I met the first love of my life when I was 17. This person treated me like I was a queen. I was lavished with kind words, gentle actions, and the kind of romance every girl dreams of as her “prince charming.” There was just one problem, this “prince” was a man, and I knew deep down that I was a lesbian. I could not have ever asked for a better person to be with. Never before had someone treated me with such respect and love.

I tried to put the “gay” idea in the furthest part of my thoughts. For awhile it worked. I wanted my relationship to work. I wanted as much of normal as I could find.

My first true love moved about a year later, and I was devastated. “Now what?” I asked myself. I did what every other insecure “closeted” lesbian would do. I jumped right into another relationship. By the time I was 19, I knew something was wrong. I wasn’t repulsed by men. For that matter, I’m still not to this day. I just knew something wasn’t right. I also knew that I couldn’t even tell myself that I was gay, let alone tell my friends and family. I was raised in a very religious family and lived in a very conservative town. So again, I did what others do. I kept my mouth shut and ignored my feelings.

I didn’t know very many gay people. All of my friends were straight. I lived with a man. I had great friends that I could talk to, but I couldn’t even admit it to myself. I felt very isolated and alone. I lived this lie until I was 20, going on 21. I still lived with the same man, on and off. But I had met one gay girl who knew a lot of other gay people. This girl liked me, but unfortunately, I didn’t feel the same way. After all, I was “straight.”
I did start hanging out with this girl and some of her friends. It was all innocent fun. We didn’t party or go clubbing. Mostly we played old nintendo games. But we could all talk about things. I mostly listened.

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January 2, 2004 I went to get a haircut. It was innocent enough. I was wanting to get my hair cut at about my shoulders level. I looked through magazines while I waited. When it was my turn, the beautician asked me how I wanted my hair. I pointed to the picture: Halle Berry (with short-short hair). Now, to most people, this meant nothing. I had had short hair before. Not every lesbian just gets a haircut to come out. For me, it was monumental. I was ready to be the person I wanted to be. I wanted to visably see the person on the outside that I was on the inside.
The shock of a haircut: On my way home, I did something I couldn’t do before. I looked in the rear view mirror and uttered the words I had run from for so long. “I am gay.” it sounds crazy, but that’s all it took for me. I had admitted it to myself. How hard could everything else go?

My family was NOT happy with my hair. I “looked like a boy.” Words that had hurt my feelings so much the first time I had short hair, had given me this new independence this time. I didn’t tell my family I was gay, though. There was no way that would happen. Within a few days of telling myself I was gay, I told my closest friends. It was scary because I didn’t know how they would feel. We didn’t know gay people, so I didn’t know how they would react in having a gay friend. I was immediately reassured by my friends’ loving words. They didn’t care. In the meantime, through my new found gay friends, I had met the second love of my life. I knew the first time I saw her that she was who I wanted. We hung out here and there, but I was temporarily living at home. Here was the problem: There was no cell phone service at my house, so I had to use the house phone. We talked a lot so I knew eventually it would look weird that a woman was calling often and NO men were calling. Then I had the “bright” idea to have her over to watch a football game. I explained to my dad that she was gay. He would have known as soon as he saw her anyway. He didn’t like that “a gay” was coming over, but he agreed.

Before the night was over, Dad called me upstairs and flatly asked the question I had been dreading. “Are you one of them?” I told him yes. I will not lie. That night was very messy. It’s not a conventional way of coming out. I ended up coming out to my mom that night also. My dad told me my “friend” had to leave immediately. We went to my mom’s. The next three months were not easy. I told my cousins and soon the whole family knew. My dad was very upset. I was told I was going to hell every day. But something good had also happened. I was being completely honest with myself and everyone who meant something to me. Though there were hard times, it was ok with me because I could be me. Just being me was ok.
Eventually my dad came around. He still doesn’t agree with me being gay, but he loves me. That’s really all that matters to me anyhow.
I now live with that same woman. I lived the old joke:
What do gay men do on their second date? What second date?
What do lesbians do on their second date? Rent a UHaul.
If I had it to do all over again, I may have changed a few things. Overall things worked themselves out.
Thinking back now, dating a man who was Prince Charming was a great experience. But dating a woman who makes me happy to be me is well worth all of the harder times I’ve had. It’s a truely fantastic feeling to love yourself. And it’s ok to just be.

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