Oh, the closet. That dreaded figurative wardrobe, strewn with sordid secrets and tantalizing torments. Where Ghosts of Canned Fruits, Cedar-chest Sissies and Dry Queens Past eternally linger. A twilight realm of (im)possibility – full of desires to be not who you are, but who you wish you were: a den of denial.

Those of us who have been in the closet, or know someone who has, understand the difficulties that being so imposes. Eve Sedgwick discusses precisely this topic in her book, Epistemology of the Closet – the intolerably contradictory situation formed around sexuality. Homosexuality has been known in the public sphere for quite some time, but has been prohibited from public discussion. It is “the love that dare not speak its name.” It is not “a” secret, but “the” secret of our time. She speaks of the historical legacy of the closet, structured by double-binds – one is pushed to come out, but must deal with the implications of doing so. The barrage of interrogation – “are you sure?” or “how do you know?” or even, “I get it, you’re gay, but you don’t have to talk about it all the time.” To come out is to embrace the volatility of the closet, to allow for knowledge to be out of your control.

Yes, it is difficult. But it is essential. The closet is about the secret, thus coming out is about the truth. Not so much truth to the world, but truth to yourself. While those of us in the closet have the responsibility to come out, those of us standing on the other side of the door have the responsibility to not interrogate, not question, and not judge, but instead to accept, reinforce, and acknowledge.

Harvey Milk, gay rights activist and the first openly gay elected official in the U.S., recorded an audiotape to be played in the event of his death by assassination. On November 27, 1978, Milk was gunned down, shot six times by a spiteful political opponent. At his candlelit vigil, Milk’s voice could be heard across the loudspeakers saying: “If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door.”

I would like to think that, nearly thirty years later, closet doors are shattering left and right. Too romantic a notion, I suppose. Still, I stand, on the other side of the door, awaiting and acknowledging those who have made it through the rite of passage, who have abandoned the impossibility of being something they are not, who have embraced the possibility of their true self.

It may not be spring yet, but it’s time to clean out that closet, don’t you think?