My Words

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Gay and Lesbian  |  House: Booksie Classic
My personal struggles and feelings expressed from the causes of homophobia within my life. My personal experiences and disasters.

Submitted: July 03, 2014

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Submitted: July 03, 2014

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My Words

I have always known I was slightly different from most people. The way I thought. The way I felt, feel. At a youthful glance, I knew no difference. Unaware of any other way of thinking. The innocence of youth, protecting me from confusion. As age creeps upon you, an expanding knowledge of the world among us seeps in. Along with it the brutal harshness of reality. Raised up, I was told to speak my mind and be confident. No one ever tells you that on certain occasions this could do you wrong. Not by choice, never by choice. I try to build myself up to be strong, only to be broken down. Honesty, another rule enforced upon you growing up. To that I say hypocrites. Honesty hasn't got me anywhere. On a psychological scale, it has dragged me down.

Is it so wrong for me to want to share my life with my loved ones? I want things to be simple, uncomplicated unlike every bickering thought racing through my mind. They never even gave me a chance to explain, to allow them to understand. Parents constantly remind you, all they want for you is happiness. Then in the rare circumstance you find what truly enlightens your happiness, they refuse to accept or even acknowledge the reason. I know what I want, I know what will make me happy, and they want to ignore it. I can't just change an internal feeling, as connected to me as the muscles that surge through my body. I can't as much as I want to or as much as they try to. I allowed them to get into my head, making me feel the way I am is sinful. Deluded by revulsion.

They make me question everything I believe; there constant denial is the source of my confusion. I am the same person as before; the only difference is that I want them to know me. I came to a point where I could accept the way I was. Confidently proud of my achievement of self acceptance. Then I decided to share my feelings with my family, exposing my heart to them, only to let them be the flourishing root of my pain.

In all truth, I constantly relish in the hope of things getting better. But the more defiant I am to avoid backing down, the lonelier I become. Pushed out by my loved ones. Pushed out by society. An outcast. Unwilling to fit into a traditional characteristic of what I am not. Unable to. It can't be such a crime to be different, can it? I am living in a modern world still absorbed by traditional values. Socially categorized as mentally unstable for following my heart.

Even here, I can sense a hidden judgment as your eyes bare through my soul. It's almost as if I am exposing myself to the full extremities of the sun. The unavoidable heat, just as your eyes seep through my words, imprisoning me with your judgments.

They tell you that you achieve a sense of inner peace when you are outward. Nothing locked up inside your chest, on the verge of boiling over. My secret may have escaped my lips, but the pain and loneliness has yet to be seeped out of my heart. Each day, it absorbs added pain, of hateful words or a simple glance. They tell you, ‘everything will be fine’, ‘it gets better’. When though? Can anyone truly answer that question? In a self-absorbed world, I struggle to believe that it can.

I may not be alone, but I have never felt so lonely. So lost. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve been lost to a world of delusion for so long, that I’m losing what matters to me most. Myself. I promised myself that I would not be dragged down by the hatred. Yet down I fall. To a place so low, I do not know if I will ever reach the surface again.

Sick. Perverted. An abomination. How can love be so wrong?

I’ll fix you out easy, he told me. My most sacred purity, ripped away from me. Paralyzing me with fear. Making me feel ashamed. Responsible for a life style that was thrust upon me. The shame, separating me from the life I had. Haunting me as I rest my head and close my eyes through the blanket of darkness. A constant burning reminder, keeping me awake. Tormenting me into hiding who I am. To avoid this dreadful fate once more.

Restricted by the confinements of close-minded people. My life seems to be an endless loop of misery. I’ve longed for this reel to end. I’ve tried. I don’t hold a single thread of my life. It will not end.

These words are the only thing I have of my own. My secret comfort. Yet I am choosing to expose them. In the hope that their burden will release me.

If only I could leave. To somewhere that I could be free. But that dream is just as uncertain as the nightmare I am currently enduring. I was told the world is at my hands, ‘make the most of it’. How can I make the most of something I feel so secluded from? I live in a state of anxiety about my future, or lack of one. Abused, thrust aside like garbage. What could become of such a wasted life? Yet still I breathe.

