I have felt like so many different people within that first year, going through different stages of self-acceptance, depression, guilt, and sadness, it has truly been hard to recognize myself. During that time, I was haunted by reoccurring nightmares of my own fatal death, and often woke up covered in sweat with severe pain in my chest and ribs. Sometimes I was shot, other times hung, whipped, or stoned, and each time I would sit up in bed, and immediately double over in pain. I would take several pain pills to relax my muscles, then fall back asleep in the early hours of the morning. Each time was always the same, my “parents” had killed me. At the time, I could only relate to the fear of the unknown, and since I was not speaking to them, it seemed more rational that they would come looking for answers or revenge. The only person that I was able to count on was my boyfriend. He was the constant support I needed to get through each day but, sometimes I felt like I was even driving him away. When he went out, I asked him where to. I was being suspicious, and acting jealous, things that were never common of me before; I feared losing him. Darkness surrounded me.
Sincerely, The Open Closet
PS. THIS IS JUST AN EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK: “The Open Closet: Letters From A Gay Man” (Available on AMAZON & KINDLE)
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