So sadly apparently three kids in the US have committed suicide in as many weeks over homophobic bullying, so a campaign is being pushed to let people know that life, as with wine, does get better.
I sat and thought of my own journey. I was called gay, poof, sissy, queer from as long ago as I can remember, and that thought is horrible. People just know, and you can’t take their perception away, but boy did I ever try to. I grew up in a simpler time, one of vinyl, cassettes and no facebook or bebo or whatever it is for people to write vile shit on. For me it was for the best, because I would certainly have posted videos on YouTube of me singing Leona Lewis or Shakira or something that I would have regretted in adulthood. But in all seriousness, I don’t know how that aspect, something concrete and physical I could not sing over in the corridor, or just pretend I don’t hear, would have changed me. I think it would have.
The years have tamed my demons. I’m no longer feeling the need to feel validated by others. I was a broken by my first real break up, as the years of isolation made me fear that a relationship was 40% luck 60% someone pitying me, seeing as It had taken that long coming around. It’s hard getting used to finally accepting this shameful secret, and realising it’s not shameful, it’s not in fact that interesting in the scheme of things. It’s just your love life, which will run it’s course, and be determined as much by you as anyone else.
I can remember how terrified I was when I first realised at school. I hid myself away in the drama hall, fearing people could smell it on me. There was one place a gay teen was safe, it was where drama lived. Straight boys didn’t get drama. All that be a tree, be wind, be a windy tree, be Maggie Smith, be Maggie Smith with wind. It was too much. But life ends up as one big drama hall. Its just a shame the teacher doesn’t let me dress as Queen Elizabeth the first everyday these days. Would make court more theatrical.
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