This is, essentially, my second big “coming out”.
I’ve had to do it a fair number of times in my life: coming out as a Christian, coming out as a drama geek, coming out as an Atheist, coming out as bisexual, coming out as gay, coming out as in love – the list goes on.
When we “come out”, we’re essentially telling the world we’ve figured out who or what we are, and that we’re okay with it. Usually we have to come out because we’ve spent a good deal of our lives being repressed, and if we didn’t take a stand our true selves would continue to fade into the background – which often leads to some troubling mental health problems (I can personally attest to this).
Unfortunately there’s often resistance, sometimes from people we look up to, which makes this process a reasonably difficult one to undertake. In coming out we risk losing relationships, we risk losing credibility, and we risk being ostracised. But overall, in my own experience, this usually leads to finding better friends, more meaningful purpose, and more supportive communities.
This wasn’t entirely the case for me when I came out the first time.
“I’ve gotta tell you guys something,” I choked while lying on a friend’s couch after returning home from Wagga’s only nightclub, chewing my cheek due to a mixture of MD-induced euphoria and potentially life-changing moment nervousness.
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“I’ve got this secret, I don’t know how you’re gonna react though.”
“Awh, we love you Dave! It’s all good, you can tell us whatever.”
I shuffled under the covers, delaying the moment a little longer.
“OK, well… I think I’m bi.”
“Oh… Yeah, that’s cool! No problem.”
“Yeah man, all good. I admire your courage, thanks for telling us.”