Moments of Truth.

Coming out at 35 (including admitting to yourself/discovering for yourself that you are gay) can be a real mind fuck.  Excuse my language, but it’s the best descriptive I can think of at the moment.  Aside from all the things you might think are challenging – there’s also the thought “If I was wrong about that, what else was I wrong about?!”.

I find myself over a year past my  “aha!” moment.  The moment of truth.  It was after my first therapy session with my counsellor.  I went to her because I thought I “might be gay”.  After one session with her I was walking down the street and this surge went through my body, I nearly started laughing… or crying… or choking on the sheer “Oh My God” feeling when I said to myself “I am a Lesbian”.  Since then I’ve battled that truth, questioned it, tried to define every little detail of it – but at the end of the day, it just is.

This kind of epiphany makes me wonder what else I have been lying to myself about.  What other stories have I told myself to fit into one mould or the other.  It’s easy to go into spirals with this sort of thought pattern – and I have – but I’ve recently found some kind of peace in simply identifying this internal battle.  It almost keeps me more present… and it gives me something simple to pay attention to.  Moments of truth can’t all be bolts of lightning – to be honest I still am not sure how to identify what’s what – but I’m starting to listen, and that in itself has quieted a lot of the noise.

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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Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen knew about some things

About the truth of subtle moments

The aching carried in small gestures.

 

I sing and am reminded of Toronto

There’s something that hangs in his words

about love and passion and longing

That reminds me of being in that city

And wanting to love someone

And loving a few

But knowing or hoping there was more.

 

So now I say I am gay.

The shoe fits.

But what was I before?

I don’t think I was lying

I just did not know

Most of the time.

 

The last time I saw you you looked so much older…

 

Time passes and friendships become chapters and stories.

Like when he touched the inside of my knee

And I thought I might be in love.

But that ship has sailed

And I am no longer built in that way

In a way that allows me to believe I could love a man.

 

Me with You

You

You

You and I…

I won’t use four letter words that hold so much weight

So

What can I say?

I am infatuated.

Sounds so trite.

Why is it that the present can only be judged by the future.

Now

I am glad I did not end when I thought I could.

When I thought I was satisfied.

When I thought that there was no more

That I should express gratitude

That I shouldn’t complain

That emptiness was a privilege

And I forgot

Me.

Me

That amazing person that was me

is me

And there are sparkling lights

And your eyes burn in my mind.

I remember now

What the songs are about.

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.

It’s not all orgasms and shared wardrobes…

Nothing makes you feel more “everyday gay” than when you run into your girlfriend’s ex-wife and her girlfriend while you are taking care of the dog that your girlfriend and her ex adopted together.  It’s a fantastic feeling.  I wanted to be on the inside track – I wanted to know a life being with women.  I wanted to be out of my closet, I wanted all of it.  And I’m getting it.

The run in was made even more thrilling seeing as the ex had contacted my girlfriend that day to see if she could take the dog – and was told “no” it was too short notice.  Meanwhile, I’m just writing outside at a coffee shop – dog tied near my chair.  The icing on this fantastic moment is how goddamned excited the dog is to see the ex… it is her other mommy after all.  Oh, and more icing: this is the first time I have actually met her.  And I have to say, she looks just as cute as she does in their wedding photos.

I wouldn’t say the incident ruined my whole day.  That would be dramatic.  And this sort of thing is bound to happen – seeing as all the lesbians live in the same goddamned neighbourhood in this town.  So I should not be phased by such an everyday-gay experience.  However I am a lesbian – and what kind of lesbian would I be if I weren’t to get somewhat worked up over this casual encounter.  I was warned, after all, when I first revealed to a gay girl-friend that I thought I should be with women.  “Girls are crazy” she said.  Yes.    It seems that we may be… Just a little bit.

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.