The Story of Our Lives

MEET

Hey. So my name is Damien. I'm 21 and definitely branded as the problem child. I don't cause problems. I just seems as though I am one. My sister, Danielle, however, is the golden child. I love her to bits but the sun shines out her ass. She's nearly 24 and she's very much a family-oriented person. Me not so much. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, however they drive me insane. I hate people in my territory unless I allow it. When I finally move out, I will be able to breathe because I know that my sanctuary will be empty or only occupied when I say so. I know that sounds predatory but I can't help but feel suffocated and trapped in my own home. I need my freedom. That's why I was so happy when I got my car and passed my driving test. I knew I could escape should I need to. Unless my car was blocked in the driveway. It did happen a lot.

I used to be such a happy kid but that all changed when I went to high school. Back in primary school no one really cared about who you were as a person. We just got on with our lives of playing with those multilink cubes or reading in the book corner, but high school was a totally different ball game. Kids were branded the second they entered those prison like gates and the brand stuck til we moved up to college. I was one of the quiet nerdy kids who didn't have any friends. That didn't really bother me to be perfectly honest. I liked being alone with my thoughts or having a good book to keep me company. I preferred it to actually having to interact with people. That was until...Him.

My sister is 2 years above me and she was very likeable. Should have been Head Girl but you know how it is. The person who should be in charge is the one who's kicked to the side by a slag who won the votes by sleeping with basically the whole year but Dani wasn't really that bothered. After all, it's only high school. All it does is give you grades to get into college. Nothing worthwhile about high school.

I barely grazed through school. I mean mentally I barely grazed through. My school work was a little above average but my mental state was in the deepest depths of the fiery pits of hell and that's an understatement. High school is where teenagers go to completely destroy any fragment of their innocence and childhood and the only way to get through is kill or be killed. I was the one to be killed. I was always picked on, shoved into lockers, beaten up. No one cared. Teachers brushed the situation under the carpet because the bullies were so charismatic that they somehow managed to convince them that the quiet boy with bruises all over his face and body was making it all up. I know what you're thinking, what about Dani and your dad. Did they not do anything? They did. They complained to the school and the teachers said that policies will be put in place to ensure my safety. Little do they know that those policies are non existent. What I mean by that is I'm spending any money I get on coverup makeup and lying through my teeth to my family about the fact I'm still being shoved into lockers. It's just easier for them to be happy if they think I am. Or at least if they think I'm not getting the shit beaten out of me.

High school was so regimented and a mix between prison and the military. Our uniforms had to be spot on. Hair had to be impeccable. Shoes had to glisten and our school work had to be exemplary. Then to top it if we had to sit through lessons where the teachers took turns speaking about shit that just doesn't matter. We were never taught how to balance a cheque book. Never taught about taxes or changing a car tire or any useful life skills. We had the lessons for it but never the material. One of these lessons was spent watching "The Truman Show" to learn about "how this character was revoked of his humanity". Which I do agree with but it was just an excuse to put a film on so the teacher didn't have to teach us anything.

The teachers at our school were absolutely awful with the exception of maybe 2. One was a man called Kevin, but we all called him Cabe, the other was a man called Stuart but everyone called him Hammo. These were abbreviations of their surnames and it just stuck. Cabe was the first person I ever told that I was gay. I was petrified to tell him but I'm not sure why because I knew he was gay. Only a select few knew that about Cabe. He wasn't much older than me even though he was my teacher. He was 21 and I was 16 so we were basically in the same generation of people so with this topic I did feel safe enough to talk to him about it. I was still scared shitless though. He helped me out when I was about to tell my mother and gave me the confidence to sit down with her and explain that I am a gay man. But I'm still the same person I've always been. Being gay doesn't change a person. Especially when it's something I've known all along to be the truth about me. With Cabe I didn't feel like I needed to explain myself because he was went through it himself. The confusion. The self loathing. He experienced that. But having to explain that to my mother was harrowing. She just didn't understand. When I told her. The worst happened. She kicked me out.