For much the same reason that my career in journalism began and ended before I received my college degree, I was late to the gay loneliness article—not getting around to it until several days after it had trended on Twitter, Facebook, and “No, Kristine, I’m not doing meth” mom-texts. The Thursday it was published on the Huffington Post, I’d seen it mentioned, lauded, and mocked by the many cyber-gays I parch-thirst-follow but—consciously or not—I didn’t read it. Telling myself I’d check it out during my T ride home that evening or at the gym that night or as an alternative to my usual pre-bedtime ritual of stalking the darkest Instagram Story corners of high school acquaintances.

“Going to the bar at an effing Applebee’s,” I retainer-lisp out loud, temporarily blinded in one eye from squinting at my phone. “That’s so sad.”

Eventually deciding there was no better time to…