Coming Out

Recently, I was watching this TV interview in which James McGreevey, the resigned (11/'04) governor of New Jersey, was discussing how he'd dealt with his homosexuality throughout his life. His coming out was old news and nothing I'd not heard before. I was about to change the channel when he made a statement that caught my attention. He talked about how isolated it was (is) coming to terms with one's sexual identity when it's different from the "norm".

The interviewer, Donny Deutsch, stated that now, in this day and age, there are myriad support resources available to someone in such a situation. McGreevey rebutted that those programs only benefited those who'd already realized that they were gay, and then commented on the whole process of getting to that point. I started thinking how true that is ...that the discovery process is one most people face in solitude.

Approaching the whole coming out scenario in the manner of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, I've distilled it ...based on my own experience and observations... down to the following six steps:

AWARENESS: This occurs at a very young age, before any sexual cognition. This awareness is not recognized as anything different from all the other new discoveries being made by the developing child, but will in retrospect be recognized as the beginnings of "being different".

SHAME: Also occurring at a very early age, the child starts to pick up signals from his environment that there is something odd, something strange, something wrong, about these feeling. Still unable to identify either the feelings or the reason to suppress them, you instinctually strive to keep them "under wraps.

DENIAL: This occurs usually in conjunction with puberty and sexual awakening. By this time, you're able to identify the feelings, but don't welcome them since you've been indoctrinated by your environment to see them as undesirable ...and even the idea of entertaining them is very, very, wrong. It's a phase that'll pass. You ignore it and move on. During this phase, you may give in to these feelings, but never accept them. You invent various scenarios that allow you to "engage" in certain practices without taking responsibility for them. This phase may very well last a lifetime and is the point some never get beyond. They lead double lives and closeted existences, never really coming to terms with their homosexuality. This is not to be confused with those who have moved on to the next steps, but have still chosen to keep their gay identities in the closet ...for professional, political, or merely social reasons.

RESIGNATION: This is where it's realized that this "phase" is not going to pass and that this is who you are ...or a significant part of who you are. The more energy you put into rejecting it, the stronger the impulse. It's here where some seek out a cure or otherwise attempt to learn to deny and suppress these impulses. They go on to lead what they consider to be "normal" lives, thinking they can just ignore that unwanted part of themselves. But whether or not they succeed, it never goes away. This is no different from the priest who is trained to suppress every sexual impulse. Even with their theistic motivation, we've seen how that can fail.

ACCEPTANCE: The struggle may last for quite a while; it's different for everyone. It's here where the aforementioned support services come into play ...for those who seek them out. When the struggle is done, you finally embrace the gay mantle. Here is also where clarification takes place. Some move on to be exclusively gay, while others retain their heterosexuality, practicing both. There is, however, some question as to the legitimacy of this duality. Some regard these "bi-sexuals" merely as homosexuals without conviction. For others still, it's the realization that it's not homosexuality but transvestitism, or gender dysphoria, or ... In which ever case, it's here where the individual accepts, is [usually] open about, and takes responsibility for his sexuality.

PRIDE: This is were you're comfortable and feel good about who you are and are ready to declare, "Hey world, I'm gay and proud" ...although I think this is a mis-applied word. Pride (and shame) should be applied to deeds, something that one has done (or failed to do). Feeling good or bad about one's state of being (e.g. your race, your heritage, your lineage, you geographical birth location, etc.) is a different thing altogether and there should be other words for this.

What If I'm Really Dead

Today is the fifth anniversary of the World Trade Center disaster. All week long there've been having memorial ceremonies remembering both the disaster and the many people who lost their lives.

In one such ceremonial broadcast, they scrolled the names of those who perished as they display in the background assorted images of "ground zero" immediately after the fall of the twin towers. I wasn't really looking for any one in particular since I didn't expect to see the name of anyone I knew. Then I saw it. "Joseph Henry" scrolled by amongst the others. I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was quite unnerving to see my name on that list.

Of course, it was a different Joseph Henry; I don't have exclusive rights to the name. And I obviously didn't die in the attack, but I started thinking ...my feverishly imaginative mind went into hyperdrive. I had lived in New York and, for a brief period, I worked in downtown Manhattan. Being as I am an avid fan of science fiction and anything to do with time and temporal distortions, parallel universes, and the true nature of time and space, I started to imagine if perhaps mine was a parallel existence, one that splintered awhile back and that the name on the list was one of the myriad "possible" realities having played itself out.

