times, and so I thought that I'd be myself and ignore them. Eventually, I sort of gravitated to some of the other misfits, and we formed our own sort of anti-clique. Which was nice.
In 1992, I started a relationship with an old female friend back home. I'll admit, this was partially an attempt to appear more normal. It was also partially homesickness. However, a lot was genuine emotion, and we're still friends today. (I did the flowers for her wedding!) We didn't get to see much of each other while it lasted, but it's a period that I still remember with fondness. I don't think that a lot of my school mates believed me, though.
Finally, in 1994, I had enough. By this time, I'd spent a third of my life denying who I was. Shortly before my 18th birthday, I said to myself, "I'm gay." It felt like the world had been lifted from my shoulders!
My mother didn't take it too well. I told her shortly thereafter, when she gave me a girlie pinup calendar for my birthday! Her response can be summed up as, "No you're not, you're too young to know for sure and anyway, women can be fun too." She also advised me not to tell my father or her parents, in order to avoid trouble.
After then, I started coming out to friends at school as and when I felt safe. I'd picked up from the rumour mill that the father of two of them was gay, and so I approached them first. Later I plucked up the courage to talk to their father, which was one of the most nerve-wracking things I've ever tried to do. He turned out to be wonderful, listened sympathetically, didn't judge me in any way and pointed me in the direction of the Queen's Shilling.
My first time there, I pulled. My first ever physical encounter with someone else. Someone I'd only just met, who turned out to be a wonderful person who put no pressure on me to do anything that I didn't want to. He led me through my first proper kiss (with tongues!) and onto... Other things. I don't think that I stopped smiling for a week!
I spent my gap year back in Molesey, living with Dad. Towards the end of my time with him, he badgered me in coming out. I started crying, he started crying, and we've never been closer. (He also refutes many of the stereotypes - despite his age and background, he fundamentally doesn't care that I'm gay, because I'm his son. Many men could learn from him.)
Things got better then. My first year at university was a little rocky (possibly because I had a fling with my straight/closeted [take your pick - has later girlfriend couldn't work him out, either] room-mate), but I'll never forget the day I wandered around the Freshers' Fair and found the LGB Group stand! (Reading University didn't have an LGBT Society, because the Union rules required that all Societies submit member lists, and this was felt to be a bridge too far for some potential members.) It was manned by a very bored-looking second-year student, and I signed up immediately. I think I startled him with my eagerness!
I shagged my way through the second year, slowing down a bit in the third. After university, it continued to get better. People stopped caring. When I started a job in 2003 as a temp, someone once asked me, simply because people were curious. It was never used as a lever for teasing (except by the warehouse manager, but he teased everyone. Besides, I gobsmacked him when I recognised the cry of, "Oh, hello, Honkey Tonk!"). I was accepted as a person.
Now I have a job, and a home, and two wonderful boyfriends whom I love and who love me. I have friends and colleagues and family who support me.
IT GETS BETTER!
To anyone who's going through anything remotely like this, take heart. It gets better. You are not alone, and every day that you live is another day that you might meet the person you've been waiting for. Even if you don't know that you're waiting for someone.
People say that it's a choice, but it's not - any more than handedness is. And to those who think that it is, when and how did you make the choice?
Anyway.
I have a startlingly clear memory of something that happened when I was about five or six. Someone had made a comment about kids of that age group segregating themselves according to gender with amazing speed, but it would all change in a few years. My thought to that was along the lines of, ""I'll NEVER like girls as much as I like boys!"
Fast-forward to 1987/88. One Friday lunchtime at middle school (which no longer exists, courtesy of Surrey County Council), I was chatting with some friends about the previous night's "Top of the Pops". Dollar had featured on it, with their cover of "Oh L'Amour". One friend commented that Thereza was hot. Without thinking, I responded, "The man wasn't bad either!" That got me a funny look but nothing more.
Up until that point, my life hadn't stood out too much. Only child of affluent parents who both worked, I was passed from a succession of child-minders from 1977-1979 until finally my mother found Georgie van Dintel, the sixth that I can remember. She put up with me for the next ten years, and was pretty much a mother to me. I keep meaning to try to get back in touch with her, and then worrying that I might be too late.
At school, I was never popular, but I wasn't hated either. I was simply there. I got on with the teachers, but tended to be baffled by my peers. They seemed interested in the strangest things, and couldn't understand why I enjoyed the process of learning and education. On the whole, though, it was a good time. I had a reputation for being a bit weird (bookish, always knew the answers to teachers' questions, liked plants and sci-fi), but my friends didn't mind, so I didn't mind that they liked football and "Eastenders".
After my revelation in 1987, I had a bit of a think. The result of that was possibly a mistake. While I wasn't hated at school, I was also pretty much a constant target for certain individuals, who would delight in mischief and petty teasing. Never enough to make me want to report them (for all the good that it would do), but enough to make me feel rotten occasionally. Anyway, I thought that there was a good chance that I was gay, and that there was no way that I was going to give those individuals that amount of ammunition. (There were two boys in my year group who were rumoured to be having a relationship. I have no idea if this was the case or not, but I ignored silently condoned the homophobic taunting that they endured, relieved that someone else was taking the flak for a little while. I'm a coward, in case you hadn't worked it out.) So I decided that I would not talk or think about my sexuality for a long time.
This was about the same time that my parents' marriage started to show signs of strain. In fact, a couple of years later, my father told me one Saturday morning that he and Mum were getting divorced. I hoped that that would mean an end to the fights, but that took a while longer. This gave me something else to worry about!
