I’m A Privileged Gay And It Doesn’t Make Me Feel Better
My coming out story was pretty uneventful in the end. There were bumps, of course, but they were all smoothed out eventually. I’ve mostly been accepted, and the only people who denounced me were those I didn’t really care about. So, I can easily be called a privileged gay.
But it doesn’t make me feel better. It should, in some way, because it means I don’t have to deal with all the trauma that many of my queer peers go through. And yet, that is exactly why I can’t feel happy about it because I know that gay people still deal with that trauma.
I don’t know what it’s like to see the people closest to you turn away. Avoid you at all costs because you are gay. I will never know how it feels when a parent denounces you as their child, simply because you love who you love. And, harshest of all, I will never know the bitter confusion over my own sexuality.
I knew who I was by the age of 12. Before that, it wasn’t in my peripheral. From 12 years of age, I experimented with two guys. And, cluey as I was then, I just accepted that I like men.
Sure, I dated women. It was almost a custom considering everyone else was doing it, but even then I knew it wasn’t my thing. And by the ripe young age of 18, it was already part of me. Like an innate trait. As if I’ve been doing it all along.
