Of course this is painful. Of course I’m feeling uncomfortable and even somewhat dysregulated. This is a loss, yet another loss.
I have decided to quit the gay men’s chorus.
I will have to grieve this.
But what is “this” exactly? My identity as “gay man”, or my “wish to be accepted as a gay man”, which turns out to be unreal? My identity as a baritone (which, instead, remains real and “my own” even if I don’t continue to sing with this particular chorus anymore)? The few — very few, three, maybe four — people in the chorus whom I might miss seeing? The few hugs — very few genuinely affectionate — I got regularly on Sunday evenings? The singing? The routine of Sunday evening driving to & back from rehearsal, singing at rehearsal, filling up 5-6 hours of my Sunday evenings every week? What will I “fill” that with now?
The situation with the gay men’s chorus had really turned out to be like one of those toxic relationships where at least one, or sometimes only one, of the partners involved really wants it to work out, really hopes and wishes it will work out, and they do everything they can, put up with a lot, in order to try and “fix things”, but it’s never enough, it’s never really good, despite the few moments of joy or fun that happen now and then and keep us hanging on in an illusion of improvement or hope. I’ve been in relationships like that — and they can be of any type, platonic, romantic/sexual, nesting, professional, athletic. So I recognize the unhealthy pattern.
It hurts to let go. It really hurts. A lot. I really wanted to sing. I really hoped I’d be accepted by the “community of gay men” that somehow for me was being represented by the people in this chorus. But it isn’t working. I keep feeling — and being treated — like an outsider. And I’m tired to feel like “I don’t fit”. I’ve felt that way so often in my life, in groups where I was forced to stay (e.g. school or some jobs), but here I am not forced to stay. Here I have a choice, even if the choice, the alternative, is painful.
At the end of the day, the pain of quitting — like ripping off a bandaid —, that is sharp and deep now, will eventually be smaller that the accumulated trickle of pain of every rehearsal where I feel isolated, lonely, estranged.
The Little Prince and the Fox 