August 1995

Homophobia in the home is so much more delicate and confounding than homophobia in the public, more painful. The time I was struck with a rock at Charmer's wasn't nearly as emotionally grueling as yesterday with mom. I've been trying to connect with PFLAG here and have been getting mail from them. Yesterday I got a phone call from them. When I hung up mom asked me who that was and what the conversation she had overheard was all about. Naturally, I told her the truth, though a bit reluctantly. She had a fit. It was shocking. I had thought that the whole point of coming out to her at eighteen was that by my twenties she would have dealt with it. Suddenly both mom and I were faced with these immense and forgotten feelings of guilt and confusion. She said that I ought to go back to Chicago if I wanted to live "that way", that it's "abnormal" for me to be gay and my only option is to "change". Fighting my own rage and tears I explained to her as calmly as I could that she was speaking out of ignorance and that she needed to go through a process of opening up. After all, I had supported her through her struggles. Finally I broke down, 'Four years later you're giving me this bullshit?' She was silent and would not speak to me. 'We need to communicate,' I pressed. She opened the glass sliding door and stepped outside into the yard, turned her back and wept in the sun. I could see her body heaving with grief. I followed. 'I love you,' I said, speaking through the wall that isolated us both, dividing us eternally, 'I don't want to leave. I can't stand it that you're here alone.' And we cried together.
I feel guilty for causing my mother so much pain. But I don't want to go back to my lonely life in Chicago. And I understand that she creates her own pain with her resistance. All the same, it is difficult for the both of us.
In my mind I say a million things to her, some rational, most raging and bitter.
For two days I've had to control my anger with mom, society, life. After all, it's not her fault for feeling the things she feels. But it is well within her power to make a much needed transition into acceptance. It is within everyone's power!
Brandon was sympathetic by phone. I bewildered.
I even called dad. It was nice talking to him. He was sweet. Mom said bitterly, "You don't love anyone!"
There will never be recovery for us if she does not let go of her many grudges from the years.
Thank God for work.
Now with a beer- Mmm, it's delicious- and a pack of Camels, I just need to wait and see.
Hoping she'll stop being the victim.
Between mom's depression and dad's alcoholism I am left to struggle loving them while actually hating. It's damaging.
When I got home from work I discovered mom entertaining some friends. She had made the cake I love so much, and I wondered if this was a truce of sorts. A truce with conditions? All I can do is wait. We laughed and talked. Now everyone's gone, mom's in bed, and I'm… well, with you.
This is a big one and I'm reminded of feelings I haven't had in years.
Letters to friends express what I feel and ache. And powers I feel listening remind me I am not alone. Never alone.

I am now an unbelievable twenty-two. This afternoon I feel great because I have just read the epilogue to a Tennessee Williams collection of short stories. In it he writes of his family's pain, his father's anger, and in the end thanks his father for a great gift. I am comforted and inspired. Great writers, musicians, inventors, scientists, all artists of life pave the way that the rest of us tread. It's Tennessee Williams by day and Anne Rice by night.