“I knew I was gay before I knew what the term gay meant. I can remember having a fascination with my friend Ryan from the first time I met him. I was five. I remember feeling so uncomfortable at the YMCA in the locker room because I was attracted to the bodies I saw around me.

“It took me years to actually say the words I am gay.

“I had a good friend in 8th grade. His name was Elliot and he told me he thought he might be gay. It was the fall of 2001 and I had never met a gay person (that I knew of). Elliot eventually decided that he was not gay, but I knew I was.

“I told my best friend, Taylor, later that fall. She invited me to her evangelical church and I became a member of the youth group. Elliot was an atheist and I became a born-again Christian. I walked away from the friendship as we went off to high school because I thought he was bringing me into sin.

“I remember thinking that I simply couldn’t be gay in this new world, so I decided I wasn’t. I told Taylor not to tell anyone what I had told her. My parents found a note in my pocket while doing laundry and I denied it. I was a good Christian.

“But I wasn’t. I still looked at guys and masturbated to gay pornography. I remember being so, so afraid that someone would find out my secret. I would be left behind. I felt like I was festering and filthy inside.

“I didn’t fit in anywhere because I felt so different than the rest of the world. That church has caused me years of pain, but they did love me and they did give me a home when my own was falling apart because of divorce. At least they loved the version of me I projected. I dedicated my life fully to the church and my god. And more fully to the image of a good, straight life.

“I ran off to college and threw myself into ministry to try to make sense of myself and the world. I was the evangelical poster boy. I took mission trips and led bible studies. To this day, there are people in full time ministry who credit me for introducing them to that way of life. It blows my mind.

“I hit a wall my senior year of college and got drunk and bought a bottle of sleeping pills. I wrote the letter and I sat on my couch in my dorm and wept. I almost took the pills that night. I remember thinking I could never be with a man the way my male friends could be with their girlfriends. It made me so sad.

“During college, I dated an incredible woman and we even talked about getting married (as all good evangelicals do). We broke up for other reasons.

“The first week of my first professional job out of college, I was in the wedding of one of my best friends. I was with him before he walked down the aisle and I saw the love he had with his wife. I knew I would never experience that.

“I was terrified I would end up having some sketchy cruising sex when at last my urges got the best of me. I decided that I had to kill myself before I did that. At least I would go to heaven. Again, I wrote the note. I wept in bed that night in 2011, ten years after I had first told my dark secret to someone. But I didn’t kill myself. I decided I had to move forward and be honest. A god that would care about who I loved was no god at all.

“So I came out. It was slow and then all at once as though I had turned on a bathtub faucet. My friends and family embraced me. They loved me. They loved me as I was.

“But I still struggled. I still held onto that god. I still felt his shame. I still felt the pain of disappointing him, of living in sin. When I finally had sex with a man for the first time, I cried afterward because I couldn’t reconcile in my heart who I had tried to be all those years with who I actually was. The sex was sketchy and exactly what I had feared.

“In a horrible turn of events, the man turned out to be a bit of a stalker and threatened to share our story. So I shared it first. I told my friends and family what had happened so that I was not stripped of my power. And they loved me. And they saw me. And they still loved me.

“But I still didn’t love myself.

“This past February first (the day of the Super Bowl), I took a knife to my left wrist and cut it to the bone in the bathtub. This time, there was no letter. It was a text. It was the saddest text I’ve ever sent. I intended to send it as I passed out. Before I could finish it, I accidentally hit send while trying to hit the letter p. The tub filled with blood and warm water. I remember praying. Begging. Sobbing that I would go to heaven and have peace.

“And then I fell asleep. And I believed I would never wake up.

“A good friend was a few blocks away. So was my sister. He was supposed to be three hours away. She was at a bar watching the big game. He broke down my door and found me in the tub. He put a tourniquet on and called 911. The doctor said I would have died soon. I would have died. I almost died.

“I spent nine days in the hospital and this is what I have decided. I do not want to be straight. I’m still not sure I want to be gay. But I do know I want to be seen. And heard. And most of all, loved. I want to be loved for who I am.

“I still don’t know what I believe about god. My inner demons still speak up and sometimes I listen to them. Sometimes I believe that I am destined to a life of feeling forever out of place. I hope that isn’t the case.

“‘It gets better’ is a popular mantra in the gay community. I hope it does. I’ve now been out for four years. I would never, never take back the decision to come out. I am sure I would be dead by now if I hadn’t. But I still wonder if it gets better than this.

