Jack Freedman published a letter he wrote to his father 22 years ago on his Facebook, hoping to inspire others to come out themselves. H/T: Queerty.

22 years ago, Jack Freedman came out to his father, an ex-marine, with a written letter. On September 11th, Freedman published that coming out letter on Facebook.

facebook.com

September 1, 1992

Dear Dad,

I've tried to write this letter so many times over the last six months (in fact this is the third draft of this one). It seems, however, that every time I do, the words just don't come out or it's not the right time for me or it's not the right time for you… I realize that I no longer have a clue as to when the "right" time would be. Actually, I think I'm just waiting for it to be easy and I know that is not going to happen.

What I need to tell you is that I'm gay. I think you may have already guessed. You may have guessed a long time ago. I don't know. There are tears running down my face as I write. Why? Relief? Excitement? Fear? Probably a bit of each. I'm so worried that this will change the way you see me. I'm worried that you are jaded and influenced by society's attitudes towards gay people. I'm so scared that assumptions and stereotypes and fears will take over and nothing will be the same between us anymore. What could possibly be going through your mind while you read this? I'm so afraid that you will feel betrayed, hurt, embarrassed and angry. You have a right to those feelings, to an extent, but you need to wipe out all the stereotypes you carry, erase all the rumors you've heard and realize that I'm the same person I've always been.

Mom has known since she surprised me by showing up at graduation in LA. I had planned on telling you both at the same time when I was ready. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. When she was there, she could tell I was happier and I guess I was talking about new friends and that I was more comfortable with myself, etc. She asked me directly and I have come too far to lie. We stayed up late in my apartment talking about it and she had many questions, but made it clear it did not change how she felt about me. In the wee hours of the morning, though, I woke up and heard her crying. I went to her and started to tell her, "Mom, it's ok. I'm happy to finally be honest. You don't have to cry." She said, "No, honey, you don't understand. I'm crying because of all those years you had to hide this while thinking I might not love you if I knew the truth."

I hope you don't feel resentful, although I guess I'd understand if you do. Ironic that I pride myself on being so open and honest about how I think and feel and, yet, I've hidden this part of myself from you. I hope you realize that the reason I'm telling you is so you can be a complete part of my life. I don't want to have to censor myself around you or not tell you about the people I care about or, more important, about the people who care about me.

So, where do I start? In third grade, I sure as hell didn't know what to call it, but I remember knowing I was different. In junior high, I tried to deny it. In high school, I made a conscious decision never to tell anybody as long as I lived. Can you imagine the feelings a fifteen year old has deciding not to tell anyone something so intimate about oneself…because the world thinks it's disgusting? I knew the world thought that this part of me that I could not change was revolting to people. All I wanted was to be accepted and all I saw was this huge part of me that would forever deny me that feeling. I grew up knowing I was something the world, at best, mocked, and at worst, loathed.

Can you imagine the pain this caused me growing up? The loneliness? The constant worry that someone would "find me out?" I don't mean to sound self-pitying or melodramatic, but you need to know. I always knew I was different and that this difference was, by society's judgments, bad. Imagine knowing something so intrinsic about yourself and having to hide it from everyone you love because you're afraid they will stop loving you back. Imagine having to put on a mask everyday and pretend to be someone you're not. Then, one day you realize that the effort it takes to pretend like that everyday has stopped you…me…from being who I really am. I stopped knowing myself. Imagine trying not to have feelings that come totally naturally to you. It was so awf