I quit. I'm gay.

“I quit.”

Month after month of working myself to exhaustion at a high stress job that gave me a good paycheck at the expense of my self worth had finally come to an end, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to jump right back into it. I’d grown used to the rigorous schedules, the strict attendance policies, to the constant cigarette smoking and drinking as ways to try to cope with the intense workload I’d always been given; and again, the money I received for it was phenomenal.

The constant loads of stress were finally catching up to me though, and the high turnover of the company I worked for was a weight knotted by just a thin thread above my head. The thread, at any moment, could be torn in two; and I would be, just a moment later, the inevitable victim of both gravity and erosion. My anxiety and mood swings were getting continually worse, and an inconsistent schedule is not a great thing to deal with constantly while also starting out on lexapro. I felt deeply hopeless. It was as if I were chained up beneath the weight, unable to free myself, unable to pursue my own passions in my own life.

These feelings of being trapped in a place where I did not belong took me back to my moment of coming out at fifteen years old. I felt like a teapot, with this fire of truth burning beneath me. My gayness was boiling to the brim, having me screeching, hoping that somebody would notice, that somebody would comfort me and remind me that it was all going to be alright. I needed to spill the tea, if you will, and be true to myself and who I was– even though I had no idea what the consequences which came with the truth would be.

In both of these scenarios, I took a pretty straightforward approach in my attempt to become the most honest version of myself. “I quit.” “I’m gay”. There isn’t much more to be said than that. I needed to free myself, and I was the only one who could give myself that freedom which I craved. There was no need for me to give any more of myself without that same reciprocation, or without that same respect which I had given to them.

In my coming out and in quitting my job, I was no more than a messenger. My duty was to relay to them my truth, my needs; and their duty in this process was to accept it and to move on from it with the same respect they had for me before.

I’ve since realized though, that I was overcoming the same impediment twice. I came out because of this truth burning deep inside of me. I couldn’t bear to be living the life of somebody who I could never be. In quitting my job, I couldn’t bear to be working myself to bare bones for a paycheck instead of pursuing my art and my writing in hopes that I could at least have a positive influence on one person’s life.

“I quit”. “I’m gay”.

Those are two statements I could never regret giving to anybody. I am proud of who I am, I am proud of the progress I’ve made as an artist and as a writer. I have so much more life to live, and who knows what opportunities are waiting just around the corner for us. It’s time we be proud of the truth and the passion boiling to the brim inside of us.