Holding the Man

two

"unfortunate reality"

Since I was a young boy, I've lived a difficult existence. I've known my entire life that I would be unique. Throughout primary school, I began to feel drawn to the boys in my class. I didn't know I was "being homosexual" until grade 6, but it quickly passed and I assumed it was just the beginning of puberty. I would exclusively hang out with girls, and occasionally the guys would catch me glancing at them. It's not like I was necessarily attracted to them; I just wanted to be more like them. They definitely did not view this the same way, though. They just assumed I was gay automatically.

At times, I was picked on and bullied. I suppose these were the moments when anxiety first crept into my day-to-day life. I was always on the lookout for words that might come out as too gay, girly, zesty or "girlypop" as they referred it. I deliberately avoided some kids out of concern that I would be physically attacked or picked on. I recall being astonished by how tense I was when a friend poked me once on the side. I had assumed that everyone held their muscles tense all day long. I started experiencing bloating, headaches, and other somatic symptoms that I now understand were caused by stress. Everything contributed to the fundamental idea that "there is something wrong with me."

There was no way in hell I would ever tell my parents considering I grew up in a conservative Sri Lankan household where achieving anything below a 90% on an exam felt like a crime. But there was no one I could talk to. I felt as if I was compelled to tell someone, and something inside of me urged me that I should vent to them about everything. "But how?" I pondered. I already knew they were homophobic, and if they found out, not even God would be able to rescue me.

I feel like I've sinned; is being homosexual my fault? I grasp onto the fact that it's not my fault that I'm sexually inclined to men, and that it's just something I can't control. Maybe I'm just feeling confused, and everything is all a misconception. Curling into a ball, heading straight for the floor, pressing a tissue into the palm of my hand and just letting everything out. Covering my face, the tissue had already been torn into shreds. I feel as if I am responsible for everything, and I want that everything to just return to normal.

I just want to be normal.