My life on the downlow (No more closets)

I've talked about this before, how there are people in the black community living in the closet. They live straight lives, but their reality is that they are gay, lesbian or bisexual. My reality is that I'm not straight. My friends, family and neighbors see me living a life that is a lie. I've been living that lie for over 20 years, and I'm tired of it. But I've dug such a deep hole for myself, that I don't see any way to climb out of it.

 My First Girlfriend

When I was 10, my mother enrolled me in day camp at the Y. She felt as an only child, I might benefit from interaction with other children. She meant well. I'd had a harrowing year after my rape, and I could use some time away from her just being a kid. It was a bad experience at the Y. I had to battle older boys trying to gang rape me when the counselor's backs were turned (which was often), threats from street-wise kids and teasing from other children. But there was one bright moment out of the whole experience. I met my first crush and had my first sexual experience with the same sex. And I don't mean a "Show me yours, I'll show you mine" type of encounter, but we actually had sex. But that's not the point of mentioning her right now. The point is that before we did all that, she recognized in me a kindred spirit. She knew that I was different in the same way that she was different. No one had ever noticed that before about me.

We talked about our sexuality, and how we hid it from those we loved out of fear of punishment. She asked if I liked boys, and I could honestly say I didn't. If I hadn't been raped, I might never have been with a man. I crushed on boys and men because that was the expected outlet for my sexual curiosity, but since I was 6 or 7, I enjoyed very close friendships with other girls. I found a kinship and a closeness that being with a boy just couldn't provide. I also found them sexy. Male bodies made me queasy, but I loved looking at women and their soft bellies, hips and thighs. They interested me. Not males. She felt the same way as me, and we bonded over our similar experiences. My new friend appreciated and loved my body that day, and I did the same for her. Unluckily for both of us, another camper caught us and tried to blackmail us into performing for her. We never went off alone again, but I still remember her after all these years. For years I carried shame around because of the things I did with her, but I was never sorry for doing them.

 Coming Out of the Closet the First Time

Around 15, I told my mother the truth. That I had no interest in boys and I was a lesbian. She withdrew from me, and as she told me later, fought to keep her stomach contents under control. Using the resources available to her, she prevailed upon my counselor to fix me, and baring that to help me find myself. I attended a GLBT teen group for a few years, finally leaving when I noticed that few women actually attended, and those who did were usually partnered. Every Saturday, I would put on my most baby butch outfit, and spend the afternoon with my friends at group, and go out to lunch with them afterwards. I'd watch my male friends kiss boys, revel in their club escapades, and we'd make fun of the adults in charge of group.

Meanwhile, my straight friends were growing up, and my mom was telling me in small ways that I needed to decide what I was. Where I wanted to be in life, and with whom. She also wanted grandchildren. I caved, and went back into the closet, just so she could stop looking at me like that. The disapproval in her eyes, and the quiet manner in which she regarded me was a change. I just wanted her to love me again the way she used to.

Hiding Myself Away

I've gone from man to man trying to find something that would make me alright. I married, divorced, shacked up and had babies by several men. All the while, I kept holding up my end of the bargain which said that I would be straight if only she'd stop looking at me like that. My mom passed on, and my need to provide a straight role model for my children replaced the old excuses that kept me in the closet. I felt that boys need a feminine mother, one who loved men and who could model femininity and the proper female role for them. If I was gay, what would they become by seeing that? And I didn't wish my life on anyone, especially not my kids. I would love them no matter what, but our family is very hard on those who step outside the boundaries of normal sexual behavior.

Years have passed, and I no longer know what I am anymore. Life and experiences have reshaped and molded anew, my body and mind. I'm not that strident ten year old girl who declared her love for women, nor that scared 15 year old who shook while she told her mother the secret she'd held inside for years. Who felt it was worth the telling, even if it hurt to tell. That she couldn't pretend to be something she wasn't anymore, and it was time to come out of that closet. Now, I'm in my early 30s, firmly in the closet, and I don't know what I am anymore. I'm so used to being used and misused by men that I've come to expect it. How do I find my way again and lead the life I'm meant to have. My oldest child's father told me I should be honest with myself. He's bisexual and he feels that I should do what makes me happy. Both him and one of my friends feel that the best role model I could provide to my kids is one that is open and who lives their truth, not lies. Am I that person?

My father is gay

 

Last night, I spent several hours talking with my cousin. Real talk. On every topic under the sun. Sex, men, our kids, family. The last one was the hardest one to talk about. There was laughter, gasps and at many times, tears almost splashed down cheeks because of something that was said. I've talked about my mom on here a little bit, but sometimes I feel crazy when I think about my childhood. Sometimes I wonder if I'm mistaken, if things weren't that bad. My cousin saw how things were for me. Not everything, but some of it. That validation brought some measure of closure and healing.

Out of respect for her, I won't tell my cousin's story here. I don't have that right. My cousin had a hard time growing up, and I wasn't the only one to experience these things. Our parents had an extremely hard childhood, and they had few people to balance the abuse of their mother. It took many years until I could feel any kind of compassion for my grandmother. Even as a kid, I had such hatred of her for hurting my mother and twisting her into the kind of parent that I had.

My cousin told me a lot of things which are weighing heavily on me today. One of them concerns my father. My mother was honest to me as a child about my father, once I was old enough to ask the right questions. She never turned me against him or told me lies about him. His behavior turned my love away from him, and he had a renewable supply of lies and bullshit. I knew about the drug use, cheating, prostitution. I thought I knew it all, but I didn't. When I was old enough to know, my mother told me about my father's bisexuality. Well, last night my cousin told me it was less bisexuality and more gay. My parent's relationship ended because he was gay. Everything I always believed about myself, my parents and especially my father, was a lie.

Knowing this about him, I can look back and it's like all these pieces of a bigger puzzle have snapped together and I understand what I'm seeing now. He was disowned by his brother, ostracized by his family. He moved cross country for a new life and every time we spoke, he had a new girlfriend. It explains the frenetic sexual activity and extreme promiscuity. Maybe it even explains the drug abuse. I'm not appalled that he was gay. Who am I to judge? It's the deception that bothers me most of all. My mother's family has a history of gay men marrying women to hide their sexuality then going on to abuse the woman and or the children. I'm sick of it. I watched my mother waste two decades of her life pining for someone who could never love her back. My father has psychological and personality problems that make him a very hard person to love, and yet she did.

I wonder if my conception was a cover for him. If he felt that having another child would prove he was a man to others. Am I bisexual because of some genetic inheritance on his or my mother's behalf? And if I speak with him again, how can I talk to him and not mention any of this? I just feel like it's a huge lie that no one felt I had the right to know, which is fucked up considering how many consequences I had to deal with because of these lies.