i have a feeling about this
thanks dave for the skeleton to do this...props.
Brace yourselves for yet another cynical and bitter coming out story. Yet another sad tale of how hard my life is as a teenager and of course yet another tale of how I think the world owes me something….
This is an essay about coming out, but it is anything but a sob story. I would like to start with an analogy of my life now:
“My existence at this juncture is so easily susceptible to change. My world is similar to a desk full of well-organized papers in a room with a window open. For the moment everything is copasetic and habitable, however at any second the wind could blow in and alter my existence once again. Perhaps I’m just waiting for my breakdown.”
Lets back track a bit before I could successfully form oratory(speech), analogies or even knew what the word oratory meant. At the age of well I don’t know, I was young, I noticed that I was a little different then all the other boys. Not only did I not like Jane, but I liked John instead. The extent of my knowledge was that I just knew I was different, so I unintentionally denied my homosexuality to myself for years stating such phrases as “it’s just a phase” or “I’m not gay…I’m just curious” whenever that old feeling would arise. Trust me, these expressions of false confidence prove only to be more harmful than anything, but at thirteen or younger, how could I understand the concept of homosexuality. It is possible and that at some point I considered it, but at that point in my life I just did not care enough about it. My life consisted of playing soccer, staying up past 9:30, and WWF wrestling.
The suburbs are the most dangerous place in America. For a closeted GLB (gay, lesbian, bisexual) person or anyone who is a little left of center, the white picket fences, minivans, manicured lawns and endless rows of track housing can be constant reminder of the demand to be a perfect child and well, can make you feel like a freak! As a product of the suburbs, I am the example of the term cul-de-sac Jersey and like so many other “freaks”. I was a brief victim of the inadvertent pressures of suburban expectations. High school can be a personal hell or a paradise; in my case it became a blank canvas. Having little/no knowledge of what these feelings meant, I pushed my homosexuality aside and I began to over achieve in some areas and did what everyone asked me to do, in turn I prayed that no one would ever ask questions because if they did, I would not have an answer. Cohesive with my unawareness, I grew several inches, I “revamped” my hair and my whole “look/style” and people finally noticed me. Who cared about homosexuality?
As time progressed I lived the life that seemed socially acceptable. I did reasonably well in school, had a great group of friends, and was known in a sea of almost 1500 students as being that loud sarcastic kid. I created a perfect or not so perfect perception, image, persona, whatever you wish to label it as I floated from group to group and lived in a seemingly perfect bubble where I had everyone fooled or so I thought. It’s not that people didn’t speculate, I’m positive people talked about me but no one had the guts to say it to my face (maturely at least, the word faggot and queer seemed to slip out of someone’s mouth everyday) and this just gave me more confidence (or lack there of, depending on the view point) and kept me further in the closet. I lived the ever so cliché expression, don’t ask don’t tell. For the most part, if I were to drop a seemingly “faggish” remark people would just chalk it up to “Josh being Josh.” I guess one could say that I forgot that I was homosexual because it was again not that important to me, and was starting to lack importance to others.
It was here, in this time in my life, where I learned the importance of breathing and the unimportance of pronouns. I just assumed I could keep this a secret by changing the “he” to a “she” whenever applicable, take a deep breath, and change the subject.
After so many years I decided to break the news to my friends. I received an overwhelmingly positive response from them, thus making it easier to “be myself.” However, that only served as the aspirin to my pain (not that I was suffering, but it only solved some of my “problems” for a short term) rather then fixing what I thought was a potential problem. It felt good to be out to at least just a handful of people but I was still silenced, not by society, rather by myself. I tried several times to tell my family, but every time I conjured up the strength my voice seemed to be muffled by a rag always stuck in my mouth. I was sneaky, closeted, and unhappy. For some reason I convinced myself that telling my parents/family would make it all better, that magically over night I could be this happy person again. I wouldn’t know because I have yet to conjure up enough courage to do so.
Seldom does anyone ever tell you that coming out doesn’t change who you are. Perhaps for some people it does, and maybe that is a good thing. In my case, my clothes and shoes still fit me as they always had and my friends still looked at me the same and nothing was different. I’ve always felt that on the large spectrum of things, sexuality is such in minor part. It may appear large in scope but compared to everything that is measured in your life, it is minor. Sexuality should never fully define who you are, rather be an extension of what you are, a person, and who you love.
I’m content with the way things are, the way I am, who I’ve become, and who I will be. Coming out didn’t close a chapter in my life like I had hoped it would, rather it is a continuation of my life now. And I am happy with it that way.
Something to keep in mind is that I’m not trying to change minds, break records, or go down in history as an advocate for anything. I am no expert on the subject. I welcome, embrace, and entertain the opinions of everyone, despite my own beliefs. This is just my interpretation, life according to Josh. I’m just your average kid from New Jersey who likes music, movies, friends, life and if the mood should strike me, a cool guy.
