I am not sure why but I have been thinking about Rebecca a lot the last few days.
One of the things about which I have been thinking is this: as Thanksgiving neared during the November I lived with Rebecca and her family, I sensed an uncomfortable, gnawing strain between Rebecca and me. I did not know the cause of it. She had said nothing to me regarding any issues. But, I knew something was wrong between us. I could feel it.
That afternoon, Rebecca had informed me of a change regarding our Saturday trip to the London Temple. Instead of the two of us going together, now we would be going with several people from the ward.
I felt angry about the decision, for two reasons: one, I had not been consulted in the decision making process. And, two, I felt like she was trying to tell me that, for some reason, I was not "safe" enough for her to go alone with to the temple. I did not much like how that insinuation felt and it made me very angry.
After a few minutes of dealing with my anger, I went to Rebecca who was vacuuming the baby's room. I wanted to try and push whatever strain was going on between us. I told her I felt like she was putting distance between us and why was she doing it. She hemmed and hawed, would not, could not, answer my question. She told me I "had to help" her with what was going on. I had no clue as to what she was talking about. None whatsoever. My thoughts then went to, "What would be the worst thing she could think of, about me?" I then replied, "I'm not gay." She told me I had done good. Whatever the hell that meant. I hated that she was implying I was gay. In fact, her implication sunk a black hole into my heart so fast and deep, so debilitating and painful that I could not even stay in the same room or house with her. I had to leave.
The thing I have been thinking about all this is: why did it hurt me, anger and scare me, that Rebecca implied that I was gay? I have known since I was a young child, very young, that I was gay. I had not, to that point in life, accepted that I was gay. But, I knew I was gay. Why, when she implied what she did, was I so mortally wounded? Why did I feel like that being gay could be the absolute worst thing that anyone, that she, could say or think about me? Being gay is not the worst thing about anyone. It does not even come close to the worst thing that can be true about a person. Why did I think it was?
Looking back at the whole situation, instead of being angry and hurt, I wish I could have instead answered her, "Yes, I am gay. I do not have, nor have I ever had gay feelings towards you. But, yes, I am gay. So what? What is your problem with that issue? Remember what you wrote in your journal, that part that you let me read, you know what I am talking about? You wrote that you would rather be with me, would rather spend time with me than with your own husband. What is your issue? Are you gay? What are your feelings and your intentions for me?"
That is what I should have said.