Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Out we go

Well I did go to the men's group. There were about 10 of us or so from 30-something to 60-something. Not being alone was helpful. Saying "I'm gay" to more people than Roy was a good thing. Still surreal, but good.

Not a whole lot else came out of the meeting. But I am beginning to realize how numb I am and how deeply that numbness goes.

After the meeting I came home - the wife and kids were home. Back to normal, but not.

The wife suspects something is up and tells me we have to talk. I dodge and weave and feel the blood pressure go up.

Last night we went shopping. Still getting the comments that she knows something is wrong. We get home, get the kids to bed and watch a little TV.

We go to bed at 10ish. It's the first time I've gone to bed at the same time as she has in a long time. I have been determined to tell her today what is going on and have avoided several opportunities to do so. I turn of the lights, she begins to make a pass at me and I stop her. I tell her that it's time we did talk and cannot say anything else - the words don't come.

Then they do. Tears. Fears. Guilt. Tears. All rolled into one. She is bizarrely understanding - it fills in some gaps for her as well. We tell a few bad jokes and laugh. Then cry. We talk, hold each other until midnight. Then get up to watch TV. I have no idea what was on.

Telling her that I am gay is the hardest thing I have ever done bar none.

I tell her that I do not know what this means for us or where we will be going. She is my best friend and I am hers. She thought that that was gone.

At one point she quips that she hopes tomorrow she'll wake up and I'll say April Fools. More tears, a lot of tears on my part. I wish the same - for all of this to just go away.

Sleep - probably the best sleep I've had in a while.

Wake up and things seem "normal". We talk; she's been up looking for answers. She's talked to a close friend of hers who low and behold is in the same boat unbeknownst to us.

I go to work - maybe I can be productive. Fat chance. Go to the bookstore and get The Other Side of the Closet and a book by Mel White - his autobiography.

The wife calls while I am at the gym and doesn't sound good. We talk an hour or so later. "I feel like I'm losing you," she says. More tears, now more on her part than mine. We promise to listen to and be sensitive to each other. And that if the conversation gets too much or too little that we can let the other know.

We have no idea where this is going, where it will take us. This sucks.

(Haven't edited and won't - it is less raw than I feel)

No comments:

Post a Comment