2006
It’s Nunya Business
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I’ve been dating someone new. It’s still fresh, in the “getting to know all about each other” stage, that fragile, fun time where learning everything about her is exciting.
In my exuberance, I’ve been telling one of my friends, “Fancy,” all about my new crush. Gushing at certain points, but telling her how I like this woman. I preface this by saying I’ve only recently come out to her.
Like only a month ago.
Granted, Fancy’s known about my preference for years. Although most discussions about it have been behind my back and not to my face.
At 19, when I first decided I would pursue dating women (after a few years of self-denial), it wasn’t something I shared with anyone. My dating life was my own, mainly because I was still coming to terms with it myself. I began talking to women online, meeting them only when I was truly comfortable with doing so. It was when I first kissed one of these women that I knew I couldn’t deny that I loved women. That first sweet kiss told me everything that I needed to know.
Telling my friends, however, was another issue entirely. Even though I knew being gay was something I couldn’t get out of my system, I was still struggling internally. I knew my friends would understand (or some of them would), but I still had to figure out some things for myself.
Which lead to the talk about my romantic life.
To them, I guess, it looked suspicious how I never seemed to have a boyfriend all four of my undergrad years. But I was dating…just not telling them about it. I wasn’t alone. Now this was college and everybody experimented, and I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t spilling his cup of tea. Several of my other friends were right along in that closet with me, us splitting the rent in that tight space for years.
It lead to many gossip sessions amongst each other, one of us cracking jokes about how Charlie sure spent a lot of time with his “cousin,” who then later became his “friend,” then eventually his “partner.” The gay jokes were flying fast and furious, and I’ll even admit I participated.
Eventually after college, I fell in love. With a woman. “Malibu” was the first woman I truly felt love for, a person I almost considered spending the rest of my life with. It was my first serious relationship, and I kept it very guarded. My friends knew I was seeing someone, but I just hadn’t told them who. At least not yet.
That’s when the gossip about me began. I found out, years later, after coming out to several people close to me. Fancy wasn’t the last one on my list to be told, but to me, it was simply an understanding. She knew, so what did I really need to confess?
The time it takes for person to come out varies. For some, they come out of the womb screaming, “I’m here, and I’m queer!” (One friend immediately comes to mind). For others, it’s a long process. I can’t comment on any else’s experience, but it was something I always knew but tried to regress. I knew being a lesbian wasn’t readily accepted by society, and tried to put thoughts of loving a woman out of my mind. It never worked, though. This is who I am.
But I wasn’t about to be put on anyone’s timetable with my sexuality. It was too important for me. Certain friends got told when it was right for me to do so. Not like some others. Because of our blabbing, a couple of people’s tea got spilled before it was even poured.
I’m of the belief that you shouldn’t have to drag anyone from the closet, it’s whenever they feel it’s time for them to open the door.
Until then, don’t try to come in. It’s dark in there.
Agreed that someone should never be forced out of the closet, but it’s still sometimes nice to have someone come in to visit. To hear what you have to say. To help you sort through issues. Or maybe the metaphor for that would be keeping the closet cracked? Oh, who knows.