Tag: closeted

I Care What People Think

One unhappy revelation that has come out of my coming out (ha) is the gross truth that I actually care what people think of me.  It’s human, don’t beat yourself up about it – that’s what my therapist says –  We all care.  But I don’t want to!! All my life I’ve prided myself on not caring what people think of me.  And that myth has been reinforced by friends and family.  I have often gotten “You know what I admire about you? You just do whatever you want – you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Guess what guys?  It’s a big lie!  I totally care.  I just have added an extra layer on top because I also want you to think that I don’t care what you think.  Which, I’ve done a pretty good job doing – I even fooled myself.  But not deep down.  Deep down I knew that I was motivated by my ego.  Wanting to seem carefree, independent, unharmed by other’s opinions, strong, unbreakable.  Turns out I’m just another effing human being.  Very upsetting.  I mean, why the hell would I have gone through so many relationships with men – even getting married – if deep down I didn’t give a rats ass?

I knew early on that I wanted to kiss girls.  But each time I made an effort I would get shut down, shamed or teased.  So I made a joke of it.  I could go from “I want to kiss you” to “Just Kidding!!” in two seconds flat.  Luckily I’m a bit funny so I always pulled that shit off.  And then I would overcompensate with how much I liked this guy or that guy.  The deeper I got into this routine, the harder it became to acknowledge my attraction to women.  Who would believe me?  I’ve done “straight” so convincingly.

Now I’m not reducing all my experiences with men to such cold and calculating choices – it runs deeper than that – it’s more complicated.  But absolutely – if I did not care what people thought I would have been seeking out women at a much younger age.

Oh well.  C’est la vie.  Lessons learned.  With my new knowledge – that I actually care – I am able to navigate my choices with more honesty – and hopefully  make better ones in the future.   Getting older and smarter, one day at a time.

Writing the Truth in the Moment (and a link to my short film!)

I started keeping a journal when I was about 15 or 16 years old.  I embraced my writing at around 23.  Most of the work I’ve done has been self-reflective or inspired by what I have already experienced – ‘write what you know’.  Through this, I always thought of myself as fairly self-aware – able to point out my flaws and make fun, able to understand my inner workings.  This is much of the reason why coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality at 35 was such a jolt to my system – I thought I knew myself.

Looking back, I can see there were topics I shied away from.  For instance, I don’t have any written record of my feelings for the first woman I really fell for – even though I remember it so well.  I avoided.  I pushed it away – it was the kind of thing I couldn’t quite admit on paper.  Or maybe I didn’t want anyone to find out the deep truth.  I didn’t want evidence.  I am not sure.

I let those moments pass and carried forward with my ‘hetero life’, but the feelings stayed in the back of my head.  She stayed in the back of my head.  I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t figure it out.  The simple answer was too hard to admit.

About 5 or 6 years ago, I started working on a feature film screenplay about a closeted gay woman stuck in a marriage – this later would become the first feature I would produce (currently in post production and in need of funding) titled “Writing Kim”.  Prior to producing the feature, I  wrote, co-produced and performed in a short film with similar themes titled It’s Not About Kate.  When I watch this film now, I can see in my writing that I was too afraid to set the central character free.  I wasn’t ready to go there personally, and I wasn’t ready to go there as a writer.  I knew my truth lingered under the surface, and that frightened me.

I look forward to writing something where my protagonist allows herself to be.  Where she is queer, and it’s no longer an internal struggle.  However, for many, not being out is the reality – and I think there is a place for these stories – there is a place for the truth in the present moment.

 

 

Elizabeth G and Me

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, recently came out on Facebook.  I’m sure most of you have already heard the basics: Her long time friend was diagnosed with terminal cancer – this pushed her to realize she didn’t just ‘love’ her friend,  she was ‘in love’ with her.  Crisis can often trigger our deep truths.

My first nano-second of a thought was “What?!”, followed by “Maybe she’s bi or fluid” to “Wait a second – she might be just like me!”.  The situation surrounding Gilbert’s “coming out” is tragic – but her choice to come out publicly brought me a kind of reassurance.  I know there are a good handful of “out” celebrities, but most of their stories don’t quite align with mine.  This can often make me feel like I’m not quite gay in the “right” kind of way.

After this past year or so of my own coming out process – I have often wrestled with my odd circumstances.  I identify as gay and/or lesbian and/or queer.  I don’t identify as bisexual.  I acknowledge there is some wiggle room or fluidity for me – but I don’t really identify as fluid.  From an outside perspective however, one would most likely tag me as fluid or bisexual – given my history with men.

The thing is – [Side note: I have no idea how Elizabeth Gilbert identifies, what her deep personal experience has been, and whether or not she cares for labels. I know this is simply my perception of her.] – reading about her coming out made me go “Yes!  I get it!”  I am a writer.  I have written plays and blogs from my previously self-assumed heterosexual perspective.  I related to Gilbert’s writing.  Before I was with a woman, I didn’t fully understand what it was that was missing.  I approached relationships intellectually and emotionally.  I loved.  I enjoyed the companionship of men.  I had sex.  I learned how to have what I assumed was “good sex”.  But I didn’t understand connection.  I didn’t understand desire.  I didn’t understand what it was to be “in love” vs. “in love with the idea of being in love”.  I was acting.  I was acting with a mostly committed heart and mind.  I enjoyed some of it, for a certain amount of time.  I was as sincere as I knew how to be… I had everything under control.