It’s a sad thought that the only control I have is my ability to terminate the pain that envelops me. Yet I even failed at that. I have no escape. I am being sucked into the abyss.

She told me never to worry. That everything would be alright in the end. Is that limited after childhood passes? Now she is the one causing my turmoil. She promised she would stand by me no matter what. Could everything she told me really have been a lie?

If I pretend to be who I am not, would that make them happy? The perfect stereotype to squeeze into their hypocritical society. Is their happiness truly worth killing myself inside? I remember when I was so young, and she encouraged me to consider those witnessed encounters to be ‘disgusting’. I never knew any different. Now, I have my own opinions, and although I have been clouded by a judgement of hatred, I know the difference between what is right and wrong. Yet I still don’t feel complete. Inside I still feel the abomination I was always considered by her to be. Over and over.

That night was the closest I came to peace. For a moment I had it in my grasp, yet I pulled through. Failure. The word that I was reminded of repeatedly. I still remember how drawn I was to utter emptiness. I thought I had reached an end. For three hours I was out cold, in the marsh, hidden by the shade of trees and the inclining landscape. No one around apart from the little scuttling mice, even they rushed to escape my path, a further reminder of my empty life. A reinforcement of just how low I had sunk. How low they all pushed me. I clutched onto that bottle with a confidence I previously didn’t own, as if it was my only source of air. The irony. That was my last hope to put a halt to the wasted oxygen I absorbed. How easily they slid down my throat, one by one. Until the bottle was empty. It was supposed to be symbolic. Dying in a place I rarely passed, yet a place I came so affectionate towards. A place that represented joy, endurance, freedom.

I woke up to her face above me. Infuriated by my actions. Yet, she failed to recognise what drove me to that. Her. I couldn’t go on. She even had the ability to make me feel guilty for my one selfish decision. Peace.

Even you, as your eyes continue to cross my words, will still judge me. What did I do to cause such anger from those close to me? I was different from their simple conclusion of what is acceptable.

When I finally thought I had found someone who could accept me, love me, I was dreadfully mistaken. I fell. Fell for her. I thought she shared the same feelings. So I opened up and told her my secret. I told her how I felt. I loved her. She said to me that she had felt the same since the moment we locked eyes. I experienced utter bliss for the first time in years. So I did what seemed only logical to me, I asked her on a date. Something that should have been simple and easy. She joined the never-ending list of people that push me away. Further judgement as she eyed me with disgust. I still remember her words. They cut through quicker than a freshly sharpened blade. ‘I am not like that. It’s repulsive. You’re repulsive.’ Why would the girl I thought loved me be so hostile? She told me she felt the same. And now people wonder why I struggle to believe in love or even happiness.

Knock, after knock, after knock. Right on the flesh of my shrivelled heart. Beaten by the tormenting of haters. People who make false claims of friendship, only to draw me in, making me seem a desperate fool, and then tearing me to shreds like rubbish. Everyone’s a critic. Every person that is near me is my automatic critic. Even if I don’t say a word. Which I rarely do. Silence is my only companion. Not even darkness can give me a sense of peace. I am terrified of the dark. Afraid to close my eyes.

I have no one, I am truly alone. If I could only find one person who could truthfully accept me for the way I am, could that honestly fulfil a heart that has been endured of a lifetime of hatred and pain. I feel like I am beyond recovery. No one can help me. I am a lost cause, crawling from one day to the next, barely coping with survival.

Will it ever truly get better for me? And if it did, how would I manage such a massive change. Could I ever adapt?

I am left with only one peaceful dream. Love, the only positive thought that currently keeps my heart beating. Love must be possible surely? If not, I truly have nothing. That is the one thing I strive to find, someone who will love me and accept me as I am. If that person really did exist, then I must also.

Pain and hate has slowly managed to strip away everything that I once was and am. I have to hold onto my final hope of love; it is my only life raft. My one final desire. My final dream of something honest.


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