Before I came out in 1976, I lied to everyone. Often I would be the first to laugh at 'fa**ot jokes' and the last to come to someone's defense that was out. When I dared to get drunk or high enough to have sex, I would invent different personalities, names and bios so hopefully no one could figure out my identity. While closeted I was blackmailed, almost committed suicide and did anything I could to prevent people from knowing I was a homosexual. Looking back, I think of all those years where I lied, denied my very being and lived in shame and fear. What a waste.
Even coming out was a very rocky process. My mother and father responded with words to me that I never, ever thought they would use in relationship to their son. My sister Patsy frantically did her best to hold the entire situation together. My mother begged me not to tell my brother and to this day I am not quite sure why. In those initial years going home was a place to avoid instead of a place of joy. Even after acceptance began to seep into my family, I was expected not to bring 'it' up in front of them. I hated what this process was doing to me; I hated what it was doing to them.
When I came out, very few people with whom I worked with in politics or professionally supported that decision. Elected officials I had worked side by side with for years suddenly wouldn't accept my calls or my checks. People stopped sending invites and it was a very lonely time. Not only was I being rejected by most of my entire support group but I was so new, I knew nothing about the LGBT community. Eventually I worked my way to the MCC Church and Gay Center in Los Angeles which was a tiny organization back then. Slowly I found other members of the community who shared an interest in politics and cared for each other. Nevertheless, many of them weren't out to their families or at work.
In the midst of all this personal bleakness, one funny situation occurred when I heard of this small group in Los Angeles called the Stonewall Democratic Club. Made sense to me that I should go to a gathering and meet fellow Democrats who were gay. The Center directed me to their meeting in a Savings and Loan Conference room. I put on a really sharp blue suit, white shirt, tie and my best black shoes. Showing up at the meeting there were about nine people. None of them talked to me and I sat at the end of a table alone. Turns out they thought I was a cop sent to intimidate them because of the coat and tie!
The coming out process was truly horrible for me. My shame was overwhelming and I seriously considered - for a second time - taking my life. The events led to a nervous breakdown - a collapse that took months to work through and get fully back on my feet.
Then a strange sensation started to come over me - I discovered pride and was able to remove the shame. The community got to know me and I was accepted without questions. Never have I known such unconditional love and support. My image of them was that they all had an easy time of coming out; they were not like me - they had no difficult struggle. The realization eventually came to me that all of us had struggled and all of us wanted to be free. Every story was different and back then, every story should be respected as their own.
Most importantly, my new intimate friends and I made a pact that we would do whatever possible so no future generation would have the pain of coming out and not feel welcomed into this haven of the LGBT community. We would operate from a place of love and not hate. Nearly all of the men in that group have died from HIV/AIDS. The surviving women are still fighting attempting to create a place of love and welcome. And so am I.
Never again should any person feel pain in coming out.
for more from David visit Live From Hell's Kitchen.
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