The Help

Chapter 1

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

OCD; Known to manifest in more ways than simply wanting things kept neat and arranged all the time.

I was 17, and about to come out to my parents.
This was a long time ago, but it feels like it was just yesterday.

My disordered way of thinking resulted in my brain being stuck on an anxiety induced loop of my parents reacting badly.

I had already heard so many coming out stories by the time I was seated in front of them, fidgeting with the sleeves of my shirt. I felt the fabric meticulously, rubbing the soft and cottony material in order to keep myself grounded.

Not all of the stories that I heard were good, but in all fairness to my parents, I had no solid reason to believe that they would react badly.

They were nice, and supportive of most of my life choices at the time.
My mom was agnostic and my dad was an atheist, so they wouldn't judge me based off of any religious convictions.
They also didn't show any signs of having homophobic streaks in their blood, so I genuinely did not have a reason to think that they wouldn't be accepting of me.

Still, I sat in front of them as my eyes anxiously darted from the ticking clock back to my them. Why did the ticking sound seem so loud?
Their beady eyes stared back at me earnestly, waiting for me to say something.

"What's wrong, Maxine?" My mom was the first one to break the silence. Whenever she said my name, she said it with pride. I was named after her grandmother, after all.

I ran my fingers through my tousled hair, moving it out of my eyes in order to maintain proper eye contact with them.
I read somewhere that eye contact was the key to making sure that someone knew that you were being sincere.

My heart rate increased.
Was this a bad idea?

I remember genuinely wondering if I should fake a heart attack in that moment, but medical bills in the US were so unnecessarily pricey.
Also, Do you feel the pain of a heart attack in your left arm, or your right...?
I didn't know.

So, I decided that it was time to just bite the bullet.
What was the worst that could happen?

"I'm gay."

Way to go, Max. What a fantastic way to come out. I facepalm whenever I think of how blunt I went about things at the time.

I could've introduced the topic to them slowly, and let them know how important it is to me that they react appropriately, but sometimes I didn't have full control over my mouth.

My parents stared at me, as if expecting me to say more. The type of look that screamed, 'Yes, and?'

I frowned. The sound of the ticking clock was amplified by the silence.

"Are you not going to say anything?" I finally spoke again.
"Sweetie," My dad began, "We already know."
My mom nodded in agreement, "It's kind of obvious."
"Obvious how?" I demanded to know.

Their eyes trailed from my head to my toes, their eyebrows raised.
They were so in sync a lot of the time, it was easy to see why their marriage lasted for as long as what it did.

Once again, out of fairness to my birth givers, I was so visibly gay that it hurt.
My baggy jeans and beat up sneakers paired up with my haircut and eyebrow slit just gave it all away.

Apparently, though, that isn't how they knew.

"Max," My dad started, "We know that you and Priya are a couple."

Priya.
My sweet, beautiful girlfriend Priya. I'm still with her to this day, as a 22 year old woman.

We met when we were both in kindergarten.
I remember seeing her for the very first time, with a backpack that was double her size as she stumbled clumsily to her seat, the bag weighed her down.
Her pink, glittery sneakers were untied and her long hair was in two pigtails.