BORDERLINE
When I was in high school, the first person that I trusted to come out to, betrayed that trust and took something away from me that I still miss to this day. The comfortability of coming out. To this day, even though I am comfortable with my sexuality, the act of coming out and identifying myself is uncomfortable and mildly traumatizing. And as a queer woman, coming out is something I have to do almost everyday. Queer indiviuals are constantly coming out, its a never ending cycle and it is one that makes me pause every time. Below is an essay that I wrote my junior year of high school. This was the first time I really came face to face with what had happened to me the summer before my sophomore year and put the experience into words that I could read back and actually come fully face to face with what happened.
“At the age of 14, I realized I was different. I didn’t know what it was or how to feel about it.
“But I knew that the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who sat behind me in math, was just as beautiful as the messy-haired, green-eyed boy a few rows over. And that the curly-haired girl in biology was just as cute as the sandy-haired goofball I called my best friend. I didn't see these girls as beautiful or cute in just a friend sense, however. I was
crushing on them like I did boys. And it scared me. I was having fantasies like normal teenage girls, but they were about all the wrong things and people. According to society, I had the wrong mindset, the wrong views, the wrong choices, the wrong wants, and needs.
“Amid these confusions, I confided in someone I thought I could trust. This was my downfall. Believing that I could trust wholeheartedly in this person, I told her about who I thought I was and who I liked. I felt like a middle schooler, blushing and bashful, but it was nice to finally talk to someone about the mess in my head.
“I didn’t choose a label then. I felt as if I didn’t know who I was yet. I threw some possibilities into the air, testing them, but not picking one for myself. My confidant saw this differently. She chose the first label from my mouth and wrapped me in the packaging, fitting me to the stereotypes in her mind.
“At first, I thought that this was what acceptance looked like, what I wanted. The next move my confidant played was certainly not, though I did not understand this until months later. She wanted to decide when my crush would find out who I was, when the world would find out my secret.
“‘You have to tell her.’ ‘If you don’t tell her, I will.’
“‘Tell her by the time school starts, or I will start telling other people.’
“She got more aggressive every time I failed, pulling the noose tighter around my terrified mind. I couldn’t tell anyone else because that would mean facing the more terrifying truth of coming out to validate the true hell my confidant was putting me through.
“I found solace in blogs and coming out videos of my favorite YouTubers. They understood at varying levels the inner turmoil that I was dealing with and what my confidant was putting me through. Among these resources, I learned what was really happening to me and how I should have felt when I was comfortable with my sexuality and ready to come out. Various YouTubers taught me that the story of who I am belongs to me and that I would know when I was ready. No one else could decide that for me.
“In the months that I suffered under my confidant’s hand, I came to the realization of many things. One of the most important things that I carry with me today is that a story about someone belongs to the individual, not the culture. Even in a world that is becoming more accepting, having your story ripped away from you is heartbreaking. I
wish my first coming out experience had remained my own story, but it was taken away from me. No matter what the story is, the person holding the story is the one that should get to decide when to let the world have it."
