The Five Stages

I’ve always felt different. Not in a good way, not in a bad way. Just different. Fitting in wasn’t exactly a strong suit of mine, I was a bit of a black sheep. Friends never came easily to me; I was awkward, introverted and quite frankly, annoying. I was always worried how others were perceiving my every move and what they might think of me if I were to be unapologetically myself. The only place where I’d ever felt genuinely understood was Arts Camp. A school-run, week-long trip to camp White Pine. There, I could be who I wanted, say what I wanted and do what I wanted without judgment. It was complete and utter relief, as if I’d been holding my breath my whole life, without ever truly noticing. And it was there I figured it out: why I was different.

I remember exactly when it happened. The sky was freckled with stars, the cool night breeze brushing our faces as infectious sounds of joy filled the air. The first game of the night had begun: Oh Where The Wind Blows. Different phrases are called out and if one applies to you, you must leave your place in the circle and find a new one. Many things were called, as dozens of us ran like the wind to try and find a new spot. And then it happened. One person stood up and said: “Oh Where The Wind Blows if you’re as straight as a squiggle”. Suddenly, as if compelled, I found myself running.

And then it hit me.

I’d never before considered that I might not be straight. It was all I had known my entire life. I’d had crushes on many boys in the past, and even dated one. I’d never looked twice at a girl in that way. But something clicked that day in my head and I finally began to understand why I felt like an impostor in my own life. It became glaringly obvious, and I wondered how I’d ever believed otherwise. I didn’t only like boys; I liked girls too. In the wake of this earth-shattering realization, began a long rollercoaster of emotions that I’ve since been able to compartmentalize. I like to call it The Five Stages Of Coming Out.

Stage 1: Relief. At first, very little internal conflict ensued. It was new, exciting and wondrous. It felt amazing to finally understand who I was. I wasn’t thinking about how other people would feel and I didn’t care. I was King of the Castle and no one could tear me down. The trees were greener, the sky bluer and the sun was brighter. My days once long and never-ending, began to fly by in a euphoric blur. For the first time in a while, I was happy and I felt alive. So, I decided to bask in it. I dove head first into the brand new world that stood before me. I started listening to podcasts, became a social activist for LGBTQ+ awareness, followed queer people on various platforms, and much more. It didn’t matter anymore that I didn’t fit in; I knew who I was now and that was enough for me.

Stage 2: Fear. It took months for my newfound contentment to wear off. But all too soon, my head began to clear and I realized what was coming next. I had to come out. Millions of questions filled my head, things that I hadn’t considered in my time of bliss: Who do I have to tell? Will my parents be okay with this? What happens if they aren’t? What if they kick me out? What will my friends think? What will my school think? Will they see me differently? How do you even do this? So many questions, and so few answers. I realized that I was alone in this, and reality hit me like a truck. I became very irrational: I hid all my music, afraid someone would be able to use it to figure out my secret. I changed the way I dressed to avoid any and all assumptions. I analyzed every word that came from my mouth, imagining every possible way they might give me away. I was on guard 24/7, worried that if I let it down for even a second, something would expose me.

Stage 3: Anger. As more time passed, that fear lived on with unwavering intensity. My happiness was now all but a memory, a river long dried up in the heat of summer. The longer I hid my secret, the more I resented it. Why did this have to happen to me? I was angry with life, with the hand I’d been dealt. I was angry at my peers, for the things that would come out of their mouths, while unknowingly targeting my existence. I was angry with society, because coming out is just another act of its favoritism of the norm. Why should I have to make this public? Why was it necessary to make my sexuality everyone else’s business, while straight people are never forced to confirm or deny? Worst of all, I was angry at myself. A part of me was dealing with internalized homophobia. The devil on my shoulder telling me this was of my own doing, that I’d chosen this way of life and I was simply seeking attention. It took me a very, very long while to work through that feeling, and yet sometimes it still manages to find its way back to me.

Stage 4: Depression. The anger and the fear had grown to a deafening crescendo. I’d become so accustomed to its constant presence, that I barely registered when it began to fade. I’d only noticed the change when it ceased to exist. The blaring orchestra of emotions was no more. Silence. Though not the kind I’d wished for. It was as if I’d been robbed of my senses. I was floating, alone and helpless in a blackout sea of nothingness. I could not see. I could not hear. I could not breathe. Each time that I tried, that same black, icy water filled my lungs. And yet it did not hurt. Nothing did. I sunk deeper and deeper into the depths, until I was hidden from view and I was no longer visible from the shore. I was alive, though only by the textbook definition: not dead. It’s true, I was not dead, but I was equally not living. Not the way I should’ve been. I had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time blurred until it too was lost to the same dull, black ocean as I. I yearned to feel something. How I wished for my previous resentment. My time underwater showed me that even those overbearing, negative feelings were better than none at all. At least then, I’d felt alive.

Stage 5: Peace. Breaking through the surface of that unchanging sea was impossible. And yet, I did it. There was never a specific moment of resurfacing, no memorable gasp of air. It was more like a sunrise, a subtle dawning of understanding that slowly shined upon me. I was free… mostly. Occasionally, I can still feel the subtle souvenirs; a few stubborn droplets of icy water in the very bottom of my lungs. Uncomfortable, but manageable. I can’t take all the credit, for this feat would have been entirely unattainable without the help of my lovely friends and family. Though they could not relate, their presence and support was enough. Once I’d had ample time to readjust, I’d noticed the fear and anger did not return to their previous intensities. I’d also realized that I could not change society, nor could I control how others might feel. I knew then, I was ready. I was finally comfortable in myself, more confident than I’d ever been and no amount of hate could take that away from me. The internal conflict was over. The drip finally stopped, and I was at peace.

Looking back on my experience, and with the peace that carries through to the present, I would like to say a few more things. Maybe you’re asking yourself, why should I care? The answer is simple. I’m a person. I am a person, just like you, with feelings and struggles alike. Easy, though it may it be, to single me out as different, to use your voice against me to relieve the burden of your own struggles, I hope my experience will make you reconsider. It didn’t have to be this way. So much time, energy and hardships could have been spared, had those around me been kinder. With that said, if you are bothered by the fact that I am able to love multiple kinds of people, then that speaks volumes on you. Not on me.