There is nothing as hard as doing a sequel for a story that you did in a completely different mood and setting. Getting back into that energy and momentum is just about the hardest part of writing I have ever had to fight. Finally!!! After a month long, and a thousand attempts, I’m giving you guys the second part of my coming out story. We are going to keep it simpler, and realer.
And by the way peeps, happy new year. This is the decade most of us will be married, sire children, divorce, and turn into those lousy middle class sponyos who parade the streets of Nairobi in Harriers and bellies larger than a woman expectant of quadruplets. But si ni life. My bishop says this is the decade of the miraculous. May you experience supernatural expansion in your finances, in your business, and in your marriages. Receive it in Jesus’ name!!!
Anywhos guys, a lot has been going on since the last time I posted (damn I sound like one of those Youtubers in my head). Christmas came and went, and if you know me you probably know it’s one of those times of the year I dread the most. Christmas reminds me of my childhood, of the innocence and freedom and happiness and love I had as a child, something I can never have again. So yeah, I was feeling a bit down, especially on the eve of 25th. Then I almost messed up my perfect relationship by flirting with some human and was on the verge of depression and all that shit. It sucked as hell. Who knew a grown-ass man could cry so much? Save the judgements for the comment section at the bottom of the page.
Now, back to my story.
RECAP
Nonetheless, I purposed to hold on just a little bit longer. He was a few months away from sitting his final national exams. I knew he was scared. Scared of what lay ahead of him. I thought that after completing his exams and stepping out there, he would calm his a** down, conquering his fears. So, for a few months, I held on to whatever little hope I had left. And prayed that he’d get back to his former self. Unaware of what awaited me on the other side of his life, I celebrated him as he finally sat for his KCSE.
That marked the end of 2013. I went home for Christmas so we didn’t communicate until after I came back January of the following year. By this time the condition back in my brother’s house took a turn for a dreaded worse. When I came back, I found out that he had had a fight with the wife (like he always had, a thousand times before). The wife had packed out with their daughter and had gone to her parents’ (like she always had, a million times before). Little did anyone know that was the last time she would be seen in my brother’s house.
After their exams Ray’s aunt had taken him and another cousin of his to the coast for a get together or whatever they called it those days, so we went for about 2 months before we made contact. He came back at around early February bearing gifts. I don’t know if I mentioned this earlier but he would always bring me gifts, which unfortunately would end up getting confiscated by my brother. He would never ask where I got them from, he’d just take them.
When he came back Ray wasn’t really changed, but he’d bring me gifts anyway. I remember the aggressions would still be there, and this one time he hurt me really bad that for the first time I seriously considered a separation. Now, I’m not gonna sit behind my keyboard and lie to you guys that I hadn’t seen it coming. A part of me saw the inevitable end the first time he raised his hand at me. But I guess I was just in denial. I guess I believed things would work out somehow, that he would go back to being the nice loving kid that had helped me understand who I was. for that little hope I held on. I mean, this is a guy I had spent close to 4 years with, the guy who had deflowered me, the guy who was my first love, even at that young stupid age. He was the same person who had helped me discover myself, taught me to love me, had been there for me when I lost the people who mattered the most in my world. Of course, we had a history, we had a special connection that somewhat I would pray to God to past the test of time, and whatever else the abuse was.
I have come to realize that the reason most people, especially women stay in abusive marriages is because deep down, they know their men are loving and deserving of love. That monster was once their source of happiness, and things like that are just hard to let go, no matter how much the present may hurt. You always believe and pray that destiny will restore those precious moments.
About a week ago my bestest best friend finally ended things with his boyfriend of 2 years and 7 months. Our best friendship is about 2 years 9 months old. I guess by the time we were becoming friends he and the guy was about to make their thing official. So, for 2 years and 7 months I watched my best friend fall in love, and fight to stay in love. About a year down the line things started falling apart in their relationship. But with all honesty, they started experiencing troubles a few months after they hooked up, with the boyfriend moving to Uganda 2 months into the relationship, I think. Now I’m not the one to judge people for the choices they make, especially if its for their happiness. My best friend moved from an emotionally and psychologically abusive relationship when he was about 19 into this relationship. He was young, he wanted to be loved, but above all, he wanted to love. When you are young, and hungry for love, you ignore a lot of red flags, a mistake he did, and by the time he was coming to the realization about a year down the line, he was already in so deep that the only way out was to continue fighting to remain in love.
