Coming Out With It...
From sluggobear
October 11th is Coming-Out Day. But being gay is not the only thing you can keep in a closet. It's quite liberating to be able to reveal something you've been hiding. Maybe we keep things secret to avoid getting hurt, or to avoid hurting others. But often we're mostly just worried about what others will think of us. And yet, no matter what secret you may have... someone else is probably hiding exactly the same thing.
Perhaps you've felt the relief after telling someone you're gay... and you no longer have to be constantly vigilant and secretive about it. This principle applies to other things, as well. Perhaps you are suffering from depression. Perhaps you believe in God, but you don't tell your gay friends for fear of being judged or made fun-of. Maybe you've done something dishonest, or you are bi-sexual. Perhaps you have a medical condition, maybe you've served time in prison, or perhaps you're still suffering from a traumatic event.
They say that "the truth shall set you free," so here's the meme challenge. During the week of October 11th, Coming-Out Day, reveal something about yourself that you've been hiding. If something's been eating away at you, here's your chance to say something.
Please exercise discretion. You might not want to disclose something that will get you in legal trouble, or would violate someone's trust. And there are certain things that are personal, some of which you may decide should remain that way.
If you're up to the challenge, be brave, be bold, and consider that you might be helping someone else to know they're not alone. Or maybe you'll just be relieved that you don't have to keep something secret anymore.
Here's the full text of the original meme, along with some ideas for things you might want to consider writing about.
http://sluggobear.livejournal.com/180295.html
____________________________
I'm not usually into these "National-WhateverTheHell-Day" but since it's National Coming Out Day and there happens to be gay people that like to talk to me about things, I would join in on the Nations plans to come out with something.
Of all the things I've kept to myself over the years there's been one thing that I've always tried to keep tucked away. The only one person I've ever told was Alex and that was recently. It's not really a secret, but I treat it like one. This is something I have tried over the years to utterly erase from my memories. The one thing that makes my mind repeat "It never happened, it never happened". It's not something I ever want to say to anyone anyway, other than it sounding like gossip or a ploy for pity. But it's something I haven't been able to admit to myself and something both my parents don't ever want to admit. The reason why my father pleads for my forgiveness with his eyes and my mother is so gentle with me. It's more of a memory.A memory we all, my mother father and I, pretend never happened together. I've never brought it up with them. I don't ever seek to try. It concerns the night my parents finally decided to split up and began the exile of my father from the family I am tied to currently. It bothers me a lot when people ask about my family. They hear me talk about my mother and father and put together that we are a family. That is not the case at all. I have two parents. A mother and a father. But I am not the bridge of their unity, I am the distance between them. I am a witness.
I was about 4 at the time. It was very late and I was deeply slumbering. My parents were in the little room my mother used as her dark room right next to where I slept. I heard their voices raise, even in my deep sleep. I heard banging and crashing and shouting. Then I heard the door to the room open. I jump up in bed and suddenly started crying. I knew something was wrong. My mother started screaming. "get help, go downstairs and get help!" Then my father "Stay there Chanthoun" My father only ever used my full name when he wanted to grasp me deeply inside and hear his words. So I stayed. I stopped crying and watched. I watched as my father grabbed my mother by the arm. I watched her pull away, dropping her body almost to the ground like a child trying to loosen themselves from the grip of a frustrated adult. I watched my mother screaming and crying and pleading. My father kept his grip on her, yelling into her face words I couldn't comprehend. Then I watched as my father raise his hand. My father so short and slight, but powerful. My father the martial artist. My father who shattered bamboo with a strike when I playfully asked how strong he was. My father who obliterated wood and concrete with the same hands he combed my hair and carried me with. I watched my father strike my mother in anger.
His strike was so fierce it shook the walls, the ceiling, the floors. It shook my heart. I believed there and then that he killed her. The way her body when limp and a noise like a wounded animal left her mouth. But he let her go and she recovered. From that explosion of violence my mother stagger-crawled away. My father slammed the door shut and cornered my mother. My mother whose jet black hair fell to her thighs. Whose smile was innocent and free, not like a mothers at all, but like the prettiest girl you've ever seen. Whose strike, I know from many trying periods of stubbornness on my part, to be just as fierce as my father. All at once the side of her room moved in an instant. It was as if the room was a sinking boat and my father was dead weight. My mother had fought back. She was tossing everything she could with rage, and fear and adrenaline. My parents were shouting again. And so I cried.
I don't remember what happened after that, just my family shouting from downstairs. I don't even remember what happened the next few days after that. Just eventually ending up in a parking lot and given the choice that would effect my whole life. Stay with my mother or leave with my father. That single choice, from those who know the rest of the story after that, has lead me to this life.
So there you have it. My Coming out story for this day. The reason why I am quiet and cynical. The reason why instead of getting angry, I get emotional. Because that anger could cause me to lose the things I love just like my father lost his whole life that night. Because i don't want to lose Alex, or my friends. or myself any more that I already have. So I'll cry, because deep down I don't want things to be this way. Cry because the tears quell the anger and I'd rather be weak to the people I love than a violent man who raises his hand in anger. Cry because I love you and I don't want you to leave me. So there you have it. The reason why I am afraid all the time. Because you are never safe. Not even from the people you love.
