From a very young age I knew I wasn’t like the other boys. When they saw girls, immediately they were filled with glee and excitement. So did I, which made me believe that I was doing something right, until I had the same reaction to boys.
Growing up in a predominantly black christian home, I was raised to believe that everything about loving the same sex was wrong. So I hid it away from everyone for years. As time went by, life would throw subtle hints at my mother but she never truly had confirmation. She can’t say I didn’t try to tell her because all the while I did, she kept making me fear of what would happen. I can remember like it was yesterday – we were hunting for my first car and at the same time talking about the future wife, kids, dogs then I said or husband. She stopped, looked at me with the most disappointed look, and said I’m not buying a car for a fag.
My heart sank into the pit I wanted to crawl into. So I gleefully said I’m joking and played off my regret. Although by this time my friends all came to accept me, the reaction from my mother sent me into a spiraling pit of depression.
So the thought came “hey if it ended maybe it’ll be better on the other side.” I went over it a thousand times, then I received a text from a friend. It wasn’t what I wanted, but what I needed. With that I ran to my desk, wrote a letter, and gave it to my mother. Explaining what I am, who I am, and why I didn’t tell her. Explaining that I’m not in a phase, I’m not possessed, that I’m a Bisexual Man.