People are created differently, and for that I will not judge, neither will I take sides, but the truth of the matter is that my friend’s boyfriend never really appreciated the love he got, or at least never knew how to reciprocate. He would commit one atrocity after the other, but deep down he somewhat loved my friend. I guess that’s why my friend held on. He told me when they broke up that “he always believed he (the boyfriend) would one day change and be the man of his dreams.” I’ve never offered so much relationship advises, and done so many relationship counselling as I did this particular relationship. The friend was determined to make it work. He was in love, and he knew it. Unfortunately for the better part of the relationship, it was fighting to maintain it, rather than actually enjoying the love. I’m sharing this information because I understand, and I’d wish we all understand the pain of fighting, of turning a blind eye to facts and actions, of ignoring ‘em all red flags, of living in that fantasy world, and wishing it would come true. Doesn’t make sense yet? Read on.
By the time Ray came back I was in form 3. That period that you really begin to think about your future, and strategize on how you are going to actualize your dreams and ambitions in life. I had been a child the most part of my life. Raised as an only kid by mother, I had grown to having people figuring out what I wanted, and how to get it, people worrying about what my tomorrow would be like. When my mum died Ray had taken over the mantle. My point is, in all the discovering myself sexually and trying to define my gender from within, I had never spent a single day to really think about my future, what I wanted to do after school, and all that. Ray had always been the one to make the plans. My duty was to live one day at a time, waiting for our “future” to happen.
With the abuses intensifying, I suddenly felt the need to define my life independently, and I had no idea how. I had no one to speak to. I had no friends even in school, let alone a best friend. I had spent most of my school life fighting to become a great leader (I was the chairperson for both the journalism and debate clubs, a scout, and the secretary for clubs and societies in our little-known school) that I had actually sabotaged all my chances of making any real friend. When you are a leader in high school it kinda messes up with your social interactive skills. You tend to think that the only way to be respected is to be strictly authoritative. I had my fair share of that. And in all fairness, leadership was the only platform that made me feel respected, wanted. It gave me some sense of purpose and direction. At least I had some real-world duty to my school.
I managed to maintain a smile, a straight face, and lead a team of very dedicated students in the clubs and the what-nots, but deep inside I was crumbling. I had no clear career path set yet. I loved a lot of things, was passionate about a ton of fields that I had no idea how would work. Having been raised in a salon I wanted to go into the beauty industry out of passion. I loved speaking in front of people so I guess I had the media industry to consider. Then there was the compassionate part of me that always wanted to go into an industry that would allow me give back, and impact the society in whatever way I could (this is where I’m finally landing myself). But I had no idea how I’d make all these concepts work together. My school had no clear career guidance platform so students would pretty much figure themselves out. Let’s add this to my list of other problems.
Back at my brother’s place things were only getting worse, he had gone into drinking full-swing, and completely neglected his guardian duties. I remember I’d come from school in the evening and sit outside the house since he would be gone for a drinking spree and would never bother leaving the house keys with anyone. Ooh, and before you ask, he had refused to give me the spare key, said he always wanted to know when I get back from school. I’m talking about my brother and all that because it also played a part in influencing my decision to come out of the closest when I did. I remember the many nights that I didn’t go to bed hungry was because of the neighbors who would take it upon themselves to give me a share of whatever meal they had prepared for their families, as I waited for my brother to come home past midnight with the day’s provision. You would think that at form 3 one would be accorded some ample time for their studies and all that, but I would always wait by my brother’s shop every evening from school up to around 9 or 10 pm is when he’d come back. I’d have that limited time before bed to worry about cleaning my uniform, doing the house chores, preparing the day’s meal and having some prep study time, although that last part would in most cases be foregone. Why lie?
Outside the house Ray wasn’t making my life any easier, he would still beat the crap out of me, and no, he wasn’t on drugs or anything. Now that I think back, its funny how amidst all that beating and verbal abuse, I’d always look forward to our next meeting, because each moment with him would remind me of how life was when we met, of how happy I was when my mother was alive. He was the only living memory of my previous life. Things had escalated so quickly for the worse everywhere I looked that mostly I would feel like I was dreaming, or that I had teleported into a different world. It’s not every day that a kid who is used to being his mother’s most-priced treasure suddenly finds himself in a situation that breaks the core of his very existence, one that forces him to grow into a real man in 2 years. Ray was the only reminder I had that the life I was living at the moment was a continuation of what I had had 2 or 3 years back, and I needed this reminder to stay sane. My friends have asked me times without number why I persevered all the abuse with Ray, there is the honest answer today.
