Bury It!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Gay and Lesbian  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 21, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 21, 2018



My biggest struggle continues to be my sexuality. I’m a minority…and I finally have a glimpse of what that feels like. It feels lost, like an outsider, a freak. Sometimes I am so ashamed of myself. Not because of things that I have done; I’m ashamed that I was made to think this way. Why would God make me like this, if I’m just to be hated for it?  Why would I ever choose this misery?

I hear the tone in my parents’ voices. It’s not a tone of disappointment, but I am so sorry they couldn’t have been given a “normal” child. They love me, and they don’t even know that they are disappointed. They can’t feel that because it would be inappropriate for to be upset about a trait in their child. They made me. How bitter are they towards their own DNA? How often do they pray for me to be different?

I don’t blame them. It’s not like they mean what they feel subconsciously. I wish I could give them the baby girl they deserve. I’m not that baby girl. Why am I still here you ask? Because flawed baby girl is better than not having one at all, right? Ending things would only make their subconsciousness even more bitter. This confusing part of me will not be talked about. Bury it! Deep…deeper…there.

Imagine your biggest crush. Got it? Okay, remember the warm feelings, running to your friends when they touched your hand, smiled at you, or said your name? The blushes and the giggles. What if you weren’t allowed to tell anyone about your crush? Will you still giggle, or will you hide it? You hide it, and your shame builds steadily until you are so ashamed that you can’t look in the mirror.

How about when that same crush can’t remember you name or won’t make eye contact? When you cry from the built up pressure, will you run to your friends? No, because they never knew of the crush in the first place because you were too busy building your shame. They will laugh that you are crying about a person who you don’t even SnapChat, and while they laugh, pressure builds in your chest because you remember the flutter you feel when your person walks into the room. You flashback, remembering that you couldn’t tell your friends, and suddenly remember why they would be laughing…

When you cry and hide from your parents because they can’t know either. You don’t mean to lie, you are sparing them pain. When you’re heartbroken from a sort-of-kind of breakup (because you’re not going to declare an unconventional love) your parents will quickly tire of the low mood, your tone, your built-up frustration…They are so happy their daughter has not had her heart broken, but do they know that? Under wraps, their daughter has grieved a relationship on multiple occasions and not only that, she did it alone.

I never meant to mess things up. I was so happy to be happy. To finally understand what people mean when they tell you about this thing “love”. I have giggled, blushed, cried, and dealt with all this alone. The brief peace was real, the smiles were real, the butterflies were real, I was real, I was me. What is this feeling? Can something that gives me so much peace be something to be embarrassed by? Of course not! Wait, then why did you let go of her hand when your mom walked down the hall towards your room? Her footsteps like the thunder you ran from as a small child? Baby girl, in all of your flaws, don’t you know that she will think of you no differently? Will she?

Baby girl, think long and hard. Are you willing to sacrifice your life for a possible petty feeling? Bury it! Deep…deeper…there. It’s not real. The rush, the smiles, the peace, it’s all an illusion.

Why can’t this be talked about with the person who fuels this peace? Because just like you did, she buried it deep…deeper…there. She tells herself, baby girl, think long and hard, are you willing to sacrifice your life for a possible petty feeling? Don’t you know your mother will think of you no differently? Won’t she?

It’s not real, the peace, the smiles…deeper…there. Hold her, make her smile, be her person, love her. Maybe if I kiss her one more time, I won’t want to do it again. “We need to talk about this” bury it! Deep… deeper… Um…talk about what?” There… It’s not real, you’re just important to me. Our mothers will think of us no differently, right?

Burry it! Deep…deeper…there. Nothing is real. Nothing is mentioned or talked about. It’s too covered in dirt to be seen or heard. Just cherish your peace, for you know it will not last. It never does, and don’t you know your mother will think of you no differently, will she?

Of course not! She will understand your fear, shame, frustration. Not only that she will giggle with you about your crush touching your hand. She will take you by the shoulders, look at you, smile and say, “Baby girl, don’t you know I think of you no differently? I will be with you so that we can move the dirt. You no longer need to bury it! Deep…deeper…there. I made you. I can’t be bitter about DNA.” While you hid, your mom was there, and will be there, just the same, no matter how long it takes to dig you out of your denial.

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