Whispers of my sexuality

To mum.Recently, I’ve discovered that you've been defending me. I’ve been completely oblivious to the threat that you've been protecting me against. I knew you hated Rebecca, but I had no idea it was over this. I had an inkling that people were talking about me. It was obvious. Not paranoia. I don’t usually jump at my name every time it’s spoken. Usually I couldn’t care, but I saw a pattern, and I knew it was happening. But now I know for sure. I just didn’t realise how serious it was. I thought people were speculating and just talking about me inquisitively behind my back, I didn’t realise you were actually under attack mum, for who I am. Now I feel even more guilty. You're defending the sexuality of a boy who hasn’t even told you he’s gay yet. Isn’t it terrifically saddening how society demands such answers from people who don’t even know who they are, when it’s none of their business to begin with. They have no reason to know, and yet they push and push until the person breaks. I hate people like that. No hate is an understatement. I loathe people like that. Rebecca. I loathe you, I thoroughly undyingly loathe you now. I don’t understand how you can be so bitter, jealous and judgemental.Am I really expected to forgive everyone. Every single person out there who condemns me and mocks me and laughs at me and calls me a faggot, am I really expected to forgive them all? All of them? Why do I have to be civilised and kind and moral all the time when there’s so many idiots out there. Ignorant people who think I chose this lifestyle. Why do people still think it’s a choice? I don’t want this. If I had the option of being straight and falling in love with a girl I would, but unfortunately, I just can’t do it. The only choice I get is whether I want to be happy and honest in life or miserable. Do you really think I don’t want to raise a family. I’d love to have kids, but I don’t want to raise kids, in love with the idea of love, having no true feelings to the mother of my children. I don’t want to live in a septic synthetic life of lies. I want to be happy, that’s all. But you don’t understand.The worst thing is that people have the impression that I’m weak and a pansy. If I was big and tough, I’d love to use my strength and violence against them, punish them for their words. No. The voices in my head are telling me how childish that is, how you are intelligent, and intelligent people don’t resort to violence. Well then how am I supposed to stand up for myself. How? Do I just take the words when someone calls me a poofter and a faggot and a disgrace?Sometimes it hits me unexpectedly. I’d be thinking I was safe, in my mums car, driving with her to Westfield shopping centre, when I’m hit with the words: “Rebecca’s son is gay and he never came out to his mother... " to then look at me with inquisitive suspicion. I was so slapped with the suddenness of the statement that all I could do was sit there in silence, knowing that she knew and too ashamed to say anything about it. Now she’s dealing with the burns from the flame of my warped sexuality. She’s colder now, her shell is thicker, harder, she’s contemplative and charred on the outside. I never even came out to her, but she knows. I feel her indifference. I feel like she’s dealing with the loss of someone who is still alive yet departed. She looks at me as if I have already died.Is it wrong for me to feel so unwilling to come out to her formally, even though she not only knows I’m gay, but is defending my very dignity before all her friends? Is it wrong for me to still feel ashamed to say those words? "I’m gay mum." I guess I owe it to her, don’t I? I hate the word gay and the stigma attached to it let alone come out, but I guess I owe it to her. But somehow I feel it will only make things worse.I want her love. That’s all I want. I wish she made it easier for me by talking to me first, by making the first move. Why do I always have to be the stronger one and approach her. I don’t want to accept that I’m gay. Bisexual, maybe, but not gay. I don’t relate with a gay, I consider myself in the day, in the field of people's eyes, a straight male.It’s so confusing and frustrating and consuming. What do I do? Obviously the answer is to come out to you mum. Well if it’s so obviously the answer, then why is it so hard for me to do it? Am I a coward for not coming out? I honestly feel like it's the right decision not to. That's she'd be more content with me if I was straight. I made the affirmation to myself already, if I knew it was the right thing to do, if I was truly certain it would be the ultimate solution, I would do it. I would. It would be difficult but I’d do it, just like I bungee jumped off the sky tower in Auckland. I didn’t want to, but I did it. I did it to prove that I had balls, that I was still courageous enough to do the things that some straight people couldn’t, that in some sense, I was still a man inside. Perhaps more a man than some. But all this is superficial. Strength is not how big you look or how straight you are or how many buildings you jump off. Strength is the ability to keep going even though everyone criticises you and pulls you down. Strength is the force that pushes you forward when all you want to do is cry and give up on the stairs of the railway station headed to another meaningless day at uni alone. Strength is the belief in yourself that you’re intrinsically special regardless of all those who no longer want to be around you because they can’t relate with a gay. Strength is mental and it’s within. The strength to go on and to be happy when the whole world wants you sad. I have no idea what to do most days, I am so lost and afraid and alone, but it is the strength of my heart saying one day, maybe you’ll look back and wonder why you ever felt depressed at all in the first place. Yes, I want kids. Yes, I’m in love with the idea of kissing a girl on the lips, touching her body and seeing nothing but her, hand in hand. I’d love that, but I’d be lying to myself when I know my fantasies are with a guy. The internal conflict going on inside me kills me. Everything seems to be screaming at me that it’s wrong, but my body yearns for it. I hate that I love him. I hate it. I hate that I am in love with another man.The pain and internal torment I deal with every single day of my life is far more terrifying and heavy than some meaningless jump that lasts a few seconds off a 200 m building. I don't think I'm a coward for not coming out to my mum. I don’t. I think she doesn't deserve to know. The way she puts down those “faggots” without concern is depressing. It’s not too hard to imagine her calling me a faggot when we’re arguing. She already says, “don’t answer back, only gays answer back.” She can’t stand my gay acting director and that gay vocal coach or that gay musician. She tolerates anyone with an effeminate accent. And gay marriage isn't a conversation to be exchanged, period. