Drifting

Reading a few of the blogs out there concerning T.R. Knight and Isaiah Washington, I thought that I should make this post. Some of you might be wondering why I would be putting a post with a gay subject up on this blog. Usually, I reserve those for Peering and not this one. I’ve been out on this blog for a number of months but references to my sexuality were only related to whatever subject a post was made on. Since I don’t talk about it here on Thoughts, it never overtly came up. However, since it appears that no one visits my other blog any longer, I wanted to get something off my chest to those of you who are here. I don’t know, maybe I’ll move this over…

Fag. Faggot. The “F” word.

I have a hard time trying to fully appreciate how hurtful that word can be. Aside from some taunting in second grade, I was never called the word. Well, I take that back, I’ve been called it before but in the way boys will taunt other boys by calling them names. “You pussy.” “Don’t be such a sissy.” “You’re a Star Trek fan? You’re such a fag.” I saw how other queer little boys were targeted. I saw them abused with the “F” word amongst plenty of other words. And while I never participated in the abuse, I very rarely did anything to stop it. To defend a fag was to be a fag and I couldn’t have that. It haunts me now—especially when I think of John. God, it seemed like he never caught a break.

Lonely. That’s what I feel. I grew up distanced from everyone. The only way I could keep my secret was to keep people at arms distance. I don’t feel a connection to anyone or feel that I am a part of any group. It seems like every part of what comprises me is in conflict with something else. I can’t have an honest relationship with my parents because I’m gay. I am pressured to censure myself from other gay bloggers because I’m a Republican. I’m not fully accepted into Filipino groups because I’m too American. And on and on.

The “F” word doesn’t bring up memories of abuse for me. It makes me feel even more alone. Because I wasn’t in the group that was in the receiving end nor was I in the group that threw them. I was in the middle. Invisible to both.

Shame is another feeling I have. I feel shame towards my parents because I can’t be the son they want. More importantly to you (fellow gay bloggers), I feel ashamed simply being in your company because I don’t feel like I have done one thing to earn your respect or even attention. And as much as I want to share in your outrage as well as your pride, I can’t. I haven’t been there.