What Was It Like To Live In The Closet For 22 Years?

Yes, you heard that right. I’m a gay man, and I’ve always known I’m gay since I was a little kid. But I lived in the closet for 22 years. Here is how it all went:

Being gay as a kid:

Of course, as a kid, I wouldn’t understand what was going on. One of my first memories as a gay kid was when I asked my mom what it was like to kiss my dad. He had a beard and I wondered what it felt like to kiss a guy who had a beard. My friends at school would talk about all the girl crushes they had, and there I was: The only boy who wouldn’t have a single girl crush at school. Most of my friends were girls. The boys at school would avoid me because, according to them, I was too effeminate, or too girly for a boy. They called me faggot, and I found that funny. I couldn’t understand the seriousness of what that word meant. I was only in third grade or something.

My voice was too girly, I liked pop music, and Opera and the girls would talk to me about their crushes. My job was always to tell them what I thought of their boy crushes.

When the boys at school were playing soccer, I was the only boy playing capture the flag with the girls. When they talked about video games, I talked about dolls. Yes, I loved dolls, but I could never let my parents see or know that I played with them. My sister had a wig when she was a kid and I remember putting it on secretly and dancing to Beyonce’s songs, or Ciara’s. I remember when my oldest sister got married, I tried my younger’s sister dress and I simply loved it. I wanted to be a girl. I felt so happy. I would walk down the hall of my house as if I was a superstar. Yep. That was me as a kid.

One more time I heard a kid in my class call me a faggot. I laughed at it. I remember I was playing soccer with my classmates for the first time. One of them said: “Faggots don’t play soccer.” His words echoed in my head for a long time. I didn’t feel offended because, once again, I had no idea what that word meant. But this time it felt worse.

One day I watched a movie with my mom. There was a couple. A mom and a dad. I wondered what it would be like if it were a dad and a dad. I wanted to see that. When they kissed in the movie, I thought of a boy in my church whom I wanted to kiss.

We were best friends, and I had feelings for him. He was my biggest crush at that time, but nobody knew it. He was so cute. We went to church together every Saturday, we sat at the same place always. We’d go eat ice cream in the village together. He was the sweetest. One day he told me he had a girlfriend. I cried so much. I didn’t know what to say to him. How would I say that I had feelings for him? What would he think? Plus, we learned at church that God created man for the woman and the woman for the man. And that God condemned any kind of affection between two men. I was a kid. I couldn’t tell my parents I loved this boy at church, and I couldn’t tell anyone either.

The more years passed; the more people started questioning my sexuality. The principal at school, the pastor at church, the people around me, some of my family members (but never my mom and my dad). I was afraid of telling my parents what I felt but at the same time, I kind of wanted them to confront me. But they never did.

My cousin came over one day. We needed to practice a skit for an easter performance we would do at church. When we were practicing, I joked saying that we should practice that skit while being naked. So, I suggested we take our clothes off. I was 9 and he was 12. He took it as a joke and said no. I had so many feelings inside of me and I couldn’t handle all of them. I didn’t know who to talk to or whom to open up about how I was feeling. I felt afraid. Maybe because I had never seen a gay couple before. Or maybe because we would always say negative things about gays at church. I grew up being taught that being gay is wrong.

I would hear the pastor say that anyone who had “those feelings” would have to pray to God for forgiveness. Those feelings were sin and that I would go to hell if I kept them. Even as a kid.

I was 9 and I started singing opera. I also started playing the piano. It was super uncommon for a nine-year-old boy to be interested in musical theater, opera, and piano. But I loved them all. The boys at school found one more reason to call me a faggot. This time, I kind of started to get what the word meant. How can little kids be so evil and mean to others? Maybe because that’s what they learn from their parents, church, and society. I was the first boy in the choir. No boy wanted to sing opera. I was part of this Performing Arts School, and some girls did dance, the boys did drums, and percussions and the other girls did opera. I was always with the girls. I remember one day I went on tour to perform on TV, and in theaters all around the country, and there was this boy who I had feelings for. He never stopped talking about the girls he wanted to make out with. Whenever the boys asked me why I chose opera and why I wouldn’t kiss any girl, I wouldn’t know what to say. They all wanted to make friends with me because they saw me as a bridge to the girls from the opera. I didn’t want to be a cupid for anyone. I wanted to be friends with the boys too. But they didn’t want to. Growing up gay (but still in the closet) made it hard to make friends with boys. They avoided me. So many of them said I was too girly.

I’ll never forget my first kiss. It was with a girl though. I remember I did it in front of the whole school. They all clapped for me, and the boys started to respect me more. The ones who bullied me decided to stop and said that now they knew I wasn’t gay. In other words, they could only respect me if I was a straight kid. The principal called my parents this day. Before my parents arrived to pick me up, the principal told me: “Gabriel, you don’t have to validate yourself.” I had no idea what that meant, but I felt like she knew I didn’t have any feelings for the girl I kissed and that I liked boys.

