Have you ever lived in a constant state of panic? Have you lived under the weight of a crushing secret that could ruin your life? Have you ever dreaded speaking to your family members, the people in life that you should be closest with? Have you ever lived with overbearing anxiety because your friends, or worse, your cousins, might spill your secret? I have.
*****
All my life I have dated girls; it’s what I’m supposed to do. Women are for dating, loving, marrying, and impregnating- at least that’s what I was told. I don’t think dating in elementary school counts, but throughout those years I had crushes on a handful of girls… and a few guys. Crushes on guys weren’t real though, I just liked being their friend. That is all it was, because guys liked girls, until eighth grade, when I told two of my closest friends that I was bisexual. My first mistake.
Sure, I liked hanging out with girls and I thought they were pretty, but I definitely did not want to kiss them. However, I still chose to date them – our relationships only lasted between days and weeks. Aside from not really finding girls sexually appealing, two people now knew my biggest, darkest secret, and I had to trust them to keep it. This crippling fear led me to not tell anybody that I was anything other than straight for another year, at which point I realized: I am not straight; I am not bisexual; I am gay.
As time went on, I became more confident with myself. I liked guys and I knew it. With confidence, came overconfidence in my peers. I told all my friends I am gay. I even told two of my cousins and trusted them to keep my secret. My second mistake.
Everybody close to me deserved to know. I had no reason to lie to them – except my immediate family, my uber-religious, republican, homophobic family. I imagined coming out to them many times. I would tell them I am gay, then they would give me 15 minutes to pack my things and move out. It sounds extreme but it’s a reality that many LGBTQ+ youth face. The Human Rights Campaign states that LGBT young adults are 120% more likely to be homeless than those who are heterosexual. I thought I would be among the homeless. My parents had never used violence as a solution, but I feared for my life.
*****
On September 27th, 2018, my life was forced to change. After over a decade of speculation from family, friends, and strangers, I said one sentence that would change my entire life: “I am gay.”
*****
The night of September 27th, I was working at Carlos O’Kelly’s, just finishing my shift, when I received a phone call from my sister, Serena. I called her back once I got in the car.
She picked up and I said, “You called? What’s up?”
“Your cousin, Clare has been telling everybody you’re gay. So just listen to me. I don’t care if you are gay. It doesn’t matter to me, but mom and dad are gonna care. If you are gay, you need to have a plan. You don’t have to tell them, but all of our family is telling them otherwise… Are you gay?”
Breaking down in tears I responded, “Yeah, I’m gay.”
“What is your plan?” She asked.
“I don’t know, can you meet me at the lake so we can talk about it?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in 15.”
Once we were to the lake, I cried, explaining to her my hidden life, including my ex-boyfriend, and those who knew about him. She said she would come home with me so that I could tell them. When we got home, we sat down with my parents and began talking about all the rumors surrounding my name. They asked if they were true, and that was my chance.
I sat there anxious, sweating, on the verge of tears, shaking, and I said “I am gay.” Chaos followed. Grounded from my phone and car, no hanging out with friends, threats of divorce between my parents, many nights of yelling, and weeks of constant crying – all after-effects of saying those three simple words.
Days later, my parents confronted me again. They recalled a conversation a few years ago when my aunt called me a fag. They regretted defending me to my family, when I knew I was actually gay. Yes, I am gay, but I am not a fag. The word fag or faggot is rooted in evil. My aunt had no right to call me a fag in front of my entire family. Since I lied about being straight back then, the word fag apparently is okay.
*****
Being gay is not a choice. It is not a decision I made. It is simply how I have always been – at least, when I wasn’t dating girls… but that is beside the point. My friends have always accepted me. Whether I told them I was straight, bi, or gay, they always supported me without hesitation.
*****
I have a core group of seven friends, my chosen family: Sam, Amy, Kayla, Peyton, Lauren, Nikky, and Morgan. I have other friends, and have had other friends throughout my life, but these seven ladies are there for me any time of day, for any reason. My friends are the entire reason I am comfortable coming to school everyday. They are the reason I became confident enough to be who I truly am. Without them, my life would be entirely different. After coming out, they each offered me places to stay if I needed to get away and unending support. No amount of words could help me thank them enough.
*****
Everybody in my life hasn’t been as supportive as my friends, however. Up until my freshman year, I was ridiculed and verbally abused for fitting the gay stereotype by my peers. The Center for Disease Control (CDC) says that 34% of all LGBT youth are bullied because of their sexuality, compared to 25% of heterosexual youth. This 9% difference can be largely held accountable for an increase in mental illness and suicide among the LGBT youth. I am part of that 34%.
*****
In sixth grade bullying was just a routine part of school for me. My peers loved to make fun of me for “acting gay” – whatever that means. At lunch one day, I was sitting next to my friend, Emily, just casually talking. Apparently, that proved to be offensive to two of my peers who were dating at the time. They began to call me gay from the opposite end of the table. At first, I ignored it. After a few minutes, it got to be too much, so I fired back, saying something along the lines of “your mom is gay,” which prompted them to keep calling me gay and a fag. It baffles me how anybody could call a sixth grader a fag. I was fuming, and Emily could see it. She told me to keep it cool, but I couldn’t any longer. After 7 years of torment, I had had enough. I stood up, punched one of them in the back, and walked out of the room.
This was not my best moment. In the days that followed, I cried. A lot. I cried because I felt bad. I cried because I was sick of being bullied. But, most of all, I cried because I wanted to die. I did not want to feel the pain of going to school and being mocked and ridiculed for something that wasn’t even true (yet). A sixth grader, age 12, wanted to die. That is sickening, wrong, and completely fucked up. I knew, at such a young age, that even though I wanted to die, it would simply push my pain onto others. I would not be a martyr. I would not be an inspiration. I would be dead. I did not let hate win.
*****
Are there any feelings that you have experienced in life that you simply cannot explain to other people? Have you ever felt feelings that make you stutter every time you try to explain them? The feeling is similar to acceptance and vulnerability. It is similar to being unburdened, like a weight lifted off your shoulders. I cannot simply use one word or phrase to describe it. It is much more powerful than that.
*****
Homecoming is supposed to be some magical time each fall where everybody comes together to choose their favorite classmates, be happy, be spirited, and have a good time. However, I felt as though I was going through hell on Earth. The week prior to homecoming, I was outed to my family. My parents and I fought every night. I cried multiple times a day. I felt hopeless. I didn’t want my peers to know that though, so I hid it; I put on a smile, and faked my way through most of spirit week.
It felt weird to even be nominated for homecoming. I knew that I would receive a drama club nomination simply because there are only two senior men in drama club. Making it past the senior vote is what surprised me. Even if popular, my entire academic career I had been bullied, and almost everybody who had bullied me was in my grade. I was overwhelmingly known as a nerd.
I knew that I would not win the final vote. The experience of Homecoming, however, I will never forget. As I walked down the football field, escorted by my unaccepting family, the student section held up pride flags. I had received their full support, not only as a candidate but as a gay member of our community. My face beamed with happiness, joy, and awe. My entire life I never felt like I would be accepted by the majority of my peers. Over a decade of bullying ending in overwhelming support. A weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I was no longer burdened by a secret. I am finally free.
