It doesn’t feel like a new year. Not 2004, but not really 2003 either. Just sorta yearless in a way.
It was this year in which I honestly believed I would come out to my parents. I made one of those semi-promises to myself that I’d be out by the end of 2004. Sure, in some ways it’s a good goal to have, but in other ways it still seems like some impossible feat.
The thought of telling my mom makes me cringe. Does it mean I’m not proud of who I am? Or maybe that I’m not confident enough in who she is, and how she’ll take it. And dad, ugh. See, it’s one thing to tell a friend. It’s another to tell it to the two people that have watched me grow up, the people who symbolize “home