In the time that I was denying my sexuality to myself, I still had crushes - at least five friends at school, including one whom I still occasionally see around town (who still looks pretty much as he did 20 years ago, to my eyes). However, I didn't let myself act on them. Even when I had perfect opportunities, I passed up every chance for a physical encounter. *Kicks self* When I was about 14, Dad once out-and-out asked me if I was gay. I denied it without thinking about it, because having seen how he expressed his displeasure around Mum, I didn't want to provoke him. (I turned out to be mistaken in this impression, but I'll come back to that.)
Also at the same time, partially in order to spend more time with the friend mentioned above, I was part of the school's Christian Union. It was non-denominational and really friendly, and the feeling of certainty that it engendered was something that I really craved. However, some Christian teachings only fuelled my inner turmoil.
This was a low point. I thought about ending everything, although my cowardice stopped me - I don't like pain! Once I even started running away from the arguments at home, and got as far as the end of the garden before my practical side asserted itself and pointed out that I had nowhere to go and no means of supporting myself.
In 1991, the paperwork came through and Mum decided to up sticks to Bristol. I knew that this was coming, and already had been given that wonderful child-sized poisoned chalice, the chance to choose between my parents. I thought about it, and even prayed about it. Finally, what I remember happening is hearing a voice say, "Go with Mum". Religious experience? Minor nervous breakdown? Thoughts achieving clarity? You decide - I've been wondering for years. Dad didn't take the news well, but he accepted it.
So, after spending all of my life in suburban Surrey in either the boroughs of Runnymede and Elmbridge, I found myself living on the outskirts of urban Bristol. Fun! My education was in total upheaval, with a new syllabus in all but two subjects. Of those two, French was fine, but I had to drop the other and pick up a new one. A challenge which gave me something else to worry about, although I did passably well.
The social order of a grammar school in Bristol is somewhat different to that of a secondary school in Elbridge, though. There was no way that I could find to fit in. Even the games lessons were different - we went off site! I think for the first term or two, I totally withdrew. It didn't help that the first person to talk to me in my new tutor group was absolutely stunning, and it was all I could do not to stare open-mouthed at him. While still trying to deny being gay.
During this time, I decided not to bother trying to fit in. A few misplaced comments about other matters had already got me teased a few times, and so I thought that I'd be myself and ignore them. Eventually, I sort of gravitated to some of the other misfits, and we formed our own sort of anti-clique. Which was nice.
In 1992, I started a relationship with an old female friend back home. I'll admit, this was partially an attempt to appear more normal. It was also partially homesickness. However, a lot was genuine emotion, and we're still friends today. (I did the flowers for her wedding!) We didn't get to see much of each other while it lasted, but it's a period that I still remember with fondness. I don't think that a lot of my school mates believed me, though.
Finally, in 1994, I had enough. By this time, I'd spent a third of my life denying who I was. Shortly before my 18th birthday, I said to myself, "I'm gay." It felt like the world had been lifted from my shoulders!
My mother didn't take it too well. I told her shortly thereafter, when she gave me a girlie pinup calendar for my birthday! Her response can be summed up as, "No you're not, you're too young to know for sure and anyway, women can be fun too." She also advised me not to tell my father or her parents, in order to avoid trouble.
After then, I started coming out to friends at school as and when I felt safe. I'd picked up from the rumour mill that the father of two of them was gay, and so I approached them first. Later I plucked up the courage to talk to their father, which was one of the most nerve-wracking things I've ever tried to do. He turned out to be wonderful, listened sympathetically, didn't judge me in any way and pointed me in the direction of the Queen's Shilling.
My first time there, I pulled. My first ever physical encounter with someone else. Someone I'd only just met, who turned out to be a wonderful person who put no pressure on me to do anything that I didn't want to. He led me through my first proper kiss (with tongues!) and onto... Other things. I don't think that I stopped smiling for a week!
I spent my gap year back in Molesey, living with Dad. Towards the end of my time with him, he badgered me in coming out. I started crying, he started crying, and we've never been closer. (He also refutes many of the stereotypes - despite his age and background, he fundamentally doesn't care that I'm gay, because I'm his son. Many men could learn from him.)
Things got better then. My first year at university was a little rocky (possibly because I had a fling with my straight/closeted [take your pick - has later girlfriend couldn't work him out, either] room-mate), but I'll never forget the day I wandered around the Freshers' Fair and found the LGB Group stand! (Reading University didn't have an LGBT Society, because the Union rules required that all Societies submit member lists, and this was felt to be a bridge too far for some potential members.) It was manned by a very bored-looking second-year student, and I signed up immediately. I think I startled him with my eagerness!
I shagged my way through the second year, slowing down a bit in the third. After university, it continued to get better. People stopped caring. When I started a job in 2003 as a temp, someone once asked me, simply because people were curious. It was never used as a lever for teasing (except by the warehouse manager, but he teased everyone. Besides, I gobsmacked him when I recognised the cry of, "Oh, hello, Honkey Tonk!"). I was accepted as a person.
Now I have a job, and a home, and two wonderful boyfriends whom I love and who love me. I have friends and colleagues and family who support me.
IT GETS BETTER!
To anyone who's going through anything remotely like this, take heart. It gets better. You are not alone, and every day that you live is another day that you might meet the person you've been waiting for. Even if you don't know that you're waiting for someone.