public for a reason
This story makes me cry.
I can't really say when I first figured out that I was gay. I've always known that I was just a little different from most other kids. I never really seemed to act like a girl, and most of my childhood friends were boys who played with toy cars and guns, and GI Joe. I never had a problem playing with boys. I understood them. I was a major tomboy!! I was labeled a "tough girl" when I was twelve, thirteen, and fourteen. I played a lot of sports - soccer, rugby, basketball, tennis, and softball. I kept to myself and I never let anyone touch me, especially boys. I wasn't afraid to knock some boy's head off if he touched me or one of my female friends.
I wanted to protect my friends. I couldn't understand why they wanted a boyfriend when I was there. I often imagined holding their hands and being close to them in some special way. That scared me. I liked them the way they seemed to like boys. I was sure that something was very wrong with me. I wasn't afraid of boys, but I was scared out of my mind when it came to girls.
At age fourteen, I went into deep hiding. I didn't know what the closet was at the time, but when I found it, I went deep inside and locked the door behind me. I hid what I felt from the world, because I knew people would think that I was sick and that I needed help. SHAME. FAILURE. These words passed through my head every day ... along with others that weren't so pleasant. I thought that it might be a strange phase. I didn't have a word for the way I felt. "Different" wasn't good enough for me. I felt like I was the only person in the world who ever thought of being with someone of the same sex. I thought it was wrong to imagine myself with a friend in intimate situations. It made me a "pervert" in society's eyes. I was angry that I turned out this way. I knew my feelings weren't normal. I was very afraid. I kept hoping that I would wake up one day and be boy-crazy. It never happened.
When I finally figured out what gay was, and that there was no way out of it, I cried. I saw myself as this terrible thing that nobody would ever like. Nothing has ever made me hate myself as much as being gay. I went through a time when I thought suicide was the only thing that would help.
I'll be honest. I live in a small town. In Kansas, coming out is like committing suicide. So I tried to go out with guys. It didn't seem to work, though. People still thought I was gay. I got beaten up at school, and they trashed my locker. There was nothing I could do.
Then I fell in love with my best friend. I tried to tell her about it one night. I guess that was a mistake. I lost that friendship ... and many others. At school the next day, she made it seem like I had attacked her in her bedroom.
I want to know why people hate lesbians and gay men so much. No mater where you go, you'll find a bigot. I've tried very hard, but it's hard to be nice to people who call you "queer" or "dyke." It really hurts. I don't see why everyone thinks that gay people are perverts.
I went to the library to get some books on homosexuality and lesbianism. Talk about a major hassle. I couldn't find the books on the shelves. I had to go to the front desk and ask someone to get the book for me, because they hide books like that behind their front desk in a little room. I asked her why the books were hidden, and she gave me this lecture about why books on homosexuality had to be out of sight. She spoke in a loud voice and stressed the word "homosexuality." Of course people heard. I tried to check out One Teenager In Ten, but the librarian gave me such a hard time and asked so many questions that I finally gave up on trying to get the book. She seemed very pleased to have won that battle. When I left the library she gave me a really dirty look. So now, every time I'm there, I return the favor.
I came out to my family ... but not on purpose. My mom was snooping around my room and found a letter that was written by a close female friend. The letter was sweet; she had used my pet nickname and there were hints that we were romantically involved. (We weren't.) All hell broke loose. My father had always said that no queer would live in his house. He calls anyone who's different a faggot. He couldn't believe that his only daughter was a dyke. That's how he saw me; a dyke.
My mother freaked. She said that it had to be some kind of a phase. She told me it would pass soon enough. I wanted to believe her, but I knew better. When it didn't go away like she hoped, my mother got really depressed and blamed herself on making me this way. She had known that I wasn't a person who liked being touched - but now I was saying I was gay. She took me to a psychiatrist and prayed for the best. She wanted the doctor to "fix" me.
My father doesn't really have much to say to me. When I'm around, he always gets in a good gay joke or two just for laughs. He puts dykes down the most. He thinks they're just trying to prove a point and says they do "God-awful" things to each other. I am no longer my father's little girl. I honestly believe that I am nothing to him. I never knew that I could feel this alone inside.
I've lost the support of my family and my friends. I can try hard to make new friends, but my family is lost. Coming out didn't feel like a good move. In fact, it felt like the worst thing I could have done.
I can't wait to graduate and get out of this town. I just want to lead a normal life with someone I care about who truly cares about me. I've felt a lot of hate coming toward me, and it's gotten harder and harder to trust anyone. I need to know there is hope; maybe being gay won't always be considered a terrible thing.
I'm sixteen now, and something happened recently that proved to me I'm gay. I stayed at an older girl's house for the night. I think she knew I was gay; I think that's why she invited me over. We were talking, and I told her about the time I got beaten up at school, and she began to cry. So did I. I never let anyone touch me, but it felt right when she pulled me close to her and held me. When she hugged me, I knew it was okay. She looked me in the eyes and told me to never be ashamed of who I was. Then she squeezed me in her arms and kissed me. I know for sure now that I'm gay ... and I always will be. She held my hand and talked with me all night.
I now have three other friends who think being gay is fine. They even ask questions so they can understand me a little better. I'm trying not to be so hard on myself now. It's not the end of the world; for some, coming to understand that you are gay is just the beginning. It's good to know that some gay teens do get the support of their family and friends. I know a lot of them end up where I am or worse.
Editor's note: Elizabeth's mother informed me that Elizabeth attempted suicide not long after this story was written. She was hospitalized for six months; the diagnosis was schizophrenia. Her mother also let me know that during that time, both she and her husband went to therapy with their daughter and came to terms with her homosexuality. Shortly after her release from the hospital, Elizabeth killed herself by taking an overdose of her own prescription medicine.
