In response to Dan's article:
Ya know, I've had four different people tell me on separate occasions that they'd have killed themselves if it wasn't for me. Simultaneously, I've had far more people than that tell me that I should kill myself. Because I'm gay. Not because I did anything, or because I offended them, or came onto them or whatever nonsense. Simply because I like men. I have lived in Utah Valley my whole life (aside from this summer, which was spent in California). Throughout my life I'd been taught to hate myself. I was taught that I wasn't worthy. Of anything. I was taught to pray, hope, wish, torture it out myself, but never to embrace it. Because doing so would be submitting to the devil. It got to the point where I'd cry myself to sleep, praying with everything I had that I would either wake up straight or not wake up at all.
But the part that hurt the MOST? That people would say it without thinking. It reminded me of a quote from a page I follow on Facebook: "Be careful of who you hate; it might be someone you love." I'd hear it from my own family. My friends at school. "Fag." (Just as an informative measure, this term was coined when it was decided that giving homosexuals a proper burial after their execution [for homosexuality] was too good, so they just burned them instead. Like a cigarette. Or, a fag.) "Homo." "Queer." "Fairy." I'd hear this all. From everyone. My parents. My friends. My leaders. And if my LEADERS couldn't accept me, how could I accept myself?
Then I got the ball rolling in December of 2007. I told my three closest...'friends'. Who promptly abandoned me, deleted me on Facebook and took all measures to ignore my texts and calls. They couldn't understand. They couldn't see the pain. I was desperate. Clawing for any piece of positive human attention. Things got gradually (I repeat, gradually) better over the next two months. Then, in March, I got a call from one of them. I was so excited. I'd been playing Guitar Hero II (I'm awesome, by the way) and I heard a ringtone I'd set for this friend a good four or five months previous. I thought, "No way." But I pulled out my phone and sure enough, it was Brandon. Did they actually want to hang out? Or might it even be...(dare I dream it?) a surprise party (My birthday is April 1st)? It couldn't be. It had to be too good to be true. Which it was. Turns out, they just needed help with their math homework. I had become a tool. A mental Swiss Army Knife, to be called upon when needed but never more. Sure, they even had the bollocks to ask for my help at school (talking to a gay kid in public, we're gettin' super Liberal here!). But none of them dared to call me their friend. I had NEVER felt so alone.
I'd see them at school, in classes, and on the bus. But rarely would they acknowledge my presence, much less make eye contact. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand them being so close without feeling desperate urges to draw their attention. At this point, negative or positive attention would do. I just didn't want to feel so worthless. The school year ended without having cleared anything up well. Meaning I got to spend it alone. In July, I finally told my parents. Sort of because I wanted them to know anyway, but mostly because I wanted SOME kind of attention. I needed empathy, compassion, understanding. They didn't provide it. They weren't INtolerant, but they certainly rushed through the conversation and made to ignore it as swiftly as possible.
My Junior year began. I met Troy. Troy was my best friend throughout that entire school year and the following summer. He's straight, but still supported me. Even when I told him that I was developing feelings for him. In all logical sense, that was a dumb move, but emotionally, if I didn't let him know, it'd have felt like I was taking advantage of our friendship. Which seemed quite low, considering all of the support he'd given me. He did alienate himself slightly more after that point, but he didn't ignore me. He wanted to help me. Even if the kind of help he was offering wasn't the type of help I wanted or needed, it felt incredible to have someone who cared. He and I are still friends to this day.
Senior year was when it all (finally) came together. My old friends came around. And though we really never did anything together again, I was still acknowledged and, ultimately, loved. Our life paths had simply diverged to the point where it would have been illogical to try to merge them. But we respect and accept our differences, and we are all stronger for it. Senior year is also when I started hanging out with some of my best friends more regularly. One of whom was in my German class in 9th grade and Astronomy in 11th. At first I was nervous to have him find out I'm gay (as I am with most of my friends--coming out isn't a one-time thing. Gay people come out over and over and over again throughout their lives, with every new person they meet.), but only to find out that the fear was unwarranted--his dad is gay. And another friend who's a straight ally. And when I say ally, I mean he's been to more Pride Festivals than I have, and I'm gayer than a handbag full of rainbows.
Senior year was also the year I had a class at American Fork High School, as opposed to Lone Peak. American Fork is decidedly more liberal, and it really showed. Perhaps it was the fact that it was a Japanese class and the students were inherently more accepting (the Anime fanbase is generally far more accepting than most conservatives around here), but I couldn't help but feel...safe.
The end of my senior year was a year and a half ago. I can still picture the hallways--I have a natural tendency to want to make eye contact with everyone, and walking down the hall was torture. There were people everywhere, and none of them would remotely acknowledge my existence, much less make eye contact.
All in all, with the help of some good friends, I found my way. But I wouldn't have gotten lost had it not been for the influences bearing down upon me earlier on in my life. Do I look upon those years with distaste? Certainly. Would I change anything about my past? Absolutely not. My past experiences have shaped me into who I am, and if I say so myself, I'm pretty awesome. I've learned and grown and embraced, and that's imbued me with what I'm told is wisdom beyond my years. Now I get to share that with everyone else.
On a side note, please talk to me. About anything. To vent. To scream. To cry. Life is beautiful. And Dan, thanks again for posting that article. It's about time the Holy slap in the face was dealt.
