I didn't want to lose my best friend to this soon-to-be relationship. I already knew what it felt like to be left alone, tossed away like an old rag doll by a straight relationship, forgotten. I don't know how many times this had happened to me, and I wasn't ready to go through it again. Especially by someone I thought would be my best friend for a long time.
A same-sex celibate partnership is an intimate coupling between two same-sex attracted or gay-identifying individuals. Bonded for life in a way similar to marriage but, of course, minus the sex. I have already seen a few celibate couplings form between guys. I've been mostly watching from a distance, but other times I've contacted those folks to ask questions. Sometimes I view them with a lot of envy.
Here at Your Other Brothers, we've shared advice for coming out, but what if someone comes out to you? I've compiled a non-exhaustive list of pointers and things to keep in mind when someone comes out to you.
I knew I needed a miracle even to get out there, and now this triggering text message was stuck in my brain as I got ready. I packed my clothes for the weekend but needed to get some food in my stomach before the semi-long trip.
It's October 11, National Coming Out Day. Over the years, countless individuals, young and old, have taken to YouTube, Facebook, the Internet, and face-to-face relationships to finally reveal their sexuality this month. Coming out is a pivotal moment in any gay or SSA (same-sex attracted) person's journey, and we gathered our featured authors together for a conversation on our own coming out experiences this Coming Out Month.
I've often felt great shame over being so highly sensitive. I thought I was the only guy who cried or got his feelings hurt so easily while the other men took life's unpleasantness in masculine stride.
Arriving at my new house, I found no one there to greet me. I knew where my new housemates hid the key, so I let myself in. My emotions were almost more than I could take: fear, loneliness, and confusion.
College held the hope for a fresh start. Home meant the weight of my double-life: the pain of lying about porn and "everything is okay" all the time; the great friendships that never felt deep or authentic enough for my broken self.
Henry and I had a great, heartfelt talk. But a realization hit me as we were talking: I don't want to share this conversation with anyone else. What we talked about that day was personal. Vulnerable.
I felt sick to my stomach that one complicated situation made me lash against someone who was very dear to my best friend's heart. I felt the whole situation was my fault, and I couldn't do anything to make it better.