Leaving the Closet Door Open-ish

There are no hard and fast rules. Sometimes I do it straight out of the gate, sometimes I delay. Some of the people closest to me have had to wait years, others it’s never actually been said, but it’s known. Others, I’m sure, have no real idea at all.

            I operate on a strange sort of dichotomy: on the one hand, it’s something I will be completely open and candid about. On the other, I dance through half-truths and vagueries, dodging direct contact whenever possible. On the third (yes, three hands the magpie has, and many more, so watch your pockets and your secrets, dearies), I will attack viciously and thoroughly anyone who takes it out of my control.

            I read this thing about the repetitiveness of it, very humours. Mostly accurate. And that’s the thing: you have to do it over, and over, and over, and over, and many more times over. Forever. Maybe that’s where the dichotomy comes in. The wanting, sometimes, to just have a break. To not do it. To live in that moment where I am just like everyone else (as much as anyone is like anyone else, anyway).

            That and my abhorrence of labels – not just this one, but all of them. I shrink away with a hiss and a sneer (think Nosferatu as the sun comes up) any time one even threatens to attach itself to me.

            But labels are unavoidable. They’ll get slapped on you whether you like it or not, so you learn to cope.

            Recently, I had to do it again. This was one of those delaying times. I knew, inevitably, it would either have to be spoken or lied about, and lying is not an option. I sat back and watched and waited, and many, many times on a daily basis resolved to just get it over with only to shrink back at the last second. I told myself this was silly. I told myself there was nothing to worry about. I knew that, but knowing is different than feeling, and even when knowing you are completely sure, there is that niggle of doubt. That little voice that whispers what if that makes you hesitate. I wanted to protect this new, unexpected and precious thing that had fallen in front of me from the potential disaster of speaking the truth.

            And here you will say, well, if soandso doesn’t accept you for who you are, then what is there to protect? But those of you saying that will never have been in that position. You will never have had someone you trust, someone you love, someone you respect, someone you admire metamorphose into a crude and ugly creature wanting to tear you limb from limb for something about you that has always been there, they just didn’t know. Once you have that, you learn to fear even the ones you trust. You learn to be wary. And you learn the desperation of wanting(needing) acceptance at any cost.

            But that is the past, and this is the now. The now was not like that at all. The now was kind and practical, and Well, of course to my fumbly explanations. It was the first, the hardest, and the best of what I know will be a series of repeated exchanges, with all the new people gathering in my life. Most will not be so direct; I dislike labels, remember, and it is an incredibly difficult thing to work into casual conversation.

            But this one needed to be, deserved to be. So I put on my brave(ish) face, and walked back out with that unexpected and precious thing not only intact, but moreso than before.

(Oct 11 was National Coming Out Day [internationally recognised, mind you; words, people, words and meanings], which I did not know when I initially wrote it. Yay me for being inadvertently topical. I also almost didn't post this as it's two weeks in a row I've been unaccountably mushy. Just means next week I'm going to have to eat someone alive.)