I'd like to point out a distinction today. Homophobia, as it's commonly known, is characterized by hatred or intolerance toward homosexuals. However, by definition, homophobia is the
fear of homosexuals or homosexuality. The two are very different. In context, homophobia is something we associate with hasty Conservatives, right-wing radicals, and the Westboro Baptist Church. What many people don't realize, however, is that the actual fear of homosexuality is something that's far less controllable (and far more reasonable).
This past summer, I went to California for a door-to-door job (my personal lap of luxury). As I was planning to go out there, I had no intention of hiding my sexuality. Until I met...we'll call him Ted. Ted, being a self-proclaimed homophobe, created a new dynamic to the situation that I hadn't anticipated. To be honest, in retrospect, I still wouldn't have expected the same series of events to unfold.
Let me first provide you with some perspective into my mind. I'm told that I'm smart. Really smart. Which, depending on the perceived definition, may or may not be true. However, with a lot of brain activity toward productive things comes a high amount of activity toward unproductive things, the particulars of which generate fairly unreasonable amounts of anxiety.
When I learned that Ted was a homophobe, my anxiety went up. Not because I was afraid physically--I could hold my own in that regard. More so due to the fact that he and I seemed to be on such good terms. My life is built largely around my relationships with those around me. This isn't to say that the entirety of my emotion hinged on my relationship with Ted, but his sudden and continued disapproval would have adverse effects on me, largely because we'd see each other nearly every day that summer.
The reason for our relative closeness was, simply put, common ground. Not too long after we met, I discovered that he had (extremely) similar anxiety problems. That provided not only terms of familiar territory, but a territory in which communication on the subject would have to occur on an emotional level. I'm an emotional person. I have no problem telling people exactly how I feel and doing my best to relate to them. And, in all truthfulness, I found that he is, too. Maybe less so now that he knows I like dudes, but more on that later.
About a month and a half of my time in California had passed and he and I were put in the same drive team. A drive team was typically composed of two pairs of knocking partners. A drive team would take one car out to their area and knock. We had dropped one person off to speak with someone who was interested, and the driver was speaking with another, but we weren't in our new area yet, so Ted and I were in the car alone. The conversation had very little ramp time before we were talking about anxiety, as was usual. After all, for me at least, it felt like there was almost no one who understood
my anxiety. There are many types of anxiety. But Ted understood mine. And, seemingly, I his.
Then he asked, "So do you get uncomfortable around gay people, too?" "No," I replied honestly. Here I was presented with an incredibly unique opportunity: to have a conversation first-hand, one-on-one with a self-proclaimed homophobe about his discomfort with gay people, without him knowing that I'm gay. He continued, "I don't hate gay people. But I don't like 'em. And I don't like being around 'em." This intrigued me. He then voiced the idea that I was coming to about him: "Like, I know there's no reason to hate gay people, but for some reason, whenever they look at me weird, or anything like that, it just pisses me off."
I nodded. I understood. That was a revelation to me. The actual distinction between fear and hatred of homosexuality. He doesn't hate gay people. He didn't, and still doesn't, hate me. We're still friends. The perspective that I needed to understand was had in a conversation by someone who had no idea I'm gay. Hopefully I can help you to understand as well. And here's how:
Let me introduce you to panic disorder. Imagine sitting in your typical English class. Or any class. Preferably an average one. Your leg is falling asleep. The desk provides a comfortable cool underneath your arms. The bright morning light is dimmed through cheap windows and reaches across a white board that holds no weight in your mind at all, and the teacher sits at the back of the room pretending to be important. Suddenly, the entire world changes. The
things in the world are all the same. The same walls, desks, floor, those stupid headbands that everyone's wearing now. But suddenly, the world's about to collapse on you. You are going to die. You don't know how or when. All you know is that you and everyone around you are going to die. You can't bring yourself to move, or even speak. Anything you do will upset the delicate balance of any remaining life and awaken the imminent doom.
Now. Back to reality. Perhaps not to that extent, but I'd imagine that the anxiety induced by gay people is similar for true homophobes. For me, certain songs, or even certain video games trigger vast amounts of anxiety. No, I don't have anything against those games. No, I don't think it's reasonable to hate those songs. No, I don't listen to other music because I think those songs are 'wrong'.
In closing, I want to point out that the biology of our brains is responsible for (true) homophobia. I texted Ted the day after I returned to Utah and told him everything, including an explanation of my reasoning. He was (and is) understanding, and we're still friends.
Also, I'd love any feedback. At all. I think this is a topic that hasn't been explored much, save for a few articles on OCD that I've read.
