By the time I was a teenager, I knew that my interest was in other males, not females. I had only one date before I graduated high school and dated only two women in college; I married the second one. At the time, homosexuality was classified as a psychiatric disorder. I sincerely hoped that my desires would change, but they didn't. It took me another nine years to acknowledge that I couldn't hide from myself my entire life; I had to begin to live authentically. My separation and divorce were the beginning of that journey which continues to this day. Along the way, in one relationship, I gave so much of myself away that I was unrecognizable to me; when it nearly cost me my life, I vowed to never do that again. It also brought me a son, an 18-year-old homeless because he is gay is now my adopted 29-year old Brandon.