I’ve always prided myself on being open. I’ll try any new therapy or modality or New Age idea—and, believe me, I’ve tried them all. I’ve done the self-work. I’ve “found myself.” I’ve even practiced my affirmations. I knew who I was, without a doubt.
That’s why I found myself in unfamiliar territory when I—the open guy, the “figured out” guy, the unquestionably straight guy—realized that I was in love with my best friend, a man. A man I had known for seven years. A man I had never before even thought of in a romantic way. But, there I was, in love.
Only it didn’t start out as love. See, two summers ago, I came down with a mysterious illness. Not the common cold kind. Not even the achy back kind. This was the kind where you vomit massive amounts of blood throughout the day. The kind where doctors pass you from specialist to specialist. The kind where you’re bent over in pain with tears in your eyes.
And my roommate, Garrett, one of my best friends at the time, took pity on me. He took care of me. He picked up my prescriptions from the pharmacy. He cooked me dinner. He stayed in on Friday nights to watch movies. He’d even rub my back when I was in pain.
Each day, I waited anxiously until he came home from work. My face lit up when he surprised me with my favorite dinner. I replayed conversations we had when I was alone. I missed him when he was gone.
Two months into this routine, I had a thought—a tiny, little thought—that I loved him. It seemed preposterous. It seemed laughable. I shooed it away immediately. But that thought started creeping into my mind whenever he was away. That thought sneaked in whenever he did something nice or made me laugh.
And it all came down to this moment—one moment when he was cooking me dinner, and he looked over and smiled at me. I knew this was it. This was the moment where I had to decide if I could allow myself to love a man against everything I had previously known about myself. This was the moment when I had to decide if I was going to take a step forward into this crazy idea of telling my best friend that I loved him.
There’s a certain freedom in a life-threatening sickness. There’s a certain liberation in staring down death in the face. It makes you do crazy things. It makes you unafraid to tear down the only identity you’ve ever known for a gamble. It makes you walk right up to your best friend and tell him that you love him.
So I approached him cautiously. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I opened my mouth and no words came out. Again, I tried, and all I could say was, “Garrett, I have something to tell you.”
He looked at me earnestly.
“Garrett, I think I’m in love with you.”
His expression changed to that of confusion.
“Well, you’ve been so great and taken care of me, and I know it doesn’t make much sense. But, if I’ve ever felt love, this is it. And, well — I think I’m in love with you.”
He stopped and thought for a moment. It was a long moment. Then he opened his mouth again and asked, “Do you miss me when I’m away?”
I nodded my head slowly — uneasily.
“Do you get excited to see me?”
I nodded again, this time with a hint of uncertainty.
He looked back timidly. “Well, then I think I might love you too.”
Read the entire story on MindBodyGreen.com, where this was originally published.
The question you’ve been asking of Mike and his partner: How a Straight Man in a Gay Relationship Made It Work
What Mike learned after he shared his story: What Love Is & What Love Isn’t
Previously published on MindBodyGreen.com.
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