I’m sorry if I’m rushing the story, and jumping between events and all that. I’m trying to work within a given page limit, else I may end up typing a whole booklet and boring you guys with lots of graphic details.
What was the wakeup call from the abuse? I’m sure all of you have been dying to find out how it ended, so I’m not gonna keep you speculating any longer. This one time, it was a Saturday evening to be exact, Ray showed up drunk at my brother’s house. He would mostly come there on Saturdays because I would leave school early, and my brother would spend most of the Saturdays at our village, or go some other place I never cared to know, before returning the previous morning. It was the one time of the week I would finally get to have some peace, quiet and sanity. Ray showing up drunk was a shocker to me because in all the years I had known him, he had never as much tested a non-alcoholic wine. But him being drunk wasn’t as bad as what he told me. I had grown used to him punching me around, yelling and then breaking down in the recent months, but he had never verbally abused me, tore me down with his cold tongue, which he did that day.
He came in looking all calm and collected, and I could tell he was exhausted. He was giving in, and I remember him telling me it was time I woke up from my dreams. He said I would never have whatever we had dreamed about all the time we had been together because I wasn’t good enough. He said I had some dark energy in me that drew the life out of everyone and everything I came into contact with. I didn’t mention it earlier, but I was raised by my adoptive mother because my biological mother died when I was about a year old. Ray used my biological mum’s death, my adoptive mum’s death, my father’s death, and my brother’s cruelty to remind me how miserable I was. he said my life was worthless, and that’s why I had no friend, no one to talk to except him. He reminded me how I was surrounded by a magnitude of people, yet was always lonely, because I wasn’t loveable, and nobody would ever love. He said a lot of shit, trust me, that I wouldn’t be able to share all with you guys. He would look at me straight in the eye, eyes stone cold and hard, teeth clenching to produce that hissing sound that seemed to be piercing right through my heart, and stress on one word after the other. And with each word I would feel him slicing my soul, drawing the breath out of me.
I’mma pose here and tell y’all the valuable lesson I learnt from this experience. I have come to realize that the people closest to us break us the most because we let them in on our fears, and our shortcomings. I’m not saying it’s wrong to share your story with somebody else. I mean, I’m doing the same right now. But be careful the people who you open up to, because you give them the power to define you, and one negative comment from them your world will come crumbling down at your feet. After Ray I had quite a tough time trusting people, least of all sharing with them my fears. Most of my friends know me as this bad-ass bitch who has his sh*t together, they think I don’t break down or have doubts and all that. On the outside my life looks composed, successful even, yet they know so little about the scared child in me.
Just last month on the morning of Christmas when I was still breaking from the eve I remember opening up to my other best friend, and he was shocked as hell when I told him stuff about my parents and how their deaths always affected my festive moods. This is a guy I have known for 2 years. We have been places together, laughed and shared intimate moments, but he never knew my story. He had no idea how I got to living on my own, why I never talk about my family and all that. My point is, when Ray used what he knew about me against me, it made me realize that I had given him the power to know me, and by that he would define, build and then break me. He left me with trust issues that I’m still battling today, which is why it is easier for me to take to social media, or my blog to rant rather than approach a friend who is willing to give me a listening ear.
I had spent 4 years breathing in the affirmation and praise Ray offered. I had built my personality on his opinion and thoughts about me, I had let him define me, not just sexually. And when he said those words that day, my whole life literally came crumbling at my feet. To say I felt helpless and worthless would be an understatement. My life had no purpose, no worth, it was all pain. I remember sinking into the deepest depression I think there can ever be for mankind. In a span of 2 months I had thought of suicide like a million times, and had gone way past the brink of breaking apart. I attempted suicide thrice, and for some reason at the very final moment I just couldn’t do it. I still don’t know what forces held me back at those moments when I was just 2 seconds away from breathing my last.
