A closet
Filled yet empty
Mementos of a life
I no longer wish to lead
An identity that I have
But no longer wish to carry
He has plenty to wear
I have nothing
It’s a Monday morning when I walk into my closet. On Mondays, I have to go into the office, which means business casual attire. It also means eyes. The eyes of other people on me as I walk from my car to my office building. The eyes of my co-workers as I ride the elevator to my floor and then make the walk to my office. They don’t even have to look my way for me to feel them. I know they are there. I know they are inspecting me, measuring me, judging me. Inside my office, there’s some respite, but not nearly enough.
As I look over wardrobe options and try to make a decision, my eyes are immediately drawn to it, the short sleeve lavender v-neck blouse hanging up at the front of all my shirts. I reach out to touch it, feeling its softness on my finger tips. I love this blouse. I remember the day I bought it fondly.
It was a Saturday. It had been almost one month since I had come out to her. Since that day, we had done a few little shopping trips to test the waters and I was starting to feel more confident shopping in public, but as we stood at the entrance to the store, my nerves went haywire. In that moment, I was torn between a desire to go in and a desperate need to run as far away as quickly as possible. Sensing just how nervous I was, my wife took my hand, reassured me that it was okay, and led me into the store.
I kept hold of her hand as we walked around, looking at everything. I mostly let my wife lead the way, letting her pick things out and ask me my opinions on them. She knew all of this better than I did and had more sense of what would look good on me. Plus, it helped calm my anxiety, letting her be my guide into this new world.
However, I spotted the lavender blouse first. I had turned away from my wife for just the briefest moment and saw it across the store. I let go of my wife’s hand and walked directly to it. It called to me and I had to answer. A few seconds later, my wife caught up and stood beside me.
“Oh, I like that,” she said, breaking me out of my trance.
“Yeah?” I replied.
“Absolutely! that would look really good on you.”
I blushed as the smallest smile began to slowly spread across my face. “Yeah?” I said again as I turned to her, searching her expression.
Grinning, she replied, “Yep! Grab it and let’s try it on!”
Moments later, one of the shop attendants ushered us to our changing room. Once behind the closed doors, my wife sat down on the padded bench next to the mirror. She took my bra and molds out of her purse and handed them to me, two of my first purchases since coming out to my wife. I had tried clothing on without these before, but it felt important for me to know how clothes would fit with them on. I needed to better see the woman I wanted to be.
I grabbed the bra and put it on backwards before spinning it around into the correct position. Part of me hated that I still had to do it this way, but it was easier for me at the time. Next came the molds. They felt cold on my skin and I put them on and adjusted them into the correct spot. Ready to go, I took the blouse off the hanger and put it on, adjusting it to sit on my shoulders in the way I had been instructed. I took a breath, turned around, and looked in the mirror.
I saw myself. Though, Not the person that everyone else normally sees. I saw the person I am, the person who had spent her entire life hidden deep inside. The person I desperately wished others could see.
A wave of emotions hit me then. It was an overwhelming sense of unbridled joy that started in my heart and flowed through every fiber of my being. I couldn’t help but stand there in stunned silence as I tremulously began to smile. Happy tears welled in my eyes. I looked to my wife, who smiled right back at me.
“Oh, I like that,” she said cheerfully. “What do you think?”
“Yes…I…I love it,” I confirmed in a shaky voice.
She stood and wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight.
“Let’s get it then”, she said cheerfully.
Today, standing in my closet, I know that blouse won’t do. As much as I want to grab it, throw it on with the skirt I bought on another one of our shopping trips, I know I can’t. Though I want the whole world to know my truth, I’m not ready. At my worst moments, I think that I may never be.
Instead, I push the blouse out of the way and start inspecting my dress shirts, the ones that people like me are supposed to wear. There’s the solid blue one, the solid white one, the gingham one, the striped one, and several others just like them. All equally suitable to the task at hand. It’s the same for my chinos and my ties. They are all just a bland blur of things I wear so everyone can look at me and see what they want to see. They are all just different shades of the same boring costume.
I start to put on these costume pieces. They feel so heavy, as if each one is made of woven strands of lead. My shoulder slump, my hips ache from the weight of it all. More than that, I can feel my spirit, my joy become crushed under the weight. With each zipper and button, I feel the weight increase. I become trapped in my own textile prison, unable to escape.
I take the two steps to the full-length mirror and stand in front of it to do one last check of my outfit. The costume looks fine, but I don’t see myself. Instead, I see what I am forced to be. I see the person people expect to see. I see the son, the husband, the coworker that everyone wants me to be. I feel my chest begin to tighten and the old familiar stabbing pain begin to take hold of my heart.
On the verge of tears, I sit down on the bench in our closet and try to compose myself. I close my eyes and try to take some deep breaths. I inhale for four seconds, hold for four, then exhale for four. I remind myself that I have to be strong. There are people who are counting on me. They expect me to do great things, to make them proud. I cannot let them down. I cannot let this part of me, this deviant, unnatural part of me ruin it all. It’s impossible anyway, my dream. It may make me feel the deepest, most resonant joy I have ever felt in my life, but it’s still just a dream.
I look up and see my wardrobe in its totality. I stare at all of it for a moment. There’s the lavender blouse. There’s a few other recent additions, bright spots that also bring me joy. Then there’s the rest. Just like what I am wearing, they are interchangeable pieces of my textile prison meant to project an image of the person I am forced to be. They hang there and sit there as symbols of my eternal cage. A cage that I will never be able to escape.
That’s when the tears come. One, two, then all of them. I double over and put my elbows on my knees and put my head in my hands. My body begins to shake and my breath becomes short as I sob and sob. The stabbing pain in my chest intensifies. I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.
It’s then that I feel her hands on my shoulders. I have no idea when she came in, but she’s here now, putting her head against mine and trying to soothe me. “It’s okay babe. I’m here, I have you.”
“I…I can’t….I just can’t…” I stutter out between sharp breaths.
“I know. I know. And it’s okay.” she says in a calm, soothing tone.
It takes a few minutes, but slowly the tears stop. The pain does not leave me, not completely, but I am more composed. I look my wife in her eyes, sure that my eyes are red and puffy. I can feel just how much snot is on my hands. I am a fucking mess.
“Honey, I think it’s time you talk to someone,” she said.
And she was right. It was time.
This is beautiful and heartbreaking. I know the feeling all too well.