So here’s my thought about people like myself, and maybe like Elizabeth Gilbert.  I think there is a difference between fluidity and being game.  Between fluidity and being willing and interested in trying something new.  Between fluidity and genuinely working to make the most out of a unique connection with someone.  I thought sex was interesting.  I thought relationships were fascinating.  I wanted to be good at both.  I wanted to be successful as an open minded heterosexual woman.  I thought it was best to be straight if I could manage it, as being gay would be a difficult path, and would be hard for my family to understand and adjust.  I tried, and I tried to remain positive.  It wasn’t so bad.  Until it was – and then it was awful and suffocating.

That happened for me when I was 35.  A little late in my opinion.  Maybe this has happened for Gilbert just now.  Or maybe I am making grand assumptions about her.  In any case, her story has helped me to understand my story a little bit better – and for that I am grateful.

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Everything and nothing has changed

I love her.

It’s hard to sit into my feelings for her when my brain is all over the place – when I am just finding my footing – when at times none of this seems at all real.

My life.  Like I am living in an alternate reality.  Like all the cells in my body have changed and I am actually a whole new person housing the same old soul.  As if my childhood up to last year was an entirely different life – and I actually did die on my way to my first date with her, or perhaps even earlier.

It is like a Murakami novel.  Almost real – but not quite.  Subtle changes that indicate a large shift.  And blatant changes that can only be dealt with my acting as though they are normal.

Sitting on this balcony now seems like an entirely different place than 10 months ago.  I sat out here the last days of June – 2am when no one was around – and I looked out.  Knowing that everything would change.

Only a couple of weeks later was my first time with a woman.  Not the woman I love, but my catalyst.  I am grateful for her – bold and unapologetic.  In many ways she was a bad idea – but she’s the best bad idea I have ever had, as she set me free from my self made prison and lead me to where I am now.  Sitting on my balcony – in love – as my whole self.

What Made you Gay?

This is the question I can see my mother asking in her head over and over.

That and “Are you really?”  and “Maybe you were ‘turned'”.

Just because I was very late in coming out.

Because I was in such deep denial.  Because I put great effort into being a “straight girl”.

My question is – “What made me closeted?”

Because the problem is not that I am gay.  That is a great thing.  The problem, in my mind, is that it took me so long to truly realize and accept it.

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Just over one year ago I said to a close friend
“Is that it?  Will I never get to be with a woman?”

I realize now that it was a belief in a label that kept me “straight” for all these years.  I was straight.  Never mind the fact that ninety percent of my sexual fantasies were about women.  Never mind the fact that I always knew I was different – I always knew I didn’t quite belong.

Sex and sexuality are not the same thing.  One can have sex with a toy.  One can have sex with themselves.  If there is drive, one can have sex with a person outside of their sexual orientation.

There are so many little details that make each of us up.  It is not necessary to justify all of our little quirks in order to fall into a pre-conceived category.  However, if one is an over-analyzer, it’s difficult to resist.

I have “come out” the other side since that moment last spring. Or more accurately, I am continuing to come out the other side.  I am myself in a way I have never before experienced.  I have a home.

 

 

white picket fence

Is there a scenario where this ends well?

 

I think I have been turned.  I have turned myself.

My imagination isn’t holding up so well anymore.

 

So what now?

How long do I wait and see?

I didn’t like that

I was pretending

I did not like that

I was lying

For love

For self preservation.

 

—

 

Art imitates life.

Art has blown the top off of life.

What is true.

The chicken or the egg.

 

—

 

I try to live for – or with integrity.

She lives with purpose

I don’t know if the means justifies the ends.

She is all about the end

She plays this game so well

I think she will win

Nice guys finish last.

—

 

“You have secrets”.  He said it in passing.  He said it in passing.  He said it in passing.  He said it as a challenge cloaked in a joke cloaked in “I don’t care” and hidden behind “What?  I didn’t say anything.”

–

I don’t trust her.  I maybe did once.  For a day or two.  When it felt like we were in it together.

–

Water is healing.  I am myself – whoever that is.

I am still angry.

I think he can tell.

But we aren’t good at talking.

Not about the real stuff, anyway.

 

—

It’s only been 5 days since I’ve seen her.

I think I was using her.

I think we were using eachother.

—

 

Her brown eyes invite me to a world I have only imagined.

But I cannot reach her through this white picket fence.

 

Is this for real

Perhaps the dramatic me never left the building

Perhaps the wild me was simply me

An animal can be tamed, but do they ever lose their instincts.

What kind of damage would I cause this time.

 

That heat has not lived inside me for so long.

—

There is ritual

There is tradition

There is the game

And there is the truth.

All the world is a stage.