The Gap

Come along on a journey with me as I torture more metaphors to get a moot point across. I’ll try to be more more brief, this is just a thought that occured to me the other day.

Are you claustrophobic? Maybe, maybe not. I can’t speak for you. But I can say that I’m not particularly claustrophobic myself. (I will admit I have an irrational fear of waking up in a coffin, buried alive.) It’s not hard to see where the fear comes from though. You’re being confined, not able to move, the world turning inward, a weight is on you from all sides. You can’t escape, panic sets in, and suddenly even the air is too thick to breathe. I think my heartrate just spiked. The other day a few of my friends and I went spelunking. That word makes it sound like we know what we’re doing. Really we just grab some flashlights and go explore some cave system or another. We’d been through this particular cave a few times before. It’s nothing big, maybe an hour to the bottom and an hour back. But we didn’t go all the way down today. One of our party, who is claustrophobic, was getting a little rattled. However, besides exiting the cave with the usual bruises and scrapes, I also left with a new thought. You see, there’s a part in this cave where you squeeze through a pretty small gap. You lay on your back and pull yourself through to the other side using your arms. But there’s a catch; the easiest way through is to exhale and let out all of your breath so that you can fit through. You have to commit and completely pull yourself through (or back out) before you can take any real breaths again. It’s nerve wracking the first time, but you get over it. Again, I can’t speak for you, but you might be thinking: “Why the hell would you do something like that?” The answer is simple, you do it to get to the other side. Of course there’s the adrenaline and all that but the real reward is being able to look behind you and say, “Yes, I made it through.” Is this starting to sound familiar to any of you? A crushing weight is on you, you can’t breathe, you’re trying to pull yourself free. Ringing any bells? I think this metaphor could probably suit most difficult situations, but I think it’s especially apt for coming out. Or at least I imagine so, I’ve yet to pull myself out and breathe the free air. Seeing as there’s really no way to back out now the only way to go is forward. And just like that gap in the cave, nobody can stay there forever. You’d suffocate, I’m suffocating. I can’t live another year stuck between this rock and a hard place. I’m not sure if I’ll make it. There are times that you have you have to just pull yourself out so that you can taste the free air. And from what I hear, it’s supposed to taste pretty sweet.

3 and 4

I have a confession. Not only did I write the blog post about telling my sister already, but I wrote one about recently telling my other friend. Though now I’m not sure if I’ll ever post them. I know, I know, I’m terrible. But it’s taken me a long time to digest my feelings about both of those incidents. I still feel a little overwhelmed, and I definitely don’t feel the same way that I did when I wrote those. I’ll still honor the agreement I made to give the details. Forgive me, because I’m going to abridge both stories for the sake of being brief.

First, my sister. I should tell you that my sister is one of the most moderate people I know. On one side she’s the death penalty favoring, gun owning, small government supporter. Then to match she’s a vegetarian, environmentalist, pro-choice, pseudo socialist. I don’t understand it myself. But she and I are close enough that she could believe the world is flat and it wouldn’t matter to me. Although that didn’t stop me from being discouraged when a week before telling her, on the way home for spring break, she told me her views on gay rights. She didn’t understand why civil partnerships were unacceptable and was very against gay adoption. I did argue with her, but not vehemently enough for her to wonder if there was a reason behind it. Anyway, about a week passes and I’m almost at my deadline. I’m not sure if I’ve just been taking more notice of oddities lately or if the universe has an odd sense of humor. The funny thing is, that Saturday night was almost an exact replay of the night that I told the first person, my friend ‘Ryan’. We were at my same friend’s house drinking the same microbrews and watching British humor movies. When I got home I tried to sleep but the howling of coyotes or wolves outside made it difficult. I finally did doze off, and I had the most vivid dreams. I dreamt that I was trying out for a movie role. But the script was gibberish and those who couldn’t memorize it, including me, were executed by firing squad. I’m not sure what my subconscious was trying to tell me with that one. I didn’t get much sleep that night, but Sunday reared its head all the same.

