On April 17, 1994, I came out of the proverbial closet.
I like the idea that I’m approaching the year when I will have spent as many years out of the closet as I spent in, which will happen in 2030. I’m currently at 36 years in, 31 years out.
In 2021, I wrote these three 50-word stories about the emotional toll of living in the closet for 35 years and why people say, “It felt like the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders when I came out.”
| Keeping up appearances | In the interest of me | To come out—or check out |
| I’m married to a woman, but I am a terrified, closeted gay man trying to keep up the charade. So, I “ogle” at “big tits” and traveling as a trainer for work, I make sure I refer to “my wife” at least once while introducing myself. It’s kind of exhausting. | I was a young Republican because I believed I was a self-made man—before I learned about privilege. But mostly I identified as such to distance myself from “the gays.” Voting against their interests, I couldn’t possibly be one, right? I’m still embarrassed and haunted by this. I’m so sorry. | Riding home from my $100K job, to my $250K home, in my $40K car, I wonder: “Is there any way to plunge this ‘ultimate driving machine‘ into that ravine and ensure I won’t live with an ‘intended to die’ for the rest of my life?” It’s unbearable living like this. |