I sat on the stage floor and spoke the first line directly to the audience. I was hurting, like I’d never hurt before, or maybe I had, but, this was the first time I allowed others to see it. I was missing something, someone—a heart, to make my own beat again. I cried out as I jumped to my feet. I softened my voice and began to sing, as the tears fell from my cheek. I was angry at myself for becoming so cold, so distant, and so self-involved. I was angry because I was trapped—that the walls were closing in around me, and that the web of lies that I had weaved so carefully were becoming tangled like chains to a prisoner. I never felt so many emotions in one song, as I had before—and when I was done, my heart ached and I was out of breath. The crowd stood in ovation applauding in appreciation and praise—they had listened, and felt the message that I was trying to convey. “I am dying alone…help me be alive!”
PS. THIS IS JUST AN EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK: “The Open Closet: Letters From A Gay Man” (Available on AMAZON & KINDLE)
If you enjoyed reading this letter and would like to read more, please consider purchasing a copy and help spread awareness of issues plaguing the LGBT community.