Mind you, this is all just fanciful thinking, and I in no way mean to diminish the memory or lessen the significance of the "Joseph Henry" who died then. But I can't help the way my mind works.

There's the concept of limbo. Every story that's had a plausible plot involving an earth-bound spirit was based on the premise that the entity hadn't passed on, because of some unfinished business and, as depicted in "The Others", they hadn't faced the reality that they were really dead.

What if I'm just some specter of the me I was, and I'm really dead. What if I'm imagining that all around me is my reality, when actually I'm just moving through it, unnoticed by those who actually occupy the space. Everything around me seems solid enough, but even Patrick Swayze learned to interact with "the living".

I always thought is was weird that when I left New York, the plane had a "bomb on board" and [we] avoided disaster by only minutes. What if that was "fate" trying to tell me that I didn't belong, that I was not supposed to be leaving New York. And now I can't pass on because I need to go back to New York and do what??? For the life of me, I can't think of anything that needs closure.

And that's not the only close call I've had. Suppose [they] weren't "close" at all and the reason I've escaped tragedy is because I wasn't really there. What if the scenario I'm remembering is only my mind restructuring things into a "reality" I will accept.

So I guess I'll continue to haunt San Francisco until I discover what strange force drew me here from the other dimension ...and what I'm supposed to do now.

Still Waiting To Cry

I was in a recent discussion with someone who'd just lost his father. He was dealing with the myriad emotions of someone who realized that he would never get to know his father as he always hope someday he would. So never having really known his dad, he was dealing with a bunch of emotions he didn't know what to do with because he didn't fully understand what he was feeling. His tearful sister asked him had he cried yet. When he replied, "No", she told him that it would eventually hit him.

As I sat there listening intently, I found myself drifting off into the mental imagery of my own scenario of losing a parent.

I passed the joint, and excused myself to answer the phone. When I picked up the receiver, I was stunned by the voice on the other end.

"Hello Toby!"

This couldn't be good. The only people who referred to me by that nickname were family members from Atlantic City. I'd left that name behind with all the rest when I left, glad to be away from a life filled with people I didn't care for but still had to interact with.

"I called to tell you that your mom died last night."

"Okay, thanks for letting me know. I'll be there in a couple of days."

As I just stated, my so-called extended family consisted mostly of people for whom I cared very little and my only real connection to them was through my mother.

Funny thing is that when I heard the [bad] news, my first reaction after the initial shock, was relief at the fact that I was no longer tethered to "these people" and after the funeral services, I would never have to see any of them ever again.

After the phone call, which completely sobered me up, I left the rest of the gang still partying in my New York apartment, to go for a walk ...a long walk. I barely noticed the biting chill in the air as I walked through the winter night. I strolled along the "promenade" which was the infamous "meeting place" there in Brooklyn Heights, but this time I walked in solitude. Despite all the people there, all the come hither looks from those I usually hoped to meet, cruising for sex was the furthest thing from my mind.

My thoughts were all over the place, but one kept nagging at me. Why wasn't I despondent and weepy and all those things you'd expect in such a situation? Perhaps I was still in shock ...that's what I'd heard so often. Eventually it would hit me and I'd be overcome with grief. But now, my mind was busy figuring out how I was going to juggle time off from work and just what my responsibility would be in all this (since there'd been no prior plans or discussions). Would I be expected to step in a take over ...being the only son and all, or would I be required to simply "be there".

Well, I went to Atlantic City and exchanged a lot of insincerity with family members. All the details and arrangements had been taken care of by the aunts and uncles (my mom's sisters and brothers). I wasn't required to do anything ...except pay for it. I sat stoically through the service and the interment, still waiting for "it" to hit me, but nothing. I wrote the check, and left knowing I'd never see any of them again.

I returned to New York, this time feeling a little different. This time I truly felt that I was in this alone. I missed the sense of my mom's presence, but still, no grief to speak of. For me, this "alone-ness" was not a sad thing...I've always been comfortable with solitude. For me this meant freedom ...freedom to do absolutely anything I wanted. That was when I left the East Coast, severing all those unwanted relationships, leaving all those bad feelings behind.

That was 35 years ago and I still haven't felt that rush of grief; I still haven't cried. In fact, I haven't cried since I was a very young child. I suspect I've forgotten how. There've been many situations since where I wish I could've purged my emotions in such a way but that mechanism no longer seems to function.