“Because I still struggle. I still struggle to love me. I knew I was gay before the word had entered my world. It was innocent and it wasn’t scary. It only became scary when someone told me it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t okay. I’m going to choose to believe that that is a lie. I have to.”

– R

“School had been out for all of fifteen minutes, but I was already headed back to the band room, even though practice didn’t start for another two and half hours. I was going to work on a research paper for AP English, a paper arguing that homosexuality was, in fact, a choice.

“At this point in my life, I had already acknowledged that I had a ‘problem’ with being attracted to other guys. Without much of a home life, or a close group of friends, I didn’t really know how to deal. I talked with my pastor, who told me that, if I was baptized, the devil wouldn’t have such a hold on me. My guidance counselor at school pointed to my strained relationship with my father as the source of my problem. This left me resigned to becoming an asexual blob of clay. I grew to over 300 pounds, grew patchy facial hair, and was happy enough on a day-to-day basis to ignore the ‘problem’ in general.

“I was hoping in writing my English paper, I would finally be able to put the final stake in the heart of my demons. To my dismay, I was finding there was little to no research supporting my claim. I was still pursuing the topic, honestly unaware of how desperate I was to help myself. When I walked into the band room, I glanced around the room and noticed that a few younger friends were also hanging around in the room working on papers of their own.

“Fancying myself an intellectual, I offered to read their papers and share my advice. One of their papers hit me so hard that it took years to readjust, and it was a simple assignment to tell a personal story. My friend shared his coming out story. He told the story of how he had been having a hard time dealing with life, and it ended with him coming out to his parents

“I would love to see the look on my face as I was reading that paper. I knew this person, but knew none of this part of his life before. I knew he had a religious family, but they were supportive. I could barely reconcile those two things. I handed him his paper back, offering no commentary whatsoever. I couldn’t do anything other than to go immediately to the bathroom and cry. I haven’t cried that hard since. It was glaringly clear to me at that moment that I was still gay, and I had to find a way to come to terms with it. It was still several years and good friends later that I was able to publicly come out, but this was the moment that I accepted myself, and I couldn’t be more grateful for it.”

– B

“I was 19 at the time I first kissed a guy. I had recently broken up with a girl, and I met him in a show I was doing. He told me he was straight too. He dared me to kiss him, but I didn’t need dared – I wanted to. He told me, ‘Just because you kiss a guy doesn’t make you gay.’ So these two straight guys kissed, which … led to other things. We were together for about five months. Neither of us admitted to being gay – just two straight guys having a good time. I fell for him, hard. And so I broke it off.

“Being gay is wrong. Continue living the lie. The words of the sermons at church echoed in my ear. I was not gay. I just needed to be fixed. When I transferred to a residential college, I moved with the hope of a new start. I was ready to embrace these heteronormative values and to find the girl of my dreams and make her my wife.

“I quickly connected to a girl at my new college, and we started dating. With all the emotions of my past behind me at home, I began to build a future with her. It worked for about a year, but with every passing day that image of a perfect wife and family dwindled. I wasn’t her that I saw. There was something else I was not acknowledging. 

“I began to cheat on her with men. The emotions I felt being with him, the first guy I fell for,  came back to me. I needed to explore the possibility of finding true happiness with a guy. Which is kind hard to do when you are with a different guy every other week. I felt ashamed, but I didn’t know how else to satisfy my desire. I finally told myself that maybe there was a possibility that the feelings I have felt for most of my life are because of how I was made.

“Things quickly fell into place the end of my senior year. A boy I admired from across the choir room every day changed the world for me. Having wanted to be heard, I shared with him things I hadn’t told anyone yet: I liked guys and I wanted to be with one. He listened. He held me. He wanted me to be set free. While I always had feelings that I might be different, it wasn’t until him that I finally had the courage to come out to myself.

“The rest, I guess, is history: I quickly broke up with my girlfriend, found solace and advice from two good friends, and fell in love with the man who sat behind me in choir. I will ask this man to marry me someday…

“But that’s another story for another day.”

– J

“When did I know? That’s kind of a tough question. Deep down, I think I always knew I was bisexual, but it wasn’t until I was about 25 that I could truly come to terms with it. I have always had a logical, straightforward type of outlook, so spending 25 years essentially lying to myself and coming up with justifications for my thoughts and feelings rather than accept the truth was exhausting.

