Reality and truth

This week I’ve been riding the wave of freedom that comes with finally unburdening one’s self. I’ve been reflecting on Reality and how Reality doesn’t seem real until one talks about it aloud.

About two years ago I had just admitted to myself that I am gay. I had admitted it was the Truth, but I certainly didn’t like the idea. I didn’t want to be a pansy, or a fag, or a homo, or a fudge-packer, or any other derogatory name you care to say. It was real but as I hadn’t told anyone, there was an element of plausible deniability; I could push thoughts about my aberrant sexuality to the back of my mind and pretend to be “normal”, whatever the fuck that is.

Sister called today for the first time since I dropped the bomb last Sunday. She spoke briefly to Mum and then asked to speak to me. I took the phone with a little trepidation and placed it to my ear.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hi” said Sister, “how are you?”
The usual pleasantries followed and I felt more at ease.

After telling Liz, Eryn, Lala and Cal, it got a little more complicated. I had finally begun to like the idea of being gay; being gay was, after some time, actually quite fun. Gone was the notion of plausible deniability, however; while I could walk around blissfully in denial, those four knew the Truth. There was no turning back and no hiding. The journey towards Truth and Reality had begun, however I hadn’t told my family, those closest to me (if not emotionally speaking, then at least geographically) so it was still rather unreal.

Tomorrow, Sister comes home. There is a special mass at the place where she’s staying, followed by dinner, and we have all be invited.
“So”, began Sister, “are you going to have communion at mass tomorrow?”

This took me totally by surprise. I always get communion at mass—I am Catholic after all. But it’s more than that—I don’t get communion because I have been programmed to do so by virtue of my being Catholic. I get communion because I believe it to be the Body of Christ. It is my right as a Catholic and I choose to accept it.

“Of course I am” I said, wary and confused.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked. I could see where this was going, although I didn’t quite know how it was going there.
“Ummmm, yes. Why not?”
“Well you haven’t been to confession lately, or to mass, and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“So?”
“Well I just think its better if you don’t.”
“Sister, I’m not going to not get communion.”
“I just think it’s best if you don’t. Do it for me can you?”
“Fine. Bye.” I hung up.

After the good reactions from those closest to me (emotionally, not geographically), I felt more confident in telling other people. I was fearful of some macho display of homophobia so the fact that the guys (particularly) in the inner circle didn’t condemn me but told me “so what? I love you anyway” was a huge boost to my self-esteem and sense of identity. Slowly the list of “those who know” far outstripped “those who don’t”. When I began university last year I took the stance that I would tell people if asked outright. This proved to be unnecessary since most people worked it out anyway. I didn’t mind, and neither did they. At that time I reflected that I was living two lives—a gay one and a non-gay one (I won’t say straight because I’ve never been that straight anyway, but a non-gay one nonetheless). This dual reality wore on me, but I wasn’t ready to let my family in on my life so I put up with what I saw as the lesser of two uncomfortable situations.

“What did Sister want?” Mum asked after I hung up so abruptly.
“She wanted to ask me not to take communion tomorrow at mass” I replied, forlornly.
“Why not?” she asked, confused.
“Because I haven’t been to confession or mass lately, and she thought it would be ‘for the best’” I said, my forlornness suddenly replaced by wrath.
“So she thinks you’ve been out having gay sex and need to confess before communion?” Mum said.
“I guess so. It doesn’t matter, I’m not going.”
“But you haven’t done anything wrong!”
“I know.”

After telling Mum and Dad the Truth, Realty suddenly became more real. I felt a little exposed in those first few weeks, because suddenly they knew something so intimate about me that I had kept hidden for so long. But they were cool. Life was good. Now I just had to tell Sister and I could finally rest.

After hanging up I messaged Lala and asked her to call me as soon as she could. After half an hour the phone rang and upon my answering she said “what’s wrong sweetie?” I explained the situation, that Sister has presumed I’ve been out fucking random guys and as such was unworthy of communion. She commented that although Sister is attracted to guys, “she doesn’t go round fucking them, why should you?” We arranged part three of the great plan, The Exodus™. After The Chat™, which will take place on Monday, I should think, I now have the option of leaving here and staying with Lala and Cal, who have both told me separately that I am welcome there at any time at a moment’s notice.

I feel more at ease around the house, although nothing much has changed. I feel I could wave a rainbow flag proudly. Dad has refrained pointing out good looking girls when we’re driving, something that never bothered me to begin with, I think it’s kinda funny actually considering Dad is 52. Mum occasionally asks if I think some guy is good looking when he appears on the television but that’s about it.

I told Mum about The Exodus™ and while she understood why I was making such plans, she didn’t like it. “You are both part of this family, I won’t have one of you leaving because the other makes life difficult” she said. That touched me. She was not impressed with Sister’s insistence at my not having communion, “what business is it of hers what you do anyway?”.

Later in the evening, I asked her if she would drive me to the supermarket before they left in the afternoon.
She asked again if I would be going and I said no.
She asked why not? Why was I letting her dictate what I do?
I explained that it wasn’t a case of being dictated to, it was that if I went and received communion, Sister would get pissed. If I didn’t, then I would be pissed and I would sit through the entire service resenting her. I didn’t want to ruin what was, after all, her day, so I thought it best to avoid confrontation in public and let her have it when she gets home and asks why I didn’t come.

And now she knows. And it’s Real. And it’s True. And I’m being punished already. But I’m not being punished for something I’ve done, I’m being punished because of the stereotype of the fuck-happy fairy that Sister holds and applies to me. She should know me better. The reason for not telling her for so long was not because I’m ashamed to be gay, but because I thought that she would be.

Time will tell if I was right.