I am 40 years old.
I am married (for almost two years) to a lovely woman who I’ve had a crush on for almost half of my life.
I live in a world where my sexual orientation is a boring statement of fact that isn’t really a thing…or at least I think it is, until someone makes it otherwise.
I started coming out gradually, at 19, first between wrenching sobs to my freshman-year RA, saying that I might be gay. She was the first I told about these swirling, confusing feelings that were only amplified by the roommate (let’s call her N) I had fallen for. I stared at a bottle of Advil, wondering if taking the entire bottle would be enough to put me out of my misery, and I found the strength to put it down, knock on Jen’s door, and just…come out with it.