QUESTION: tell me what you think about me
Brace yourselves for yet another cynical and bitter coming out story. Yet another sad tale of how hard my life is as a teenager and of course yet another tale of how I think the world owes me something….
This is an essay about coming out, but it is anything but a sob story. I would like to start with an analogy of my life now:
“My existence at this juncture is so easily susceptible to change. My world is similar to a desk full of well-organized papers in a room with a window open. For the moment everything is copasetic and habitable, however at any second the wind could blow in and alter my existence once again. Perhaps I’m just waiting for my breakdown.”
Lets back track a bit before I could successfully form oratory(speech), analogies or even knew what the word oratory meant. At the age of well I don’t know, I was young, I noticed that I was a little different then all the other boys. Not only did I not like Jane, but I liked John instead. The extent of my knowledge was that I just knew I was different, so I unintentionally denied my homosexuality to myself for years stating such phrases as “it’s just a phase” or “I’m not gay…I’m just curious” whenever that old feeling would arise. Trust me, these expressions of false confidence prove only to be more harmful than anything, but at thirteen or younger, how could I understand the concept of homosexuality. It is possible and that at some point I considered it, but at that point in my life I just did not care enough about it. My life consisted of playing soccer, staying up past 9:30, and WWF wrestling.
The suburbs are the most dangerous place in America. For a closeted GLB (gay, lesbian, bisexual) person or anyone who is a little left of center, the white picket fences, minivans, manicured lawns and endless rows of track housing can be constant reminder of the demand to be a perfect child and well, can make you feel like a freak! As a product of the suburbs, I am the example of the term cul-de-sac Jersey and like so many other “freaks”. I was a brief victim of the inadvertent pressures of suburban expectations. High school can be a personal hell or a paradise; in my case it became a blank canvas. Having little/no knowledge of what these feelings meant, I pushed my homosexuality aside and I began to over achieve in some areas and did what everyone asked me to do, in turn I prayed that no one would ever ask questions because if they did, I would not have an answer. Cohesive with my unawareness, I grew several inches, I “revamped” my hair and my whole “look/style” and people finally noticed me. Who cared about homosexuality?
As time progressed I lived the life that seemed socially acceptable. I did reasonably well in school, had a great group of friends, and was known in a sea of almost 1500 students as being that loud sarcastic kid. I created a perfect or not so perfect perception, image, persona, whatever you wish to label it as I floated from group to group and lived in a seemingly perfect bubble where I had everyone fooled or so I thought. It’s not that people didn’t speculate, I’m positive people talked about me but no one had the guts to say it to my face (maturely at least, the word faggot and queer seemed to slip out of someone’s mouth everyday) and this just gave me more confidence (or lack there of, depending on the view point) and kept me further in the closet. I lived the ever so cliché expression, don’t ask don’t tell. For the most part, if I were to drop a seemingly “faggish” remark people would just chalk it up to “Josh being Josh.” I guess one could say that I forgot that I was homosexual because it was again not that important to me, and was starting to lack importance to others.
It was here, in this time in my life, where I learned the importance of breathing and the unimportance of pronouns. I just assumed I could keep this a secret by changing the “he” to a “she” whenever applicable, take a deep breath, and change the subject.
After so many years I decided to break the news to my friends. I received an overwhelmingly positive response from them, thus making it easier to “be myself.” However, that only served as the aspirin to my pain (not that I was suffering, but it only solved some of my “problems” for a short term) rather then fixing what I thought was a potential problem. It felt good to be out to at least just a handful of people but I was still silenced, not by society, rather by myself. I tried several times to tell my family, but every time I conjured up the strength my voice seemed to be muffled by a rag always stuck in my mouth. I was sneaky, closeted, and unhappy. For some reason I convinced myself that telling my parents/family would make it all better, that magically over night I could be this happy person again. I wouldn’t know because I have yet to conjure up enough courage to do so.
Seldom does anyone ever tell you that coming out doesn’t change who you are. Perhaps for some people it does, and maybe that is a good thing. In my case, my clothes and shoes still fit me as they always had and my friends still looked at me the same and nothing was different. I’ve always felt that on the large spectrum of things, sexuality is such in minor part. It may appear large in scope but compared to everything that is measured in your life, it is minor. Sexuality should never fully define who you are, rather be an extension of what you are, a person, and who you love.
I’m content with the way things are, the way I am, who I’ve become, and who I will be. Coming out didn’t close a chapter in my life like I had hoped it would, rather it is a continuation of my life now. And I am happy with it that way.
Something to keep in mind is that I’m not trying to change minds, break records, or go down in history as an advocate for anything. I am no expert on the subject. I welcome, embrace, and entertain the opinions of everyone, despite my own beliefs. This is just my interpretation, life according to Josh. I’m just your average kid from New Jersey who likes music, movies, friends, life and if the mood should strike me, a cool guy.
QUESTION: tell me what you think about me