My life as a gay officer

The deceit, of course, exacted a toll. I was drinking to much, had anger issues, became estranged from the ones I loved. I had decided that celibacy was the way to go when I met a fellow combat arms officer, who was gay. We had similar backgrounds and similar career paths—both at the top of our respective battalions. We were quite alike, except for one small detail: This officer, a West Point graduate, lived an open life. “I’m a damn good infantry officer, a distinguished honor graduate from Ranger school, promoted early to Major,” he’d say. “I believe in the Army’s core values. And I don’t want to lie.”

His determination scared me more than a little. I desperately loved my job. It felt like a calling to command my first unit. Here I was, a junior Captain, fast-tracking toward Major. The soldiers respected me, and it was rewarding to do something I was good at. To do what my fellow officer did—to live in the open—was too risky. What if people saw us together, that big gay officer and me? Might as well wear a boa in front of my troops, I thought. And so I cut him off, and fooled myself into believing that I could do without a partner until I retired from the army in another twenty years.