Everyone I meet who keeps it secret, I ask them why.  The reasons are always the same—fear of losing something, or more specifically losing someone.  Family, friends, church, one’s job—those are the big ones.

And I don’t really understand any of those.  Either people will understand—which you would expect at least from true family and friends—or they won’t, and reject you—but if they would reject you if they knew, how would not telling them help?  At best it is a sustained lie of omission;—at worst it’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing, living among the pack, praying every day the disguise doesn’t fall off—you don’t need a life like that.

Those discussions usually end in fights, especially when I say hiding just legitimizes the idea that it’s something that has to be hidden, in their eyes.

And yes, I know it’s hypocritical—they’re human, I’m not, and they don’t know it and I can’t tell them.  But it’s not because I’m afraid of losing them—I’m not even afraid of being hurt, as I know some are.

I don’t even know what it is, really.  I guess I’m just a liar.

And sometimes they ask me—if they’re still talking to me after the first blowup—what my reason is.

I’m not concerned about my family; I can’t imagine them pushing me away.  And friends, well… nothing to lose there, really.  The job is certainly not an issue; as an actor, the stereotype half expects it.

And I’ve made my peace with God.

What gets me, I guess, is that I don’t feel sure.  If I knew it, knew it for certain, I wouldn’t have any problem saying so—but I don’t know it, I don’t feel it deep down, I still have that part of me that wonders deep down if just maybe I haven’t met the right kind of person yet, maybe I could still end up choosing differently.

And that’s why I don’t tell people—not because I’d rather live a lie, but more because I’m afraid coming out might be one.  The world around me would change, and I don’t think that I’d be able to change it back if I needed to.

So they’re afraid of losing others, and I’m afraid of losing myself.

Of course, they’re farther along than I am at this point; they’ve already worked through their denial phase, or so they tell me.

I try to imagine my future; either way frightens me.

And so the ones that stuck around after the fight give up here, and tell me I’m not ready.

And I’m left alone in my bed as always.

Tags: demihumans, Nother, Rouss, scraps, writing