I can’t tell the difference between what is ‘reasonable’ and ‘depressed’ most of the time. Has anyone ever read a journal entry years ago? How does it make you feel? When I was a teenager, I would look back a year or so and feel positively embarrassed.
If I look now, I feel something else. I don’t feel so many years prouder. I feel sadness, and resentment. I didn’t make it out.
Ah, typing this, I’m afraid I don’t sound much different at all.
Alright. Let’s get this out before I waste any more of your time. I’m a gay guy. If this upsets you, scroll on by.
I won’t dwell on this. I’ll surmize it by saying from about age 14 to 18, I went from easily supressing a slight suspicion that I might be gay, to actively surpressing it, and eventually became an introspective space-case. I was taking anti-depressants.
Then I came out.
Had a great relationship.
Boyfriend went back to college the summer of senior year, and we mutually broke it off…so did my parents. Oh, my parents…
The main thing is from this point on, I would be kicked out twice a year. I was fine with my parents divorce, but my mother really did a number on me mentally. I would be kicked out for any contradiction that she could imagine.
I could list examples if youre interested- there’s 6 or 7 times to pull from.
Sometimes my dad would take me in, but not always. My mother would invariably want me back, heartsick, asserting that she never once kicked me out, but that I RAN AWAY. Eventually I told her if she did it again, I wouldn’t come back. Of course she did. I lived out of my car for two months, going to work during that time. Eventually I returned again, sucking it up. If the sky turns purple, and I’ve got to go for whatever reason, she can do that. Even if I can convince someone to believe what actually happened, no one will ever do anything about it. I eventually just didn’t have love for my family.
Even though I wasn’t being kicked out for being gay, essentially I am a homeless gay teen statistic. I actually dated a homeless gay, feeling empathy, which isn’t quite love traditionally speaking, but it’s close. Mainly, I thought I was preparing for what my life would be.
With every time I was kicked out over a spill I mopped up, or what have you, I grew more resentful. I met someone who had that, too. He wasnt homeless- not when I met him. I saw something in him I saw in myself, but couldn’t express as readily. I tried to take care of him. He was the only guy I’ve ever said “I love you” to, although he had fallen asleep. This guy would ruin my life.
I’ll continue this another time. I’ve gone on long enough.