I am human. I am more than meat to the bone, I am more than water and blood and viruses and organs. I am more than a hair cut, fake nails, and a weight on some scales. I am more than my sexual orientation. I am more than a color on a bathroom door.
I could read you the statistics of the divorce rates in America per year. I could read you the statistics of bullying and discrimination against gays and lesbians. I could
read you the statistics of the number of suicides of homosexuals due to this "sin"
But what are the statistics of a man and woman lasting on their first marriage? But what are the statistics of a boy coming home saying, "I got called a faggot today, I feel jolly."? As if being gay was a choice. As if I woke up this morning and I decided I wanted to be unaccepted. Being who I am isn't like spam on a computer. It isn't like internet explorer, I can't "end now", I won't send the report. I grew up too fast. I learned what hate is. I learned you can be told to be yourself only if you are what they want you to be. As if I could control my heart beating or the color of my natural hair or If I fell in love with my best friend. I wish this was a phase, I wish I could rip out the gay in my blood streams. As if I enjoy having labels spit at me. As if it was all a choice.
But what are the statistics of a parent's regret when they bury their child? Do they pray that Jesus will have mercy of them for loving another human being? Does a mother still lay flowers on his\her grave and pray?
When I was a young girl, my mother would braid my hair and tell me I was beautiful. She would say I would have a handsome husband and wonderful children. She did not know my favorite color wasn't pink, she did not know that I didn't wish for a hand of a man but of a woman. She did not know who I was because I grew up in a closet chained to my neck in a living room my mother called home when I felt like a prisoner in my own house - in my own mind.
The words "I don't want a gay child" circled my head. The letters stained my mind one by one and burned the walls of my head. Mother I'm not in the wrong, mother Only because I'm your child It doesn't mean I will live up to the way you expected. Father, what happened to your understanding? Father, What happened to the love you feel for me? Why do I need your acceptance before I need my own? I won't be sorry. I am not sorry. I won't get on my knees. I will not beg for forgiveness. For my only crime is being a fucking coward. For not holding her hand when our fingers lingered in the air. For not escaping the chains of my fears and depression. For not telling her I love her when I should've.
I'm tired of being afraid. Sometimes you have to learn to say, "fuck you!" Because I lived in that dark cold closet a for so long and for the first time, regardless of my tearful eyes, I feel free. I was born who I am and that's the only person I should be. This world filled of hatred and ignorance doesn't weigh down on me. I am human; no longer a bag of bones in the closet. I saw her and I walked outside and I held her hand as if we were drowning in people's smiles. They can try to put you down and wear you out but if you are still living, you need to keep living, you made it this far, don't put any ifs ands or buts. Our love is so pure, so innocent, so true, we are everything and nothing less. People say this isn't proper love, But the definition doesn't state it's between man and woman so I say fuck off. No, I never see the devil in her eyes, in fact, she's the closest thing to holy I will ever get. So, I am proud to say, I am human. I am human. I am fucking human.
(J.d.)