In school my grades dropped like crazy, not that I had been one of the brightest. Mbona niwadanganye eti I was a nerd? I was an average performer, but for 2 terms I sank so low that my teachers gave up counselling, or whatever they do in those discussions following exam results. And I would bring the results to my brother and all he would say was, “finish wasting my money and go and open a village barber shop.” Actually, I’m being nice. His exact words would be something like, “finish wasting my money in high school. You will go and beg for work in one of those village barber shops.” Ever been at that place where you feel like the entire universe is conspiring to send you a message? I was convinced I wasn’t good enough. My boyfriend had told me so, and now my brother was condemning me to a mediocre life after school. At only 17 years I was faced with so much negativity that I’d look up and all I would see was blank. My boyfriend wasn’t done abusing me, my brother wouldn’t pay my fees in time, not that he had been any consistent, but this time I spent more time in the house than I did at school. Actually, in form 4 I remember for the final term I only went to school for the national exams. I spent the first 2 months in the house because my brother said he was done paying my fees, and that I would clear whatever arrears I had on my own. As I post this, I have never gone back to clear my fees and everything. I have never even collected my KCSE certificate. Na watu wa Tala wanadhani wananitisha na threats za CRB.
Anywhos, somewhere towards the mid of 2014, I got help from a place, or rather person I least expected. I remember this one time I was sitting in the school field when this nerd approached me. He was one of the brightest students not just in our class, but in the entire school. But he was more known for his discipline, having won the award for the most disciplined student twice in a row. I mean, this kid had only been punished once in his entire high school career, tukiwa form 1, and that was because the entire classroom had been punished for failing to sweep. Now here we were, in form 3. This kid had built a reputation for himself, yet he was interacting with me, the only known gay kid in the school. That’s right. A month or two before then I might have made a pass at a form 2 boy which never went well and he ended up running his mouth literally in the entire school, and I was too exhausted to give a fuck, or at least react to it. Plus, as a respected council secretary no one would ever really approach me to confront me, although the school president and his deputy had sat me down one time and I admitted everything. That’s a story for another day, but that was pretty much it. There were whispers along the corridors and pathways, but it would always be just that.
Back to our story, this kid, of all the people approaching me, and asking to know me beyond the façade I put on, was the first step to my recovery and everything. I will delve on to the details of our friendship in yet another article as I talk about building families and friendships that last beyond. But he introduced me to the school counselor, who, unsurprisingly, was one of his good friends, not just a teacher. For the first time I openly talked about the challenges I faced, my being gay, my fears in life, and as a team we worked towards making me straight, which obviously did not work. My new friend realized this after a month or so, and decided to change his tact. We were no longer working towards fighting the “demon” in me, but rather he was helping me embrace who I really was, and taught me how to love myself and stand up for me. Through him I finally got the strength to ask Ray for a break up, which never went well.
As the scared and confused little boy he was, Ray turned into manipulation and blackmail to keep me. He threatened to tell my brother that I was gay if I insisted on leaving him. He took it a notch higher in declaring that I was his property when he started forcing me into sleeping with him. It took me quite a long time before I finally accepted the fact that I was a victim of rape at that point. I was in deep denial that what was once my haven was now my worst nightmare, and that the guy I would passionately give myself to had turned into my regular rapist. I don’t know what’s worse; being raped once by some stranger, or being sexually abused repeatedly by someone so close to you, and being helpless about it? Ray would have me however, whenever he would feel like. I no longer had a say in our sex life. Everything was on his term. There was no passion in it, just roughness and pain and being used as a sex object, and more pain. And at the end of it, he would always remind me that I was nothing more than a means for his sexual gratification. This is why I’m always so vocal against sexual exploitation, abuse in relationships, and all other forms of people taking advantage of other people.
Unfortunately, I never left Ray. The price to pay for that was too heavy. I could never risk my brother finding out I was gay. He had made it clear times without number that he was tired of supporting a loser, and I knew any little issue, any little slip on my end, and he would throw me out without thinking twice. Of course, I knew I would eventually end up alone after my high school, but I never wished to rush the inevitable. There was my education to think about. I didn’t have much hope academically to be honest, but being a form 4 leaver sounded better than being a high school dropout. And then there was my extended family which was, and still is, so opinionated. With no apologies, extended family refers to any child of my father’s who does not love me for me.
