Someone once attacked one of my opinions on this site by questioning how "out" I am. (curiously this individual had yet to come out to his family.) Well, I just re-read that post and it has set me thinking.

When I think back on coming out at a young age, for the times it was young (I was 19 in 1975). I remember that it seemed like the right thing to do. The honorable thing. The truth. I didn't anticipate the prejudice I would face. I have since spent more of my life out of the closet than in. That's something to celebrate, or is it?

I know that I have influenced hundreds of people. Many times I have been told basically "you are the one." You are the gay person who showed me that gay people are not monsters but can be respected and loved. After I came out, that was something I found I was good at. Proving our merit. Being the "gay friend" that folks could say they have and love.

What I was thinking about tonight was the protests in the 70s. The endless meetings. Stuffing envelopes. Holding fund raisers. And more fund raisers and making posters and flyers and hanging them and passing them out at the bar while everyone partied inside. And being called a radical and a freak by the closet cases as they left the bar as if I was trying to make their life more miserable then it all ready was.

And what I was thinking about is that I am alone. Most of the folks I protested with and came out with are long dead, my age group was the hardest hit. We didn't know. Now we do.

What I am feeling now, I wish I could put into words. If it's survivors guilt, I might be ashamed. What I am thinking is, my life would have been better if I had stayed in the closet. At least a couple more years. Maybe I could have made a career. I always knew I could live this long, I had no idea what that would mean.