Coming Out to Ourselves

Balboa Press

Contents

1. Introduction.....................................................ix2. My Story.........................................................13. A Reward or a Punishment?........................................154. The Experience of Shame..........................................215. As Long as You Love Me...........................................296. Whose Truth?.....................................................337. The (Other) F-Bomb...............................................438. Take Care of Yourself............................................519. Religion and Spirituality for the Rest of Us.....................5510. Looking Back with Joy...........................................6111. The Gift of Change..............................................6712. Don't Take Anything Personally..................................7513. Why It Matters..................................................7914. The Next Chapter in Your Life...................................83

Chapter One

It can be very difficult for an only child when a sibling is born. We know the world revolves around us when we are young; but then all of a sudden, there arrives someone else for parents and grandparents to pay attention to! My twin brothers were born in 1963, but were very premature, and did not survive. Understandably, my family was devastated. I think I was probably sad, but also relieved that I wouldn't have to share my world with anyone else (although there would be no way in the world I would admit that).

My parents did the very best they could, working through their grief. But again, to a five-year-old, their feeling of pain and loss meant attention taken away from me. For years after, every Easter, we would go to the cemetery and I would stay in the car, while they walked down to my brothers' grave site, coming back with tears in their eyes. Yes, I know something bad happened, but I'm still here!

Two years later, when my sister was born, everyone was very happy. And I, of course, joined in. I helped out whenever possible in taking care of her, as well as doing chores around the house.

* * *

For those of us who are gay or lesbian, there probably isn't a date on the calendar that can be identified as the day we first knew. It was probably more of a feeling that we were somehow different, followed at some later point with curiosity, then questioning, and for many of us, then shame and terror. After all, what is worse to an adolescent than being called any of those horrendous names (and I'm sure you know the ones)? I believe I figured it out around the time I turned eight years old. I didn't know what to call it—I just knew that there was something.

Given the church's teaching of absolute damnation, plus the fear of not being loved (or possibly even being abandoned) since my sister was the "new kid on the block," a foundation of fear and self-hatred was created within me. If you really knew me, you couldn't possibly love me. So to avoid the world finding out, I became the best little boy in the world. I was always charming, always gracious, always anxious to help. I'll do anything you want me to, including abuse myself, or allow you to abuse me, as long as you love me. Several of the "friends" I spent time with were far less than friendly, but I settled for anyone I could get.

Food was a huge part of my young life, and I became overweight and then obese in grade school, and then in high school. It seems like I ate to get love and security from the food, but then also to give myself yet another reason to punish myself.

My father worked away from home in underground construction during this time; and while I can't recall the exact day and time, no doubt someone said, "You are going to have to be the man of the house, now." That statement, or at least that thought, played perfectly into my decision to be the best little boy in the world. I took responsibility for everything—if someone wasn't happy, it was no doubt my fault. If I take care of it for you, that means you'll love me and not abandon me, right? Because, as I said earlier, if you really knew the truth of who I am, you'd run in the other direction. It's heartbreaking to realize that as we try to keep others from abandoning us, we really are abandoning ourselves.

* * *

The interpersonal dynamics of high school were a pretty big shock. I had attended a Lutheran day school for grades 1 through 8, which is where I found some measure of attention and acceptance. I had been very involved in volunteer activities at the Lutheran school, in pretty much every area except athletics and music, and so most everyone knew and liked me. There was, of course, that increasingly nagging problem related to my sexual orientation; but I just kept that locked in the back of my mind, so no one knew. Since there were only about 150 students at that school, imagine my shock the first day of high school, where there were about 1,500.

I was absolutely not part of any of the groups of "beautiful people" (athletes, the very intelligent group, etc.), so I was able to just blend in pretty well. Except in gym class, that is, which was a disaster in a variety of ways. My two close friends were not part of the "in crowd," either. One of them, who was a year behind me, was pretty obviously gay. He experienced teasing and bullying in the locker room and other places. After finding out I was spending time with him, someone close to me cautioned me, reminding me that often people are judged by the company they keep. God forbid that people would see us together and think I was gay. Another nail in the coffin, where my sexuality, at the time, resided.

During high school, my church activities dropped off, slowly but surely. However, I was in continuous contact with God, begging and pleading that He would make me "normal."

After high school, I went away to college for a year. The independence of being away from home was liberating, but I found that college wasn't for me; so, I returned home and went to work for a bank. I was having a great time at work, and I think that helped give me the confidence and motivation to go on a food and exercise program, which allowed me to drop about 60 pounds. I moved out of my parents' house and into my own apartment. Although I was still in the closet, every once in a while there was a little light coming from the other side of the door.

