In May of 2015, I started my process of “coming out.” The first people I told were three of my closest friends, one who I’ve known since middle school. I was met with questions of how I knew, questions about how I found out, and unconditional support. I fought with myself for years about my sexuality. And, being a victim of bullying, I didn’t want to be even more "weird" or even more of an outcast. I wanted to be, and tried so hard to be, straight. It was just impossible.
My longest relationship was with a man that lasted from September of my senior year of high school to October of my freshman year of college. When I arrived to college, I was surrounded by women of all shapes, sizes, and colors. They were all beautiful, but unattainable. I felt so guilty when I would go home for the weekend to see my boyfriend, knowing that the whole week prior I had been fantasizing about the women I was around. I just couldn’t take the guilt anymore. So, in October of 2014, I broke up with my boyfriend.
In the spring semester of 2015, I ventured into the life of online dating. I hooked up with a guy that I had talked to for about a month. It was intended that, since I didn’t have a roommate at the time, he would spend the night. After an hour of sloppy kissing and fondling, I cried. And cried. And cried. I felt so sick. I remember lying next to this man and just wanting to vomit. I was lying to myself and those around me by pretending to be something I wasn’t.
Needless to say, I escorted this man back to his car and did the walk of shame to the dining hall. I acted as if the hickeys I wore were like a badges of honor, but truly they were more like white hot scalding burns reminding me of what I had done. I shamefully washed my sheets that night and wore bright red lipstick until my fat lips from the kissing dissipated. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror and I couldn’t look anyone in the eye.
For a month I continuously battled with myself internally. I was telling myself that I just hadn't met the right man yet. It was at this time that I tried my hardest to be straight. I would go on walks around Loyola’s campus and pretend to ogle the men when, in reality, I was just analyzing myself. I didn’t feel my heart flutter, my stomach tighten, or my breathing pick up pace any time a man walked past. I began to feel helpless.
I was afraid of what everyone would think of me, especially the new friends that I had made during my freshman year of college and my mother. When I finally said the words, “I’m gay,” it was in a friend’s dorm room during a lull in the conversation. I suddenly had three pairs of eyes on me. After what felt like forever, a smile, a nod and two little words soothed me: “That’s great!”
From then on, I was surrounded by support from my friends and my mother. There are still times when my mom says things about my sexual orientation that upset me, but I’ve come to learn that this reality just has not set in for her yet. I continue to announce my sexual orientation privately to those who I feel I can trust. Eventually, my sexual orientation will be as natural to me as my hair and eye color. Someday, I won’t feel the need to say it and I won’t feel the need to joke around about it. But until I get there, I will rely on my friends, family and community for support and security.
