The Sellout

As I’m relaxing in this hotel bed, I felt it compulsory to write about something I learned within the past couple of days.

I’m here with my best friend while he sells antiques at a show.  His girlfriend and I have become pretty good friends as she knows things not even my best friend knows.

We went to lunch and we started to talk about my upbringing.  It all started when I told her that I don’t tell me parents I love them.  I do love them, don’t get me wrong, but when they say they love me at the end of a phone conversation, I respond with, “Ok, bye.”  It’s not in my nature to say, “I love you.”  This led to her asking me about how I was brought up.

I assured her that I love my parents.  They have given me everything I have ever asked for.  They are, in my opinion, the parents I could have ever asked for.

Right?

My entire life I grew up with them telling me that gay people are sick.  That something is wrong with their brain.  They aren’t normal. A couple of weeks ago my mother asked me if I was “normal”.  She asked me why I never had a girlfriend and stated it isn’t normal for someone my age never have been in a relationship.  Normal.  Normal. Normal.

My father, a while back, asked me if I liked women to which I lied.  He then assured me that, if I needed help, he would find a psychologist.  In social gatherings, my parents, family, and family friends would state how sorry they were when someone they knew came out of the closet.

I don’t think I’ve ever thought of how this has affected me.  It’s one of those things you don’t know is in your head, but dictates what you think and how you act with others.  It’s amazing that at the age of 23 there are things I don’t know about myself.  Have my parents damaged my psyche?  If so, can it be repaired?

One thing is for sure: I cannot tell them.  I can’t bring that dishonor upon my family.  I can’t let their friends have pity for them.  Did you hear?  Their son is gay.  Poor thing.  Even worse, I can’t have my dad disown me.  As I can’t support myself yet, my parents pay for all of my bills: car, phone, food, insurance, etc.  They NEVER hold it against me, but I have no other option.

For the sake of my family, I need to keep this hidden.  For my sake, I need to keep this hidden.  The world is better without them knowing.  My world is better without them knowing.

A life of comfort and luxury is worth the psychological damage I’m inflicting on myself.

Right?

 

 

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