More boys started to join the choir. They needed tenors. I was a countertenor or male soprano. One of the boys who joined was just like me: super effeminate, talked and dressed differently, most of his friends were girls and the mean boys would also call him a faggot. We started to get close but for some reason, we had a hard time trying to show our true feelings to each other. I guess we were afraid. We were both growing up at church. One day after school, we met up at this place and I wanted to tell him that day that I wanted to kiss him. My heart was pounding. I was nervous. I was 14 years old. He had just come out of the closet. His parents threatened to kick him out of the house if he didn’t convert. He was so sad on that day. We went to this place, and we started talking about our feelings. It was the first time I was opening up about who I was, and what I felt about a boy. But it felt weird. I was scared as fuck. I gave him the suggestion to write notes instead of speaking out loud. I was afraid someone was going to hear us talk. I typed what I was going to say on my phone, and he did the same. We did it until we got super close physically. He placed his hand on my pants, and I did the same. We laughed. No one was looking and no one was around. I wanted to unzip my pants. For some reason, we both thought that kissing was going to be worse than that. We said goodbye to each other and I told him I was going to kiss him on our trip together. We were both going to be traveling to Sao Paulo for a series of performances with the choir. Before we went, we heard that boys were going to be sharing rooms with boys, and girls with girls. I was so happy. I prayed that we would be placed in the same room together.

When we arrived at the hotel, we found out we weren’t going to be put in the same room together. That was a bummer. I had to figure out how to kiss him on that trip. It was going to be my very first real kiss. We never managed to. We were super busy with the rehearsals, the trips, the performances. We had to be on TV on one day, at this theater another day, at this tourist sight this other day. So we were never able to sneak into each other’s room.

After 7 days of trying to figure out how to do that, it was time to go back home. On the way back, our group leader said that we could choose whoever we wanted to sit next to. We were so happy. We sat next to each other on the bus and talked for the entire trip back to our town. I touched his hair trying to show him some love, and he held my hands. The way we talked was the same: We would write notes on our phones because we didn’t want anybody to hear what we had to say.

When we got off the bus, we said goodbye and that was the last time I saw him. I don’t know what happened to him. Sometimes I wonder if his parents did kick him out of the house and he had to flee somewhere. His parents were pastors at the church, and they “couldn’t” have a gay son.

High School

In high school, I started to get more involved at church. My friends at school would ask me if I was gay, and because I was a member of the church, I had to say no. I denied every single day of my life all the feelings I had for boys. I would pray every single day asking God to remove whatever personality trait or any feeling I had that would make people think I was gay. I left the choir, and I joined the Theology School of my church. The thing is: I do believe in God. I still consider myself to be a Christian (I wrote an article on faith which I will also publish this month of June). But because Brazil is the number one country that kills LGBTQIA+ people, because the church is super homophobic, because my friends and family members wouldn’t accept, I denied I was gay. I denied it so much until it became true. I turned this lie into a truth about myself. I lied about who I was for the 3 years of high school, and I felt proud whenever at church I would say God didn’t approve of homosexuality, and that gays were sinners. I talked about marrying a girl in the future, and that God was going to send the girl of my dreams to me. I talked about sex after marriage only, and that I couldn’t just make out with any girl because that was a sin (it was crystal clear that I was afraid to kiss a girl). I avoided all the gay boys who were already out of the closet because I knew they would easily find out I was gay too.

When I was 17, I met another guy who was also gay. He was my best friend’s brother. But he wasn’t out of the closet. We would talk late at night about making out, and having sex, but we would have to come up with ways for nobody to find out. One day, we went to church together and after church, I called my mom and asked her if it was ok to sleepover at his house. She said yes. On that night, I had sex for the first time. But nobody knew about it.

I felt terrible after that day. I thought I was going to hell for laying with another man. I felt bad because of all the teachings I had received from the church during my whole life. They taught me about homosexuality as an abomination. As something bad. But not only bad for my religion, but bad for society as well. I couldn’t be gay because I would be a threat to my neighbors, church friends, and classmates.

The more people I met, the more I was asked if I was gay. Everybody noticed it. But I denied it every single time. I denied it because I was afraid. I lived in fear every single day. What if my parents found out? What if my friends found out? Would I still be able to attend church? Would my parents still love me? I was born that way. I remember having those feelings since I was little. Why would God make me that way then? Why would he create a gay man and then later say I am his biggest regret, abomination, or shame? Why was I a threat to society? So this is why I denied it. I denied it every time. I made out with girls so I could use that as an excuse every time somebody asked me if I was gay. I talked about marrying a woman. But I knew deep inside it wasn’t what I wanted or how I felt. I knew who I was, and where I had been. I just couldn’t see where I was going. I had a feeling somebody was going to find out somehow.

I lied for a long time. I grew up watching the boys at school make out with their girl crushes and their parents approving it all. I grew up watching straight couples kiss on TV, but hearing that a gay man was murdered in town simply for the fact of being gay. I grew up watching on the news that transgender women were kidnapped and later found dead in the woods. I heard pastors, religious leaders, church members say that God loves all sinners but he doesn’t love sin. And that homosexuality is a sin and that God hates that practice. I watched people hurt and offend the LGBTQIA+ community for years, and be proud of that. Growing up at church made it hard to talk about my sexuality and feelings. It made it hard to be who I am supposed to be. I grew up hearing rumors that the pastor didn’t want me to be part of the dance ministry or the church choir because gays can’t serve in the house of God. That gays are sinners and sinners don’t have a place at church. So this is why I lied. So this is how I had to live for 22 years. In the darkness of the closet. And worst than that: This is how millions of Brazilians still live. Gay kids are forced to embrace an identity that does not belong to them. An identity that does not describe who they are. So this is why I lied. And this was how I lived. But thank God for traveling. Leaving my homophobic country allowed me to find myself and live my truth unapologetically. And this is what you will find out soon: How I came out of the closet.

To be continued…