It was a pretty normal Sunday morning at home. Coffee, grapefruit, raisin bread, bathrobes, Sunday papers, washing cars, etc. About noon my sister and I packed up the car and got on the road. In case you haven’t already guessed, my sister and I go to the same university. It’s about a five hour drive to and from school. I planned to tell my sister at the end of the fourth hour. I’ll admit I was speeding, but it didn’t seem long until those four hours joined my home in the rearview mirror. I had reset the odometer when we last filled up, I told myself that when the mileage struck 234.0 I would pause the music and say my piece. The odometer counted by tenths of a mile and I was staring at that number so intently I’m not sure how I kept the car on the road. I don’t think I was going three hundred and sixty miles per hour at the time, but it seemed like for every second that passed I saw that last number change once and felt my heart beat three times. Suddenly before I had time to even think, the numbers read 234 and I turned down the music.

I asked her if she loved me unconditionally. She became instantly suspicious and asked me why I wanted to know. I asked her if she’d love me if I killed someone. “Yes.” I asked her if she’d love me if I’d gotten a girl pregnant. “Yes.” I asked her if she’d love me if I was gay. “Yes.” I told her one of those things was true. “No.” I eliminated the first two, and she didn’t believe me. After I finally convinced her I was gay, she turned on the waterworks. That was too much for me, and I shut down almost completely. She did said that she still loved me, after it was all said and done. I know she definitely didn't understand right then, I believe she has come around and accepted the idea since then. About a week later she apologised for not taking it better. She said something along the lines of, “Blood is thicker than water and how I handled myself is water under the bridge.” We still almost never talk about it, but at least the matter is settled.

Second, my friend, Ms. #4. All I can say about that is wow. When I woke up the next morning and remembered what I had done the night before it was impossible not to smile. Even though my head was churning like a concrete mixer from the drinks it didn’t spoil my mood. I was on top of the world because I had told person number four. It’s such a small number, look, you only need one hand to count it on your fingers. But if you had asked me a few months ago when I started all of this I would’ve told you that four might as well be a million. You’ll have to forgive me, but the drinks have left my memory of that night foggy to say the least. What I do remember is the feelings. Peace was the predominant one. Some backstory: Basically, I’ve known this girl since back in high school. She’s smart, kind, funny, reasonable, and very open minded. I love her to death. She’s dating my friend that you know as Mike. For the purposes of this story, her name is Kate.

So back when it was still spring break, my friends and I went camping. Tents, campfire, marshmallows, drinks, etc. Kate and I were talking and somehow we got on the topic of secrets. She mentioned that she didn’t have any real secrets to which I replied, “I’m jealous.” “Oh it’s Mr. Mystery over here it seems.” I said I only had one real secret and she’d learn it eventually. “Is it a big secret?” “No. You could probably guess it if you thought about why it’s a secret in the first place.” That’s when the gears started turning. Exactly one week passes. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, right as I was about to drift off to sleep my phone rings. I’ll spare you the details but another of my friends that goes to the same college as Kate decided to drunk dial me. She was at a big party and while we were talking, on the other line I hear, “Who is that?” “It’s Ethan.“ “Ethan?!?!” “Here, Kate wants to talk to you.” We talk on the phone for a while. Blah blah blah. But before ending the conversation she jokingly says, “And I haven’t forgotten about that secret of yours.” “I’m surprised you haven’t pieced it together yet.” “Yeah well, I have a theory but I’d hate to be that jerk that goes and assumes things. Even so, you’d be the same person I’ve known all along.” “Yes. Goodnight, Kate.” She definitely knew. 24 hours pass. It had been a long Saturday night. I had just made sure that a thoroughly hammered Mike made it home. I must have been worse off than I thought because the rest of the night is a blur. My call log says that I was the one that called Kate at two in the morning and the call lasted about an hour. I ended up sitting in a library window and spilling the beans to her. It felt great, it was definitely the easiest and most gratifying coming out I’ve done so far.

Needless to say, I’m insanely lucky to have the friends that I do. Every time I’ve taken that leap, a safety net of support has risen up to kept me from falling down. I suppose that I have no other choice but to keep jumping and have faith that the net will hold. Either that or I could stand on that metaphorical ledge forever. It’s like they say, don’t look down, right? All I can say for now is stay tuned for my next little stunt. Trust in those close to you. Even If they didn’t know that you had stripes, they’ll  probably support you nonetheless. Wear your stripes proudly. It’ll be easier to change people’s minds than change your stripes, because the stripes on a tiger are hard to change.