I’ve never fit in. I’ve always been the one white sock in a drawer of colored ones. The one who lost its mate so long ago, it’s forgotten that it ever had one in the first place.
I’ve known i was gay since I was about 16. Sadly for me, though, I didn’t come to terms with who I was until I was 35 years old. That meant many, many years of trying to love the wrong people and trying to make relationships work that were ultimately doomed. In the end it meant many, many years of loneliness.
I thought that one of the benefits of coming to terms with my sexuality would mean an end to all those years of eating meals by myself, but instead I’ve discovered that I don’t really fit in this world either. I have no idea why, but my gay friends have told me that they speculate behind my back that I’m really straight and lying about being gay.
Don’t get me wrong though. I have no shame or regret and I’ve felt much more myself—much more content—these past few years than I did in the time before, and I love that I’m finally able to fully love myself regardless if anyone else is able to.
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