You know, when I was younger, I spent most of my life hating myself. Wondering if there was a “God” and constantly questioning why it was I couldn’t be “normal.” I never thought I would find a man who would love me — because I wasn’t even capable of loving myself. I just couldn’t comprehend why it was the way that I was. Why me, out of all people? Why couldn’t I just be heterosexual? Why couldn’t I just be “normal” like everyone else? I wanted to marry a beautiful woman one day, marry her, and have kids, too. 

But then, as cliche as it may be, it got better. I met people who loved me for who I was and I mean all that I was. People who made me feel like I belonged. Like I had a purpose. People who told me, for once, it was alright to be myself. Through them I found my confidence, and through them I began to learn to love myself. I realized that we could spend all our lives wondering why we’re disliked, why we’re hated — and still never know the reason. We could spend our entire lives trying to be other people’s perception of “perfect.” We could spend our entire lives in bewilderment, questioning or blaming others for the way that we are. Or we could be who we are. Who we were meant to be. I eventually realized that being who I am isn’t as bad as I thought it was. Having people who love and support you makes more of an influence than you could ever imagine. To tell you that your love is just as real as everyone else’s. To tell you that you matter. Everyone is always baffled by my amount of confidence_ intimidated, even. Persistently asking how it was I reached the point of my life that I am at today, or even thinking I have no reason for being the way that I am.

To be honest, I’ve wasted too much time hating myself. I’ve wasted too much time trying to be someone else rather than myself. I’ve wasted too much time thinking things that aren’t true and hoping for things that are never going to happen. I love who I am. I love the way I dress. I love the way I speak. I love the way I look. I love me. Because, if you don’t, who else will? I only have one body. I only have one mind. I cannot ever be someone I am not. I refuse to waste anymore of my life on silly thoughts when I could just be happy being me. You may live in a community where you’re not accepted. You may belong to a household who doesn’t support you. You may even be in an area where you’re different. Unfortunate as it me be, we cannot choose our circumstances. We can only choose how we respond and react to them. You are unique. You are special. No one else can ever be you. 

I may not know you, but I love you. Don’t ever let anyone take who you are away from you. 

If you don’t support gay marriage, then that is perfectly fine and I respect your opinion. Just as you should respect the fact that I think you’re a fucking idiot.

Why do people think it’s acceptable to ask non-heterosexual males whether they are a “top or bottom?”

I’m having a conversation at school about how this girl “stopped being gay.” She’s trying to justify it while I laugh.

Pretty fucking hard, I’ll tell you that. You know, sometimes, it sucks. It just all sucks. I know that I try to be so strong, and, for the most part, I succeed, but just because I am almost always smiling and I don’t talk about my problems — doesn’t mean that they don’t exist. I know how it feels to feel unaccepted. I know how it feels to wish that you were normal. I know how it feels to have people tell you what they really think of you. I know how it feels to be jealous seeing a heterosexual couple showing affection in public. I know how it feels to wish that you could tell /everyone/ how you feel, that you have found the right one for you, that you are in love, but being afraid that they will judge you. Or, even worse, knowing that they will judge you. I know how it feels to want nothing more than to hold your partner’s hand in public without being ostracized and being shot judgmental glances. I know how it feels to be bullied. I know how it feels to be told that you are a sin, that you are going to hell. I know how it feels to hide who you are. I know how it feels to have people make rude comments about you while standing right in front of you. I know how it feels to be laughed at, be made fun of, to be the butt of everyone’s jokes, to be scared to walk with your head up. I just know how all of it feels. I know that it’s not easy. I don’t have it “all figured out,” like you keep saying. I know that it’s difficult. I know that it’s easier to just pretend like you don’t feel the way that you do and to keep who you really are a secret. I know how it feels to want to be strong. I know how it feels to be weak. I know how it feels to wish that the world wasn’t such a harsh and cold place. I know how it feels. I know how it feels. I know how it feels. I know how you feel. As much as it seems like I don’t, I do. I still jump whenever I hear someone utter the word “faggot” and to being praying that they aren’t referring to me. 

I just left work early because I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve felt like poop all day and I don’t think I could have tolerated one more minute in that place. Driving home was the worst part of my day_ trying to fight back the tears while it was raining. I’m a lot stronger than I seem in this post. I occasionally have a moment of weakness and  then it all begins crashing down on me. I’ll be back to normal in five minutes. I promise. 

I am reading what I like to call, homophobic horror stories, and I am just overwhelmed at how horrible some of these are. I am truly, truly grateful and lucky to have a mother like my own. She is such a wonderful and beautiful woman. I don’t know what I would have done if she didn’t accept me with open arms.

Thank you, Mommy.