Two Teenagers In 20.
I can't really say when I first figured out that I was gay. I've always known that I was just a little different from most other kids. I never really seemed to act like a girl, and most of my childhood friends were boys who played with toy cars and guns, and GI Joe. I never had a problem playing with boys. I understood them. I was a major tomboy!! I was labeled a "tough girl" when I was twelve, thirteen, and fourteen. I played a lot of sports - soccer, rugby, basketball, tennis, and softball. I kept to myself and I never let anyone touch me, especially boys. I wasn't afraid to knock some boy's head off if he touched me or one of my female friends.
I wanted to protect my friends. I couldn't understand why they wanted a boyfriend when I was there. I often imagined holding their hands and being close to them in some special way. That scared me. I liked them the way they seemed to like boys. I was sure that something was very wrong with me. I wasn't afraid of boys, but I was scared out of my mind when it came to girls.
At age fourteen, I went into deep hiding. I didn't know what the closet was at the time, but when I found it, I went deep inside and locked the door behind me. I hid what I felt from the world, because I knew people would think that I was sick and that I needed help. SHAME. FAILURE. These words passed through my head every day ... along with others that weren't so pleasant. I thought that it might be a strange phase. I didn't have a word for the way I felt. "Different" wasn't good enough for me. I felt like I was the only person in the world who ever thought of being with someone of the same sex. I thought it was wrong to imagine myself with a friend in intimate situations. It made me a "pervert" in society's eyes. I was angry that I turned out this way. I knew my feelings weren't normal. I was very afraid. I kept hoping that I would wake up one day and be boy-crazy. It never happened.
When I finally figured out what gay was, and that there was no way out of it, I cried. I saw myself as this terrible thing that nobody would ever like. Nothing has ever made me hate myself as much as being gay. I went through a time when I thought suicide was the only thing that would help.
I'll be honest. I live in a small town. In Kansas, coming out is like committing suicide. So I tried to go out with guys. It didn't seem to work, though. People still thought I was gay. I got beaten up at school, and they trashed my locker. There was nothing I could do.
Then I fell in love with my best friend. I tried to tell her about it one night. I guess that was a mistake. I lost that friendship ... and many others. At school the next day, she made it seem like I had attacked her in her bedroom.
I want to know why people hate lesbians and gay men so much. No mater where you go, you'll find a bigot. I've tried very hard, but it's hard to be nice to people who call you "queer" or "dyke." It really hurts. I don't see why everyone thinks that gay people are perverts.
I went to the library to get some books on homosexuality and lesbianism. Talk about a major hassle. I couldn't find the books on the shelves. I had to go to the front desk and ask someone to get the book for me, because they hide books like that behind their front desk in a little room. I asked her why the books were hidden, and she gave me this lecture about why books on homosexuality had to be out of sight. She spoke in a loud voice and stressed the word "homosexuality." Of course people heard. I tried to check out One Teenager In Ten, but the librarian gave me such a hard time and asked so many questions that I finally gave up on trying to get the book. She seemed very pleased to have won that battle. When I left the library she gave me a really dirty look. So now, every time I'm there, I return the favor.
I came out to my family ... but not on purpose. My mom was snooping around my room and found a letter that was written by a close female friend. The letter was sweet; she had used my pet nickname and there were hints that we were romantically involved. (We weren't.) All hell broke loose. My father had always said that no queer would live in his house. He calls anyone who's different a faggot. He couldn't believe that his only daughter was a dyke. That's how he saw me; a dyke.
My mother freaked. She said that it had to be some kind of a phase. She told me it would pass soon enough. I wanted to believe her, but I knew better. When it didn't go away like she hoped, my mother got really depressed and blamed herself on making me this way. She had known that I wasn't a person who liked being touched - but now I was saying I was gay. She took me to a psychiatrist and prayed for the best. She wanted the doctor to "fix" me.
My father doesn't really have much to say to me. When I'm around, he always gets in a good gay joke or two just for laughs. He puts dykes down the most. He thinks they're just trying to prove a point and says they do "God-awful" things to each other. I am no longer my father's little girl. I honestly believe that I am nothing to him. I never knew that I could feel this alone inside.
I've lost the support of my family and my friends. I can try hard to make new friends, but my family is lost. Coming out didn't feel like a good move. In fact, it felt like the worst thing I could have done.
I can't wait to graduate and get out of this town. I just want to lead a normal life with someone I care about who truly cares about me. I've felt a lot of hate coming toward me, and it's gotten harder and harder to trust anyone. I need to know there is hope; maybe being gay won't always be considered a terrible thing.
I'm sixteen now, and something happened recently that proved to me I'm gay. I stayed at an older girl's house for the night. I think she knew I was gay; I think that's why she invited me over. We were talking, and I told her about the time I got beaten up at school, and she began to cry. So did I. I never let anyone touch me, but it felt right when she pulled me close to her and held me. When she hugged me, I knew it was okay. She looked me in the eyes and told me to never be ashamed of who I was. Then she squeezed me in her arms and kissed me. I know for sure now that I'm gay ... and I always will be. She held my hand and talked with me all night.
I now have three other friends who think being gay is fine. They even ask questions so they can understand me a little better. I'm trying not to be so hard on myself now. It's not the end of the world; for some, coming to understand that you are gay is just the beginning. It's good to know that some gay teens do get the support of their family and friends. I know a lot of them end up where I am or worse.
Editor's note: Elizabeth's mother informed me that Elizabeth attempted suicide not long after this story was written. She was hospitalized for six months; the diagnosis was schizophrenia. Her mother also let me know that during that time, both she and her husband went to therapy with their daughter and came to terms with her homosexuality. Shortly after her release from the hospital, Elizabeth killed herself by taking an overdose of her own prescription medicine.
Two Teenagers In 20.