“I remember growing up, my friends would talk about celebrity crushes. I had to hide the fact that I had just as many crushes on male celebrities as I did on female celebrities. In middle school, one of my classmates introduced me to the black hole that was/is porn. He showed me a bunch of girl-on-girl stuff, but after he left, I gravitated to straight porn. I found myself focusing on the guy more, but I explained it to myself that I was imagining it was me and I wasn’t actually attracted to the guy. Then I stumbled upon bi and gay porn. Most of the porn I watched was all men, though I rationalized that porn only objectified women and I didn’t want to support that.

“Throughout high school and college I had a few girlfriends who I really did like – some of them love – but, no matter what, I couldn’t shake the tendency to stare when I saw an attractive guy walk by. I kept suppressing the feelings because, even without being fully honest, I was happy. I opened up to the girl I was planning to marry about my feelings of bisexuality. The conversation seemed to go well, but between physical distance and subpar communication, things changed and we called it off.

“That was the first time in my life that I was in a place to be fully honest with myself. I knew there would be a lot of questions if I came out as bi to my friends and family right away. I wasn’t ready for that. I needed to figure out myself and overcome 25 years of lying to myself before I could talk to anyone about it. It was and continues to be a tough road sometimes, but I am extremely happy that I can be open and honest to myself and to others. The exhaustion of holding this secret for the first 25 years of my life is quickly fading away…”

– T

“I think it can be hard for LGBT people to identify our ‘moment of knowing’ because, as a result of the society we’ve inhabited, most of us wrestled with denial and with ourselves for a long time before allowing ourselves to know. I’ve compared it to the feeling of trying to hold an inflated ball beneath the water; at some point, we lose control and it bursts through the surface. Those moments, those bursts, are often our ‘moments of knowing.’

“I saw firsthand in my family that being gay was not welcomed or affirmed but instead met with heartbreak. I worked very hard, as a result, to drown my feelings before they could develop. I forced myself into relationships with girls in middle and high school, always wondering why I did not fully invest in them, and I prayed each night for peace from this. I could not bring myself to ‘take up space’ this way; I believed it was my responsibility to set these feelings aside.

“But there were ‘bursts through the surface.’ One day, while waiting for my brother to exit baseball practice so I could drive him home, the boy on whom I’d had a long-time crush knocked on my car window. He was in gym shorts and cleats, and he was a little sweaty from practice. My heart raced, my face flushed. I managed to sputter a few friendly words back and forth. When he left, I caught my face in the rearview mirror. ‘Oh,’ I said aloud, ‘I’m gay.’ But I pushed it beneath the water again immediately.

“My true moment of knowing, my ‘no-turning-back’ event, was when my best friend came out to me in college. Behind a wall of tears, he bared his soul and unveiled his story. As he spoke, I felt my blood racing; he seemed to be speaking my exact experience. In that moment, as I considered him and his immutable light, I realized how nonsensical it was to believe God could feel anything but love and pride for him and his courage. And, I realized, if God could so certainly love him, then maybe – just maybe – God would love me, too.”

– M

“I knew when I was very young that something was different. My brother went to play basketball with the next-door neighbors – I might have been 6 or 7 – and TJ, the kindest of my brother’s friends, took his shirt off. I was infatuated.

“I’ve always had control issues, and my sexuality is no exception. In the fourth grade, a girl told me I looked gay when I was playing kickball, and I’ve made conscious and subconscious decisions since that moment to control my sexuality. This led to some very self-destructive behaviors: I drank excessively, abused prescription drugs in high school, casually dated women, and forced myself to watch porn with women in it. I compartmentalized the parts of my sexuality that I couldn’t control. The day after I lost my virginity to my then-girlfriend, I cried, but I couldn’t identify what had upset me. I finally accepted who I was in high school, slowly, and only to myself. I still wasn’t ready to come out.

“But the funny thing about control is that, when you try so hard to gain a grip on things, you lose it. I was at a party the night after we graduated, and I got wasted. I then got crossfaded from the bong I had taken a giant rip of, and the chemicals in my body forced me to black. When I woke up, a friend told me that I had come out to everyone at the party.

“Learning to love myself and accept my feelings has not come easy. It’s been a long, halting, painstakingly slow process – and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not quite there yet. But, my life is a journey, and I’m slowly realizing that my sexuality is a gift that I’ve been given. It’s an amazing part of who I am and the man I have become. I still have control issues, but now I realize that my sexuality is something that I can’t – and don’t want to – control. I’ve let go, and I am liberated.”