October 11th is Coming-Out Day. But being gay is not the only thing you can keep in a closet. It's quite liberating to be able to reveal something you've been hiding. Maybe we keep things secret to avoid getting hurt, or to avoid hurting others. But often we're mostly just worried about what others will think of us. And yet, no matter what secret you may have... someone else is probably hiding exactly the same thing.
Perhaps you've felt the relief after telling someone you're gay... and you no longer have to be constantly vigilant and secretive about it. This principle applies to other things, as well. Perhaps you are suffering from depression. Perhaps you believe in God, but you don't tell your gay friends for fear of being judged or made fun-of. Maybe you've done something dishonest, or you are bi-sexual. Perhaps you have a medical condition, maybe you've served time in prison, or perhaps you're still suffering from a traumatic event.
They say that "the truth shall set you free," so here's the meme challenge. During the week of October 11th, Coming-Out Day, reveal something about yourself that you've been hiding. If something's been eating away at you, here's your chance to say something.
Please exercise discretion. You might not want to disclose something that will get you in legal trouble, or would violate someone's trust. And there are certain things that are personal, some of which you may decide should remain that way.
If you're up to the challenge, be brave, be bold, and consider that you might be helping someone else to know they're not alone. Or maybe you'll just be relieved that you don't have to keep something secret anymore.
Here's the full text of the original meme, along with some ideas for things you might want to consider writing about.
http://sluggobear.livejournal.com/180295.html
____________________________
I'm not usually into these "National-WhateverTheHell-Day" but since it's National Coming Out Day and there happens to be gay people that like to talk to me about things, I would join in on the Nations plans to come out with something.
Of all the things I've kept to myself over the years there's been one thing that I've always tried to keep tucked away. The only one person I've ever told was Alex and that was recently. It's not really a secret, but I treat it like one. This is something I have tried over the years to utterly erase from my memories. The one thing that makes my mind repeat "It never happened, it never happened". It's not something I ever want to say to anyone anyway, other than it sounding like gossip or a ploy for pity. But it's something I haven't been able to admit to myself and something both my parents don't ever want to admit. The reason why my father pleads for my forgiveness with his eyes and my mother is so gentle with me. It's more of a memory.A memory we all, my mother father and I, pretend never happened together. I've never brought it up with them. I don't ever seek to try. It concerns the night my parents finally decided to split up and began the exile of my father from the family I am tied to currently. It bothers me a lot when people ask about my family. They hear me talk about my mother and father and put together that we are a family. That is not the case at all. I have two parents. A mother and a father. But I am not the bridge of their unity, I am the distance between them. I am a witness.
I was about 4 at the time. It was very late and I was deeply slumbering. My parents were in the little room my mother used as her dark room right next to where I slept. I heard their voices raise, even in my deep sleep. I heard banging and crashing and shouting. Then I heard the door to the room open. I jump up in bed and suddenly started crying. I knew something was wrong. My mother started screaming. "get help, go downstairs and get help!" Then my father "Stay there Chanthoun" My father only ever used my full name when he wanted to grasp me deeply inside and hear his words. So I stayed. I stopped crying and watched. I watched as my father grabbed my mother by the arm. I watched her pull away, dropping her body almost to the ground like a child trying to loosen themselves from the grip of a frustrated adult. I watched my mother screaming and crying and pleading. My father kept his grip on her, yelling into her face words I couldn't comprehend. Then I watched as my father raise his hand. My father so short and slight, but powerful. My father the martial artist. My father who shattered bamboo with a strike when I playfully asked how strong he was. My father who obliterated wood and concrete with the same hands he combed my hair and carried me with. I watched my father strike my mother in anger.
His strike was so fierce it shook the walls, the ceiling, the floors. It shook my heart. I believed there and then that he killed her. The way her body when limp and a noise like a wounded animal left her mouth. But he let her go and she recovered. From that explosion of violence my mother stagger-crawled away. My father slammed the door shut and cornered my mother. My mother whose jet black hair fell to her thighs. Whose smile was innocent and free, not like a mothers at all, but like the prettiest girl you've ever seen. Whose strike, I know from many trying periods of stubbornness on my part, to be just as fierce as my father. All at once the side of her room moved in an instant. It was as if the room was a sinking boat and my father was dead weight. My mother had fought back. She was tossing everything she could with rage, and fear and adrenaline. My parents were shouting again. And so I cried.
I don't remember what happened after that, just my family shouting from downstairs. I don't even remember what happened the next few days after that. Just eventually ending up in a parking lot and given the choice that would effect my whole life. Stay with my mother or leave with my father. That single choice, from those who know the rest of the story after that, has lead me to this life.
So there you have it. My Coming out story for this day. The reason why I am quiet and cynical. The reason why instead of getting angry, I get emotional. Because that anger could cause me to lose the things I love just like my father lost his whole life that night. Because i don't want to lose Alex, or my friends. or myself any more that I already have. So I'll cry, because deep down I don't want things to be this way. Cry because the tears quell the anger and I'd rather be weak to the people I love than a violent man who raises his hand in anger. Cry because I love you and I don't want you to leave me. So there you have it. The reason why I am afraid all the time. Because you are never safe. Not even from the people you love.