For a lot of people, coming out as bisexual is a largely positive experience. For me I thinking coming out was ultimately a good thing, however the method of my coming out was an absolute disaster. So I’m going to share with you here the story of the “worst coming out ever” – I can just hear Comic-Book-Guy from the Simpsons introducing it.
I never had a particularly close relationship with my father and if I’m honest, I’ve resented him for years. Nothing I ever did or achieved ever seemed to earn his approval or appreciation. Sadly, my father is the kind of man who is completely ambivalent to the feelings of others and often steams through situations without seeming to notice that he’s pissing people off. As a result I suffered years of major depression in my late teens and early twenties and I’ve never forgiven him for dismissing my depressive illness as something I should simply “snap out of” and “stop worrying my mum about”.
With this in mind its easy to see I have a lot of unresolved anger with my father, which I hope in some way mitigates, though does not excuse what I am about to share with you.
It was over diner with my parents and the discussion had somehow turned to the issue of Gay Adoption. An emotive issue which can draw strong opinions from both sides, most of them well reasoned and without overt prejudice, however, my father had his view and was determined to air it.
“We all know Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual people corrupt children and shouldn’t be allowed near them.”
This was my fathers view. His honest to god, bigoted, ill-informed view. I was livid.
He didn’t know I was bisexual. Would he still have held this view if he’d known? I don’t know. But he’d effectively just called me a paedophile, someone who isn’t safe to be allowed near children and I saw red.
I went for him. I dragged him out of his chair, threw him against the wall, came out as bisexual there and then before punching him out cold, breaking my hand in the process.
It took the bastard 3 whole minutes to come around. It scared me shitless, I thought I’d killed him. There was a lot more than just the anger and provocation of being called a paedophile behind my outburst, there was years of repressed anger which just came out with this catalyst.
It really was the wrong way to deal with the situation, but I wasn’t in control, I’d lost it big style and in the heat of the moment, I’d come out. I’d blown by biggest, most personal secret wide open.
This leaves you with a whole host of other issues to deal with. When you come out in such dramatic style there is no-way you can just crawl back into the closet. Fortunately, whilst my family reacted in horror at me knocking my old man out cold, with the exception of my father, once they got over my moment of madness, they reacted with compassion and understanding towards my sexuality. Best of all my friends have been great, with many of them being really encouraging.
Still my relationship with my father is effectively over, neither of us wants to see or speak to the other. And this really isn’t a good way to come out. Its far better to do it calmly on a quiet day where there are no other distractions so the focus of everyone’s attention can be on understanding what you have to say and supporting you through it.
Punch someone’s lights out and everyone’s fussing over the person lying bleeding on the floor, you’re left alone to wallow away in your own personal agony. Believe me, sitting waiting in the Emergency Room whilst your hand is X-Rayed and immobilised, replaying the last hour of your life over and over again like some nightmare version of Ground Hog day is not an experience I can recommend.
Sometimes, I suffer for my sexuality. You won’t believe it, but I just had a request to use one of my photographs (yes I’m an amateur photographer) as part of the cover design for a new David Wilkerson book. And I turned it down.