So, for the next months I fought. My new friend together with the school counselor made me realize I had so much to live for. They gave me this new perspective in life that allowed me to persevere the assaults and abuse from Ray, and the hardships with my brother. Through them I had a new family that deeply cared. We would eat together every evening at the counselor’s house within the school, tell a few stories and laugh our hearts out before I finally went back home. My friend knew about the sexual abuses that would take place every Saturday evening and on Sundays when we went for our regular math test, he would always be waiting with a lollipop and painkillers. You can laugh now, but we wasn’t laughing back then about this. There is nothing as embarrassing, and as moving at the same time, as having a straight friend who cares that much that another dude raped me. As for Ray, I had grown used and numb to the pain he brought me. After all, he had done his worse. He had hit me, broken me with his words, raped me, made me denounce love. What much worse could he do? I knew it would eventually come to pass. Tough tips melt. If you are my good friend you must have heard me use the phrase, “tough tips melt” a couple of times. I got it from my nerd friend during this period.
Months of abuse, sexual exploitation and psychological torture ended in Ray one day just disappearing. He just vanished. We went for 3 weeks without talking before I suspected something was amiss. I called his aunt whose phone number I had had for 3 years now. She said one Tuesday morning Ray left home and never came back. I don’t wish to go into all the police details and the what nots, but the bottom line is that Ray just vanished. The last time I spoke to his aunt was in 2017 during our old school’s driver’s burial and she told me they had viable reasons to believe Ray had found his way to South Africa. What gives me peace every night is that he is living our dream now. I have always believed since then, and continue to believe that he is fine, doing well for himself, and all that. So yeah, I know you never expected my abuse to end that way, neither did I, until it happened.
I went on to finish high school, then went on a journey of self-discovery, which introduced me to bad companies, not necessarily friends. The lifestyle I adopted was one I would never wish for any kid to go through. I doubted myself so much that I sort the company of older men to make me feel loved, and protected, and cared for, and everything else. I did stupid things that we’ll talk about in another article (those are 3 articles I have promised so far) that created the circumstances that necessitated my coming out of the closet. One of my brothers, the only good brother I have, found out about my orientation from the cousin I was staying with back in 2016. Although they never pressurized me to change, or to come out to the rest of the family, they impacted some wisdom in me that pushed me to really think hard about the friends I kept, and unfortunately, the people I considered family.
I remember reflecting back to all the hardships I endured at my brother’s house, and how none of my family ever did anything about it. After high school no one cared about what went on in my family, which led me to the conclusion that I was in the wrong family. I guess that’s pretty much why I made my sexual orientation public at that young age. That and the fact that I could not stomach the thought of ever being blackmailed or taken advantage of again in my quest to hide my identity. In high school I had paid quite the heavy price to protect my little secret from my family. It may have been known by pretty much the entire school, but miraculously my not-so-observant brother ever got the wind of it.
That’s the brief summary of my life so far. For the sake of you graphic story lovers, I will be taking bits of whatever I have shared already and expounding on them as we talk about other matters in our society. I felt it was important to document the circumstances and all that that led to my coming out because most guys tell me they wish they could live a free life like I do. To them I always say, there are benefits and consequences of coming out. I will talk about the life I had to put up with after coming out later (that’s the fourth and final article I’m promising. Take notes). I always urge people to study their environment, and circumstances. The situation is never the same. What I went through isn’t what you are going through, or what the other person is going through. There is no formula to living our lives. There’s no strategy for coming out of the closet. You don’t need to have your sexual orientation publicly known for you to be freer. It doesn’t make you any gayer than the dude deep in his closet. The freedom to be or not to be isn’t defined by public perception. Like I have said in my previous articles, the deepest, darkest, loneliest closet one can ever be is self-denial. When you don’t fully embrace who you are, and love you for you, then it wouldn’t matter if you were to live in Denmark, or Spain, or the United Kingdom, or whichever other gay friendly country there is.
When you begin to love you for who you are, when you begin to understand who you are, and what works for you, then it will never matter how many people you open up to about your identity. Being in the closet, or otherwise, is all in the mindset. I stepped out of my closet long before most people knew I was gay. By the time I was in form 3 I had made peace with the fact that I am gay. I just had to find a way to navigate through my worries and fear. And to be honest, I have never regretted or wished I were any different. I wish and pray for you to have that too. That peace of mind that comes with understanding who you really are.
Thanks for reading this very long article. If you managed to read this to the end, trust me, you can read my drafted autobiography.
Chris Is The Guy 