– J

“When I knew, for sure, to the point that it was undeniable, I was a senior in high school. Of course, by that time, I had felt attraction to one guy or another, but I was raised in an extremely repressive environment – a WASP haven, if you will. Therefore, it took me a very long time to admit in myself that love was possible for me.

“The moment I knew was when I truly felt love for the first time. He was a goofy, shaggy, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, baby-faced football boy. What started out as a casual friendship slowly evolved into a romantic one, and yes – even a physical one. On a fateful summer evening, he came over to watch anime, as we had done many times. When we did this, we would get food and pop, and I would lie in his lap. It was casual, our relationship. But this time, I was brave; I reached out and held his hand.

“Instead of retreating like I expected, he put his other hand in my hair and acted like nothing happened. My chest was on fire but light, heavy yet fluttered. Such a small gesture, a tiny thing. But, at that moment, I knew I had fallen in love with him. And, at that moment, I finally stopped denying the possibility that even I could be loved.”

– S

“I had a girlfriend in high school, but we didn’t call each other girlfriends and we didn’t tell anyone we were romantic in any way. One day, my mom walked in on us kissing. Later that night my parents quizzed me about my sexuality and told me they loved me and it was okay to be gay, but the word ‘gay’ just never felt like it described me.

“I started dating my boyfriend shortly thereafter. And then in college I dated another woman. It wasn’t until I got involved in the university’s LGBT and Ally club and I met dozens of other people of many different identities that I realized that sometimes sexuality is too intricate for words.

“So I have recently been dating men again. But I have realized that my sexuality is immensely complex, and it’s still evolving, and I’m still making sense of it all, and that is all okay.”

– H

“Who am I? What do you care? As I thought about writing my story, my mind filled with many concerns, worries, and frustrations. I didn’t want to be a stereotype or create conflicts of interest between my experiences and those of others. I didn’t want my story be controversial. Then all of the sudden it hit me: I am me. I. Am. Me. What a concept.  I don’t need to wear a mask to share my story, so here it goes:

“Hello. My name is James. I am organized. I am a friend. I am a husband. I am a lover. I am loyal. I am deceitful. I am a son. I am gay. I am confused. I am strong. I am a gossip. I am moral. I am a student. I am a leader. I am human. I am a child of God. These are just few of the roles I play and also try to hide on a daily basis.

“‘I am gay’ was certainly harder to say at one point than it is to write today. I have always known in one sense or another that I was gay; it wasn’t like one day I woke up after a fever and became ill with homosexuality. When I was younger, I would listen to what others said and professed on the topic and tricked myself into believing I was a bad person,  that I did not want to be gay because I would end up alone in the world and most likely head straight to hell.

“I used to dream about guys in my high school class that I thought were attractive. Getting a high-five or even a hug during a class retreat was an amazing feeling. Somehow I was connected to them. I didn’t want to hurt the girls that ‘liked’ me. I started to wear masks during my middle and high school years. Which mask could I wear to hide myself for as long as possible? Would I be the class president who always wanted to control the situation and didn’t want to delegate duties? Or would I hide behind my own faith, professing to others at my own retreat that I wasn’t gay? Or the kid that would sit at home watching porn from the age of 14 onward because I didn’t what else to do with my feelings towards men?

“I must confess that these were all me. I am not proud of the masks I wore, but I cannot change my past. It is through these experiences I have learned and have tried to become a better person, even if that takes a lifetime to do. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that I finally felt comfortable sharing my feelings about men with my close friends. Through many tears and deep conversations, I made it through. During my study abroad experience others let me know it was okay to be me. It was okay to take time to express myself. It was okay to take a moment.

“I would like to share a poem about wearing masks:

‘Undone,’ by Christine Bruness
Slowly he unraveled
bandages of facades
and bravely peeled apart
the cracked layers
of his contrived persona,
exposing his darkness
in all its authenticity
feeling vulnerable…
then free
by becoming undone.”

– J

“I came out of the womb belting musical theatre tunes, and to save ourselves the stereotypes, I promise this is not headed in THAT direction. Imagine at four years old I am singing in my living room ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ from South Pacific, I look to my parents and say, ‘I cannot wait to marry a girl just like Nellie.’

“My parents, unlike some, did not find this idea cute. They squashed the idea, ‘You cannot do that! You are BOTH girls.” Interestingly, this was news to me – as I had never and will never view myself as female. Yet, here I am, 24 years old living as I have always seen myself – the leading man.“

– B