Thank you (and some other comments too)

I was a Freshman in College (yikes! It's been a long three years), I was taking my Writing 2010, and we all had to choose a subject to write our five page paper on and present it to the class. Naturally, I chose gay bullying.

It was among my research that I found that many of the teenagers and young adults who had committed suicide due to bullying that year, they all became just a number, a statistical portion of evidence for people like me: a college student. To prove why bullying is so wrong. I didn't want them to be numbers. I wanted those kids, those who weren't able to live their lives, at least truly, to an extent that they loved themselves fully, I wanted them to have names and stories, and vicariously, I found mine.

There were so many emotions brought on by my paper. I was angry. I was sad. I was overwhelmed. Confused. Misunderstood. More than anything, I was a fraud, and I had been for nineteen years of my life. I was living two lives under one skin and I hated it. I hated the lying. I hated the scheming, and I hated the idea that I would never be able to have a husband, a family, one dog, one cat, twins, and a cow named Betsy (okay maybe the latter four I embellished on).

I had been posting status updates on Facebook (as much as I do now, yes), and the more I posted, the more obvious it became that I was a little...different. My updates caught the eye of my aunt, who then called my grandmother, who then called my mother. I came home from school one day, and sat at the counter with my mother as she made me something to eat. It was our ritual.

I didn't decide that day would be the day, but because of my paper it was just always on my mind, and that day it weighed heavily on my conscious, and my mother could see that. Our conversation went something like this:

Mama: Are you okay? She sits on the stool next to me at the counter
Me: I'm okay.
Mama: You know Grandma called me and said Stacy saw some things on your Facebook.
Me: Yeah.
Mama: Weird things. You should stop posting things on there.
Me: Okay.
Mama: Do you want to tell me something? You can tell me anything.
Me: I looked into my mother's eyes I don't want to tell you.
Mama: Why?
Me: I think you already know.
Mama: I need you to say it.
Me: I can't.
Mama: If I ask, will you tell me?
Me: I nodded "yes".
Mama: Do you like boys?
Me: Yes.
Mama: Did you think I would hate you because you like boys?
Me: Yes.

At this point my mother raised herself from her stool. Walked around the counter. Looked at me with tears forming in her eyes and said:

Mama: Did you think I would hate you because you are gay?
Me: Yes. I did.
Mama: I will never hate you. You are my son. I will always love you.

Then she embraced me, and we cried. After the waterworks settled, and the breathing came back to a momentum of speaking proportions. We talked for hours about how I felt, about how she felt, and about everything in between.

It was almost two weeks after that. I felt I had to come out again, because my mother who refused to acknowledge that I like men, pushed me back into the closet. Unconsciously  I'm sure of it. It was new and frightening for her, as it was for me as well. We were all in a space of awkward and shock.

It's been two and a half years, and my family (my brother and sister included) have become the loves of my life, and the support system that have trudged over borders I would have never thought possible. They are my rock.

With this all said, and today being National Coming Out Day, I must say, coming out was not an easy feat. It was something that took me a very long time to do, and it was something that I did when I was ready. The path after coming out, was probably harder than before or even during the coming out process, because after finally saying it, I had to redirect, or re-create rather, a life that was new and exciting, and more over: Mine.

With this said, I must end this note (novel) with this:

Thank you to my parents, who may agree or disagree or not even care about my life, but who have shown me time and time again, that they love and support me, and it is I who do not feel worthy to be in their life due to their kindness and undying devotion to me. I love you mom and dad.

To my sister, who has made all the difference, thank you for loving me, and letting me love you. Thank you for your acceptance. You are truly a woman of character and class.

To my baby bro, you are my child, and I adore you. Your innocence is recognized in my eyes as something that is fading, but you'll always be little Jerry.

To my friends, my extended family, my co-workers, my lovers, (those don't really exist), my strangers and unborn children: Thank you for letting me be me. Your support, and your ignorance (for those selected few) have given me strength and courage to go on.

I love you all, and hope that I allow you the same freedom as you have allowed me to not be just a number.