The nibbles of independence I'd experienced made me want to take a big bite, and it was time for a complete change of scenery—some place new and different, where no one knew me. I found a job with a savings and loan in Los Angeles, and moved to the San Fernando Valley in 1978.

I'd spent some time in Los Angeles when I was in college, but that was pretty much always with my roommate or other friends. Being on my own in a new place was awesome! I was still too afraid to go into the candy store (if you know what I mean), but at least I could stand at the window (or drive by) and look. But then several weeks after moving in, I finally got up the courage to take a drive to San Francisco for the weekend.

I had actually ventured into an adult bookstore in Hollywood (gulp) and bought a book that listed places where men go to meet men, so I knew where I was going. At last, I had my first gay experience ... which I could only describe as amazing and wonderful. We went to his beautiful apartment in Oakland, where I spent the night. He was kind and gentle, and we committed to keeping in touch.

On the drive south, I was absolutely elated. There was someone else like me out there, who even found me attractive! I was feeling totally in love. But by the time I got halfway home, those old feelings of guilt and shame came flooding back. What if someone finds out about this? What would my family say?

I felt I had to find a way to be "normal," so I allowed friends from college to fix me up with an attractive young woman. Jannice needed a baby, and I needed to look straight; so "it" clicked. We married soon thereafter, and moved back to northern San Diego County. Our son was born 5 months later.

My wife had worked for the phone company until she went out on maternity leave. I had found a job with another bank in the area, but there wasn't much chance of future advancement or money to support a family. One of the other tellers was married to a Pizza Hut restaurant manager. The four of us had dinner—probably pizza—and he told me about the wonderful career opportunities there. So I quit the bank, and went to work for him. Soon after, Jannice made the decision to not go back to work at her very good paying job. I, of course, could offer no argument—you could do anything you wanted to, as long as you loved me.

I found out—quickly—that Pizza Hut was not for me, and found a job at another savings and loan. But there were money problems, plus responsibilities at home, and the increasing realization that this just wasn't working. So after three years, we separated. Soon after, I admitted to my wife I was gay.

Several weeks later, it was time to tell my family (before they heard it from Jannice). I drove to their home, crying and sobbing in absolute terror. When I told them, their amazingly wonderful response was, "So what?" As I calmed down, we talked about my history leading up to that day. It was a real shock for me to say those three words out loud ("I am gay"), but I couldn't have asked for a better response.

In September, 1985, I met my life partner, also named Jerry, at Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) in San Diego. If there is such a thing as love at first sight, I believe we experienced it. We both had dates after church later that night. I cancelled mine, he cancelled his, and we went for coffee, followed by a drive down to the San Diego harbor. We talked until about three in the morning, then I took him home and I went home.

After many more dates and much more time together, we decided to find an apartment together. We didn't have two dimes to rub together, and my parents would bring us "care packages" of food and household stuff from Costco every once in a while. He was studying to be a nurse, and I had found a job at a technology market research company.

We continued attended MCC regularly, and socialized with other gay couples. Life was settling in and becoming really good. Because of that, I decided that I really wanted to reconnect with my son. I had lost contact with Brandon, who was now about six years old. Although I searched high and low, he and my ex-wife were nowhere to be found. Because our divorce gave us joint custody, I finally decided to file a complaint in court. Those were difficult days, because I really didn't know what he looked like—it had been over two years. My heart goes out to parents whose children go missing, for whatever reason.

The court filing brought her out, and it turns out she had been in northern San Diego County the entire time. I reestablished my relationship with my son, eventually introducing him to my new partner. After a few weeks of jealousy back and forth, they became close friends.

A few months later, I received a legal document in the mail stating that my ex-wife was suing me for child support for the months that she had been in hiding. After I calmed down, I called her attorney, who suggested that I was on pretty thin ice, considering the fact that I was gay (keeping in mind this was 1986), and there was the potential to lose custody altogether. I was sucked back into my shame, and wrote a check to pay the back child support.

I was absolutely thrilled with my new love, but was also in the process of getting my feet firmly on the ground as an "out" gay man. My insecurity about myself made me insecure in my relationship with my beloved, and I compulsively did whatever I felt was necessary to ensure his love and approval, including spending money we didn't have. I made some very unwise decisions, including dishonest financial dealings with the church we attended at the time.

What I've learned is that, often, we make big messes when we are stuck in our dysfunction, whether it's substance abuse, regardless of the "substance," or not being true to ourselves.

As the years went by, life was pretty wonderful. Jerry and I got married in 2007 (during the short period of time when same-sex marriage was legal in California). We both had very good paying jobs, and drove his and his BMW's. I was working two jobs, the "day job," plus working as a minister for a Religious Science / New Thought church. Even though I was "on the go" constantly, I was enjoying both jobs and doing very well financially. Because I traveled a lot with one of the jobs, we went on wonderful vacations, typically using frequent flyer miles.