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just trying to affirm this non-truth in my head, when really, she’s willing to have this conversation, and I’m just holding it off. Maybe, while she doesn’t support gay marriage because of the children’s right to a mother and a father, perhaps she will still accept me as her gay son? I’m so confused and ashamed and uncertain. I feel like it's the right decision to keep silent, but I don't know. She already knows, so why not let her mourn, why not give her the chance to know for sure, why not let her in on the secret. The fact that she still cooks for me and shows me some love at all while she knows of my homosexuality is an acceptance in itself. Let her in, let her learn to love you again. Let her take some of your weight away. Explain to her the torment you feel and maybe she’ll understand, maybe she’ll sympathise now that it’s her own son and not some homosexual on the TV. Perhaps she’ll learn to forgive me and even discover the hardship that most gays have to endure learning to love themselves. Maybe I’m denying her the chance to be educated on how much gays suffer.I just want you back mum. That’s all I really want. And if by coming out to you officially is the answer… I don’t know. I don’t want to, I really don’t want to, but I guess, I should. It’s not the conversation that frightens me. Saying I’m gay is just two words. It doesn’t frighten me. What frightens me is if I’m wrong, and I lose you. I lose you, my mother. I lose your love and time and companionship and affection that I once had, even though even now, it is dwindlingWhat should I do?I've never even acted on my sexuality. I’ve never even acted on my thoughts of kissing that cute boy and running my hands over his body. I couldn't because I'm too ashamed of it. I absorb all this pain and hatred from my "friends" and "family" for who I am, and yet, I've not even explored myself sexually because I'm too horrified by the very concept of succumbing to my desires.I can't blame Rebecca for it, or Mitch, or Alex, or anyone who discards me, as the truth was always bound to come out eventually, but that doesn't mean I can't hate them for talking about me behind my back, for spreading rumours and leaving me to isolation. These people are the plague of society. But, I don’t want to hate them. It’s a form of protecting myself. Deep down, I miss them.What proof did she have anyway? I had a relationship with a girl as a cover. I look straight, I work out every day. Not because I want to lie to myself because I’m in denial of my sexuality, I’m definitely not in denial, I just don’t want to lose anybody anymore. I don’t want to be alone. I miss people.Yes I’m into music theatre but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gay does it? Okay, I it does… But, these people are so arrogant enough to say they "know" me when they don’t even have the decency to have a conversation with me. As if being gay is my whole identity and personality. These people feel proud enough to talk about me behind my back and laugh and mock me that I love balls in my mouth, when they don’t even have the time and respect to speak to me, to even get to know me. Society is a reflection of the plague that is in me.I love you mum. Remember that through all this hardship that you’re enduring on my behalf, I love you so much. Always remember that, sometimes I wish I weren't gay just so that you wouldn’t be hurting and punished for it so much, but I don’t mind it anymore, it’s not so bad being gay. The knives don't hurt as much as they used to. It’s shaped me to who I am today. If it wasn’t for my sexuality, I wouldn’t be the talented and forgiving person I am now. Only outsiders condemn me because they don’t understand. But it hurts me to see you in pain. I don’t want you to defend me. I don’t see why you have to do that. You shouldn’t have to deal with that. Why are people attacking you in the first place just because the sexuality of your son is different to every one else? Can’t people grow up? I’m not a murderer. I’m just gay, but you make it seem like it’s the same thing. I even look straight. I blend in with every other straight man, because I thought it would be easier if I at least behaved masculine. At least that way, I could take pride in the facade that I am. At least that way I could relate to the person standing before me in the mirror. But I do love my insides too now. Society doesn’t. But I do. I think I finally do. I think I've finally accepted myself.I love myself, I love every bit of myself. I love the sensations I feel when I see other guys my age. I don’t feel ashamed anymore. I don’t feel so scared that I just want to hide under all the darkness of the world and die. I feel like I’m crawling out of my shell for the first time in my entire life since I was thirteen and threatened with that shocking realisation... for the first time, I feel like I can breathe now for once. I do love myself. I just wish my family could see me the same way I see myself and love me too.Anyway mum, I love you, don’t forget that, and I always will. I’m sorry, not on behalf of myself, but on behalf to you. I am sorry for your loss, for the loss of the conception of a family and a possible wife. I’m sorry for being different and special and unique. I’m sorry for not conforming to the beautiful ideal weddings that everyone else shares and celebrates and remembers. I’m sorry for the kids that I will never have but will yearn for every day. I love kids. I’d love having kids and being a father, and I’m sorry that if I ever had kids, it would be the romantic archetypal love that you are so familiar with. I don’t want to live in darkness and secrecy anymore, so I’m sorry for that decision. I’m sorry for freeing myself from the restriction of these bars and chains, the bars of society. I hope though, that you will recognise that I am happier this way. I just want to be honest is all. I don’t want to be gay, I just want to be honest. And I love you mum; infinity.Love John