Coming Out Part I

Rarely, does someone who is lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, etc. come out of the proverbial closet more than once. I guess I enjoyed the revelation so much the first time, I took a second crack at it to make sure I got it right. All joking aside, I’m not proud that I shoved my entire being back into hiding. More about that later. 

I write this with the hope that anyone who reads this and feels self loathing from having had moments in your life with one of your deeply held values clashed with another value. In my case, those values were authenticity and independence and caused me about ten years of deep cognitive dissonance. 

By the time I was a sophomore in college, I had at least one close gay guy friend who was trying to gently nudge me to come out as a lesbian. I don’t know if it was my stereotypical tomboyishness, or that I never shared his fawning over a guy. Maybe it was that I had played football or chosen the University of Miami because they had the best college football team in 1992. It was probably just that he was more comfortable saying it out loud than I was and his gaydar was more accurate.

A few weeks into my sophomore year, I met Jimmie. He lived in the same dorm as my best gay guy friend. Jimmie was a literal ball of energy. We talked for hours and hours the first few times we hung out. He had come to Miami from a Catholic family in Maryland and his parents had no idea he was gay. He told me when he stepped off the plane he wanted to yell “I’m gay!” It was like the plane trip had swung the closet door wide open for Jimmie and he could be comfortable being who he really was. Hearing his story must have made me feel safe because without much thought, or none really at all, I just blurted out,”I think I’m gay.” I remember thinking had I just said that out loud for someone else to hear it? There is something different about hearing yourself saying it out loud. Thinking you might be gay is one thing, saying it out loud gives it a kind of weight that makes it real and moves you to a place you can’t turn back from. I felt relieved. I also felt bad that I hadn’t told my friend Ed first. 

On the next break home from college, I told most of my friends; they were not as surprised as I was. Other friends told me it was "just a fad because you're in Miami." Granted, I came out before I ever even considered dating a woman. I think I had convinced myself I was asexual because that was easier to cope with. I decided to take a full time job in the Music Library at the end of my Sophomore year and moved to Miami permanently. I also explained my sexuality to friends as that I could never fall in love with someone based on their gender. There are so many other traits higher up on my list for a partner like intelligence, compassion, among way too many others. I admit, I have really high standards. 

During my third year at Miami, I met Alana. I worked at the front desk in the library and she checked out a piano score one weekend. I thought she was really cute in an androgynous way, so I took a guess at what her school email was and asked her if she was interested in women, without specifically mentioning the library transaction. She emailed me back and asked me if I was "the girl at the desk in the Music Library?" Busted. A few days later we met for coffee and that began my very first relationship with a woman. A lot of the time I was in Miami is pretty foggy; that's a blog post for another day. There are a few moments I remember well from our relationship. She was a concert piano major. I had been a Music Education & Music Therapy Major with a vocal emphasis. When Alana wasn't in class during the day, she was in a practice room playing piano. When I visited her in the practice rooms, she would stop playing so I didn't get to hear her play until her Junior recital. Before that, we would spend Valentine's Day together. She even sent me a "singing Valentine" while I was at work. One of my bosses then teased me about having a boyfriend. I don't think my face has turned that red since. 

When I heard Alana play the piano for what was really the first time at her Junior recital, I began to feel I was falling in love with her. She also played one of my favorite pieces, though she didn't know it at the time. Before Alana's Junior piano recital we decided we would go to the beach after to celebrate the milestone. After her recital, two friends of mine were also headed to the beach. When I asked Alana if she still wanted to go she was going to go to dinner first and then meet us at the beach. A few hours later I called her and she was with another friend, Sam. I convinced her to come to the beach. When we left the beach and walked to the car, she was holding hands with Sam right in front of me. I couldn't even say anything because I was having a hard time believing what was happening. A few days later it was Alana's 21st birthday. We had made plans to go out to a club across from campus to celebrate her birthday. On the way to the club with the memory of her and Sam holding hands, I called her and broke up with her. I told her I couldn't handle her flirting with someone else right in front of me. She asked me if we were still going to the club together that night. I told her I was going and she cold still go if she wanted too, but I was breaking up with her because it was too painful to be with her. Everything really does happen for a reason though. More about that later when I write about finding Sam 15 years later and learning what happened to Alana. 

I stayed in Miami for a few more years before moving back to Maine in 1997. I got a full time job and did some performing locally in musicals and an opera. In June of 1998, I decided to enlist in the Navy because I wanted out of Maine and my dysfunctional family, again. My ship date wasn't until October 5th, 1998, but as soon as I signed my contract, I knew I had to go back into the closet or I risked being discharged. The rule in the military was "Don't Ask, Don't tell." I thought I could just stay single for the entire time I was in the Navy. I could have, but I started to doubt people I worked with would believe I was straight. 

One night on my way home from a rehearsal, my cell phone rang. It was Alana, she was in Maine. I had no idea how she got my mother's name (she had a different last name) and her phone number to then get my number. I also had forgotten she had a grandmother who lived in Maine. I was so worried she might ruin my future in the Navy if I told her about it, so I didn't even mention it. She basically invited herself over for the night at my parent's house. Nothing happened; I was determined I wouldn't let it. Plus, I was still disgusted with her, and definitely not even a little bit interested because I believed she couldn't be faithful to anyone she was with. My high standards have protected me from some pretty fucked up situations. Alana was one of those. 

While I was in the Navy I did end up marrying a guy and having two sons. I have absolutely no regrets. When we got out of the Navy and moved to Indiana, I began to feel unhappy. In addition to not being my authentic self, there were some typical relationship issues people have when they grow apart. I decided I would try and find Alana mostly out of curiosity. The closest I ever got was finding her father in Canada and leaving a message for her which she never returned. I did find Sam though, on MySpace. They replied to a message I sent them and told me it was too much to message me and could they call me? I still don't believe what had happened to Alana, but I have no reason not too. Sam told me after Alana graduated, she never played piano again. They moved together to Arizona and Sam had a house built. Alana would take off for weeks at a time with what Sam referred to as her "stoner friends." One time after Alana came home, she had a psychotic break and Sam kicked her out after she broke all the dishes in the kitchen. Sam called Alana's father and told him he needed to come find her because she was likely homeless. Alana's father found her and brought her to Canada where she was admitted for psychiatric help. A few weeks later, Sam received a phone call from the hospital in Canada because Alana had escaped (that's the word Sam used) and staff had found a letter from Alana with a list of people she intended to "harm." Sam's name was on the list. Sam asked me, "aren't you glad your name wasn't on the list?" Did that mean I wasn't memorable to Alana or hadn't done anything to piss her off? I mean, I'm grateful, but what a strange series of events. Everything really does happen for a reason.