Rule #1: Do not expect normality.

By the time you'll have read this, I'll likely be lying in a ditch somewhere near Ingatestone, Essex.

You see, the reason me and Rory had to swap days was that on the day I was meant to furnish you lovely people with an entertaining, well crafted post about how I came out, how to come out yourself, and how to help others, I was instead sitting a Russian exam, wondering what on earth "Благотворительные Oрганизации" meant. 

There is a certain bitter irony in the fact that the International Baccalaureate caused me so much pain and confusion with a phrase that translates to "Charitable Organisations".

But, dear Constant Readers, I've scheduled this post to go out exactly 30 minutes after my last exam finishes, and, believe me, that's enough time to make a bottle or seventeen of vodka vanish, like a magic trick from my liver's worst nightmares. As such, while reading this post, just know that somewhere out there, in the big wide world, the person who wrote this is happy and smiling, and with friends.

If that doesn't cheer you up, just imagine the hangover I'll have afterwards.

Now, onto the post proper:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I first came out as bisexual while in bed with my straight crush, while we were just in our boxers, at about 4 in the morning. It wasn't even either of our beds, it was a 3rd party's bed. You see, I've never been particularly good at doing things the expected way, or the correct way. That little imp that most people have in their heads, that whispers such things as "No, don't eat the nettle, it will hurt." or "No, don't talk about sausages/bananas/courgettes with your crush, you'll only giggle and run away again." seems to have taken early retirement around my 1st birthday.

I suppose it made a bit of sense for me to come out to Cthulhu first, as he was mainly the reason I'd decided I was bisexual. Up until then, I'd had the occasional "James, you enjoy thinking about men a bit too much..." mental conversation with myself, but they always ended up with me no closer to accepting it and feeling a little like the guy in Fight Club.

Which isn't an entirely negative experience.

But one of the things Cthulhu and I were particularly fond of was sharing secrets, lots and lots of secrets, and he was the first person who'd ever gotten me to do that. Before then, nobody had even guessed I had secrets - I seemed too boring. My secrets were so secret I'd started forgetting them. Until he dredged them up.

But I appear to be straying from the crux of the matter here: semi-naked and in bed together (albeit at opposite ends).

I honestly can't tell you what degenerate part of my brain thought that that was the most appropriate moment to tell him that I, his up-until-now-apparently-straight best friend, had a massive crush on him. Did I think that because he was bereft of clothing he couldn't escape? Was I hoping that he would say the same, and we'd make out in our friend's bed? I cannot say.  All I can say is that, despite being probably more than a little taken aback by the fact I actually said it, he was absolutely fine with it. No rage, no fear, no torches and pitchforks. He even made a joke about it later on, when he said "My boxers feel a bit tight... oh, yeah, that probably wasn't what you needed to be hearing right now."

"No, please, keep talking."

So there I was, officially out to at least one person (the 3rd party followed shortly, because I had come out in her bed after all, she deserved to know). I don't know about you, dear Readers, but once I've done something scary, I want to do it again and again. Thus I set myself a challenge: I had to be out to most of my friends and my parents by the end of college. I am (woo!), but neither of those went particularly to plan either...

Me and Cthulhu had decided that I was going to come out to everyone at the party we were going to before we'd even gotten there. About 2 or 3 months had passed since I first came out to him, and when I got there, it all seemed quite doable. Most people there I either knew or seemed friendly and/or drunk enough, and I was feeling confident.

Until I actually considered the mechanics of it all.

"You must come out to all of these people. You have one hour - go."

The fact that the party goers were legion, and quite a spread out legion at that, had put a significant dent in my plan. By this point I had partaken in quite a few intoxicants myself, and was therefore a little wary of putting myself through all that walking lest I end up in a bush or a puddle or a bear. And then I saw it.

The answer to all my problems.

The tree.

In the middle of the field/park/golf course where we were partying, there sat a large, fallen tree, about 1.5 times my height. Now, to anyone else this tree looked like just another fallen tree, a tad incongruous in the middle of a clearing but no matter, blame ghosts or aliens. But to me, in my drunken, slightly deluded way, it looked like a bloody good stage for a little show I wanted to put on.

The temptation to sing my way through the experience was barely containable. 

While I can't claim to have proclaimed my sexuality to the entire world from the top of that log, I did announce it to quite a few people (to an irritatingly small response - no girls swooned or anything). After that, I just left it to filter through my school's gossip machine on its own. It took a while, and everybody seemed much more interested in the false rumour that me and the 3rd party had made out (oh, the irony), but  it got round in the end, and that just left the stereotypical final boss battle: the parents.

"IT'S JUST A PHASE." - 999 HP DAMAGE.

Except, they were the easiest to tell. I told my Mum about 3 months after the party, flippantly while enjoying a glass of Strongbow. She was unmoved. She had very little reaction whatsoever, except to tell me that she'd thought I was gay once. She had no qualms whatsoever, but she did warn me not to tell my Dad, which was a little ominous. However, after 9 months of not telling him, I just had to - he was the last pertinent person left. I built up some courage, gulped down some Strongbow (it's a favourite drink of mine, don't judge), and said "Dad, I'm bisexual." halfway through an episode of Masterchef: Australia. "I know, your Mum told me ages ago."

This is a recurring theme: I told my Mum about Cretzal a full 3 weeks before I told my Dad, and when I did eventually tell him, he used the exact same phrase, as if he'd copy/pasted it. I just had to laugh.

And that, dear readers, is my advice to you: laugh. Make coming out funny. Do it in incongruous situations. Do it semi-nude. Do it while standing above everyone like Moses with the 10 Commandments. Do it while wearing a French Maid costume just do anything to make it enjoyable, because, y'know, Mary Poppins was right.

A spoon full of sugar and all that jazz.

You're saying the chimney sweep who has a full blown dance number with loads of dirty, sweaty guys isn't totally closeted?

You could email us at homojournal@gmail.com, or you could come and find me in that ditch somewhere, because there's no way I'll remember where I am when I eventually wake up.

Yours drunkenly,

James

Looking back on it, me, Cthulhu and 3rd Party had a habit of doing impolite things in/on each others' beds.