Job number one ended in December 2008, and suddenly I was home all the time. Several months later, my world began crashing in on me. One Friday night, Jerry called home to say he would be working late, and would call when he was on his way home. I didn't hear from him again until Tuesday night, when he arrived home.

I was shocked, hurt and terrified. Was he dead? Had he found someone else? When he finally came home, he was full of apologies and promises that it would never happen again. His excuse was that his work was very stressful, and he just needed some quiet time away. He slept heavily for a couple of days and then went back to work.

I believed this was just a "one time thing," but of course, it was not. It happened again, and then again. And I didn't know what to do. After 24 years, I didn't want to leave. I didn't feel like I could tell anyone, out of shame and embarrassment, and probably guilt—what had I done to cause this? And I still had no idea what was going on.

The pattern started out as Friday nights to Tuesday afternoons, when Jerry would call in sick Monday and Tuesday. But then he would forget to call in, and by Tuesday morning, people from his work would be calling the house looking for him.

This pattern repeated itself at least once a month for over a year. I felt like I was dead, walking around with a knife in my stomach. I never knew for sure if he was coming home from work at night, or, if I went to bed before he did, whether or not he would still be home when I woke up. In fact, several Sunday mornings I woke up and found that he had left in the night. I would still go to church and lead a service.

It was beyond hellish, and I made it my secret. No one knew. I made excuses to friends and family, in order to hide the truth (that I still hadn't figured out). After all, I had kept my sexual orientation a secret for over 22 years, so I had a lot of practice hiding the truth. I didn't know what to do, so I decided to try to find him. I had been able to hack into his checking account, so I could watch the bank website and see any transactions he had made. I drove myself even more crazy by watching to see authorizations from hotels and motels, and then trying to call him there. He, of course, wouldn't answer the phone when I called, and the hotel wouldn't give me the specific room number. I thought if I could just talk to him, he would come home. I was successful at reaching him a couple of times, but it turned out he didn't come home until he was ready—two days later.

Throughout this entire time, I tried to stay as busy as possible. When I was home alone, my mind would start to wander, and I'd obsessively think about what would happen if he lost his job? That would mean his income, our health insurance, etc. Would we lose the house? And how long could I keep going through this? After a year, I was still dealing with it, but I also still didn't know the truth.

But some friends of his at work knew, or at least suspected, and at the very least, wouldn't and couldn't stay quiet. When Jerry was at work, he often fell asleep during meetings, or was very animated and agitated. One night, a couple of his co-workers (who are also dear friends of mine) called, and we got together. "Is it possible he's using drugs?" we all asked aloud. I hadn't once allowed the thought to enter my mind. But the more we talked about the signs and symptoms, the more it became clear.

Finally, after yet another long weekend away, he came home and admitted he had been using crystal meth.

I was completely devastated. How had this happened? How could this happen? Why didn't I see this? How could I have been so stupid to allow this to go on for so long? How could someone I love so much be a drug addict?

Jerry quit his job, and went through a six-month outpatient rehabilitation program. I became "the warden." Five days a week, I would drive him to the program, and pick him up when he was finished. He would also attend NA (Narcotics Anonymous) and other meetings, and I would be his transportation. During the program, he was required to get a sponsor, and they would meet at our home from time to time. I attended the NA meeting where Jerry received his six months clean and sober token, and met some very nice people who, amazingly enough, looked like him—and like me. My heart was broken open, as I was reminded that there is no such thing as "those people." There is only "us."

Jerry now has a new job, which he likes very much, and despite a couple of small "relapses," thankfully he is doing well. I must admit that even now, three years later, my heart begins to beat just a little faster if he hasn't called when I expected him to call. And I get a cautious little zing when I drive by some of the hotels where he used to stay during his weekends away. But healing is a process, not an event.

In hindsight, I sometimes ask myself, How could I have been so naïve? How could I let this go on for well over a year without doing something? I found that I had much more compassion for him than I did for myself. Some dear friends reminded me that, at the time, the possibility of him using drugs was completely out of my realm of experience—it was truly the last thing I could have imagined.

The recovery community says "one day at a time." As we began our journey together forward (after his treatment program was done), that became my mantra, as well. There were days when I had no idea how I could or would ever recover from the hurt and feelings of betrayal. But then there was another day, and then another.

What I learned was that I am a much stronger person than I thought. I have amazingly wonderful and supportive people who love me unconditionally. Ultimately, I realized that the experience I went through was necessary so I could learn the truth—that there is no such thing as "those people." Those people (who live with substance abuse, shame, guilt and regret) are you and me.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Coming Out to Ourselvesby Jerry D. Troyer Copyright © 2012 by Rev. Jerry D. Troyer. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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