I guess we all want to see ourselves. Or our possible selves. How we might inhabit different actions/conversations. How we could be different. How we could stay the same.

Fiction presents a unique occasion to wander a world that doesn’t exist. But also, I think, to wander a world that does exist, that we hope exists. I invest myself in fictional stories because I want to see possibilities. What I read and what I watch introduce new settings, new ideas, new arguments. I learn from the narratives of others and learn more about my own narrative. I look for entertainment, but also for correspondence.

Relating to a character in fiction does not just serve some narcissistic craving to see myself projected in every circumstance; seeing recognizable personalities and situations makes my own experiences valid. When I see fictional portrayals of experiences I have gone through, I know someone else has shared this. With this awareness, I am not isolated. My emotions are recognized and authenticated by storytellers, by others who understand these stories.

This explains my devastation and exhaustion with the continued abuse of queer characters in every form of fiction. I’m tired of the stories written by largely cis-gender and heterosexual teams or individuals looking to show diversity or progressiveness with one token queer character, but no actual respect for the people or communities these characters represent. I am constantly bombarded with the deaths and suffering of queer characters across all forms of media. These storylines of fictional queer characters are so damaging when aligned with the very real deaths and suffering of queer people in reality. With every death, beating, family abuse or use of a slur, I am reminded of the danger that I face. But I am never offered a reminder of the happiness I am capable of achieving.

Queer narratives are distorted in the hands of non-queer writers with no knowledge of queer history or current queer activism. Writers who are not part of the LGBTQ+ community let hidden bias or confusion on subjects permeate the dominant narrative of queer life. LGBTQ+ communities are broad, beautiful communities that include a vast range of experiences. People of all backgrounds, faiths, genders, ethnicities and abilities exist in this community and all possess unique stories, yet our narratives are never shown in such diversity or in conjunction with anything besides pain.

Real queer narratives need to be given more attention and space to exist in mainstream outlets. We need stories written about queer people by queer people, owning their stories and controlling their own portrayals. These stories are necessary so we may combat the dominant prejudices against our community and educate others about our experiences.

We all hope to see ourselves in fiction, to have our stories validated by commonality. And by exposing the diverse voices that are repressed in our society, we can begin to build solidarity and unity between communities.