Daniel
Storer
BEDTIME STORERS
I have done much soul searching and self analysis since starting this column.
It is extremely weird seeing your own words in print each month, and in an
odd way it has helped to put my life into perspective. Each month I try to
write something people will want to read and have tried to be true to myself
and open. But I would be lying if I said that I had been totally honest. Honesty
was the subject of my first column, but frankly I feel a fraud.
I live the London life to the max. The city is cool, exciting and sometimes
dangerous. I have a great job, wonderful friends and live in a nice part town.
True, I have this terrible condition, but most of the time it doesn’t
really bother me as long as the scores on the doors at the hospital are ok.
Some may regard this as an irresponsible view and they may well be right.
I throw myself with gusto at all the things this wonderful city has to offer.
But somehow I feel it is all wasted because I can’t share these experiences
with the people that really matter. I feel I am not facing up to the real
issues in life. Above all, I seem to be running away from what is really on
my mind: being honest to my grandparents. They are what drive me to succeed
and what make me keep up the charade that is Danny Doodle.
All my life I have wanted to make these two special people proud. For many
years I was off the rails. I moved away from my grandparents because I thought
that they would shun me for being gay. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It broke my grandmother’s heart that I felt I couldn’t tell her.
She told me nothing else mattered as long as I was happy. I told her I still
had to go but that I was going to make her proud.
That was at 18. By 25 I still hadn’t done anything I was proud of and
had done things I still feel I can’t talk about openly and honestly.
I have shared a few of these with thousands of PN readers. But people I want
to tell, I cannot.
Writing this column has given me my voice and made me realise that, before
I can give my full and honest opinion, I have to tackle my greatest fear.
But will my grandparents still be proud of me after I tell them about this
last taboo? How do I broach the subject? How can I tell the whole world what
I feel about my condition and not tell them? Some may think that after 12
years they need never have to know. But it’s something I have to do.
Maybe it will restore something I lost 12 years ago, when I first found out
and stopped being honest with them. Maybe I could have achieved a lot more
in my life had I told them.
It’s only since seeing my column in PN that I have finally realised
what has stopped me from moving forward. So until I crack my final fear and
lay all my cards on the table, attempting to be totally truthful about my
life is futile. Only then will I be able to write the articles I really want
to write. So until then; farewell and take care.
dannydoodle74@hotmail.com
