I had no idea a custody decision in his favor would be a determinant of how much I would have to go through to be with the one I loved. I never thought I would fight so hard for a girl I cared about that our relationship would live on like a burn scar on my brain. The memories still play like a nightmarish movie in my dreams so frequently, I sometimes question if it all really happened. She corrects me whenever I get the story wrong. I am starting to forget the years when the memories took place. I mix up the little details, but I remember our war. I remember the hell two little teenagers went through to be in love like everyone else.
To be completely fair, we were being very dumb about our relationship. We could have been kicked out of school had anyone caught us sneaking around being gay. We were very codependent, and we could spend every waking second talking to each other. It would have been the kind of thing for any parent to worry about. I do not blame anyone for being concerned. It would have been the perfect time to teach us healthy relationship habits. Maybe monitor the amount of time we spent talking to each other, especially given the amount we saw each other. This is not an essay against good parenting. This is an essay against totalitarian parenting.
He did not want me to see her ever again. I was forbidden to speak to her. I was told frequently that being gay was trashy, and no one would ever want to hire me if I was going to be an out lesbian. Like any teenager, the rebellious act of loving my same gender only made me feel more cool about it. She was off limits, and I was ready to break rules. I had always been told that if I had good grades, I had all the freedom to do what made me happy. I thanked God I was an honors student with a nice GPA.
The disobeying was easy at first. I called her late at night. I snuck around to find the stashed laptops. I would find my phone hidden everywhere and send her goodnight texts. When those were taken from me, I made more time to run into her at school. She was older and had a car, so she would drop by my work where we would hang at the mall for hours and enjoy seeing each other. My grandparents had also gained the right to see my brother and me on the weekends, and that just gave me a little more space to bend the rules. I would lie about work or service hours for class credit only to meet her somewhere for a few hours of wandering the city. She started dropping by their house on her way to and from tutoring. I felt like we had it figured out.
The sneaking around became too frequent. My first phone was smashed right before my toes on the bathroom floor. The second was gifted to my baby brother, who at eight, felt he needed one. My laptop was locked away. My door was unscrewed and taken off of its hinges to remind me that I deserved no privacy under his roof, especially if I was going to lie and be deceitful all the time. He threatened my grandparents, and before gifting my phone away, pretended to be me in order to break up with my girlfriend. He is a grown man.
We fought so frequently, I would leave the house and wander the neighborhood for hours in my spare time. I was kicked out occasionally, and when I called the cops, they came to me and told me to pray that God would stop me from being such a delinquent and burden on my family. I would show up to school with no uniform or school supplies, and they would lend me what they had in their office. I was already an outcast, and then everyone now had to be left wondering why I was so rebellious and different that I could not bother to even wear a uniform. My second half of junior year was spent in saddle oxfords and plaid skirts that were at least two sizes too big. I had a tiny freebie bag from a music festival to keep two notebooks in. The school counselor told me I needed an attitude adjustment. I really just needed to live as an adolescent and be openly gay, but I guess my attitude could have used a tune-up, too.
By freshman year of college, the girl I was in love with became the girl I once loved. However, I was still at odds with my father. I was still unapologetically gay, but he was changing his mind a bit. My cousin was dating a nice girl that had grown on the family. They were becoming a bit less homophobic. I still moved out as soon as possible. I got an apartment as soon as I had the money. I wanted it to be for my student loans, but my freedom was more priceless. When I totaled my car, I was thankful I had a valid excuse to not be obligated to visit his house again. The more space we had between us, the better our relationship got. He would send me texts that he missed me and hoped I was okay. I returned the sentiment, happy that months apart made me like him enough to have a polite conversation.
We got even better with time. He paid respects in my name at the Pulse shooting site. He really made the effort to get to know my girlfriend, and he really like her. He asked about my lifestyle. He took interest in my career pursuits and school. For my cousin's birthday we went out drinking and celebrated a life of possibility. At home we talked about where I had been and what I had been up to. I mentioned I was telling my brother the importance of doing what he wants for his college degree regardless of what my parents tell him. My father was outraged. I was being really disrespectful. He asked me very loudly, "When have I ever told you that you couldn't pursue something that you wanted to pursue?"
I thought about high school. I thought about how we fought over my phone one of the first times after he read through my texts and said, "Steph, don't be gay. That is so trashy, and no one is going to like you like that." I thought about the actions that came with being gay. The anger towards me. The removal of all of my possessions, and the confinement to my room, that doorless dark gray room. I still have no qualms about doing nothing on the weekends from so many weekends spent in that room. I still get unnecessarily panicked when people buy me things because I get so worried that they will get taken away.
I started crying and resolved not to fight this time. I grabbed my keys and left. It would take a whole day's time to walk from his house to my apartment, but I was going to take it one step at a time if that was all I had. With my dead phone in hand I prayed for an uber. I thought about my first girlfriend. I realized if I would have done this for her at the age of 16, I could do this for the sake of myself now at the age of 22. We still have not spoken. He insists that I am wrong and am making him out to be more of a monster than he is. Even if in the grand scheme of things, I am making a big deal, my wounds are too deep to be consoled by mere negation. My father is young, and he is still learning. Even with the pain I feel making this into a public article to heal my own fresh wounds, I understand and accept that. I just hope he could one day see the depth of the trouble he caused in my youth. If he never does, that is okay too. Maybe a few months down the line of silence, he can wake up to a text that says, "Hey, I miss you. I hope you are doing okay."
