I've Been Queer My Entire Life, But I Don't Know If I'll Ever Be Out

I've Been Queer My Entire Life, But I Don't Know If I'll Ever Be Out

I'm okay with not being completely out, to a certain extent- but my family isn't.


I'm almost 20 years old and I've been queer for almost 20 years. In the past two years I have realized a lot more about myself and my identity. These realizations are things that I want to change and things that other people in my family will not support. The family I was given is one that has loved me and supported me my entire life, but there's a few people in it that would not support me through my queerness. I love my family. My crazy, religious, republican, conservative family- and they love me. However, they don't love all of me because they don't know all of me. The only person in my family that knows all of me is my mom and she is slowly trying to come to terms with who her kid really is (thanks mom!).

When I first came out as gay to my mom she was livid and said that she would not have a gay child and we weren't going to talk about it. Well, we didn't talk about it for two years and we got into another unrelated fight and she said "I just want you to accept me". Once she said that I shot my shot and told her I wanted the same, that I was gay and we hadn't talked about it for two years. Since then my mom has embraced that side of me and been a mom of a giant raging lesbian. Until things changed, but we're not getting into that.

I knew my sexuality and a few other things were "unfair" to put on my mom because of others in our family. The more conservative ones would blame her if things got out. They would say she should've had me in church, in Christian schools, disciplined me more, and a laundry list of things. But, I would've been me no matter what. When my identity started to change a couple of years ago, I started to suffer more mentally and things started going downhill for me. It was also around this time that my mom and my grandma (who now knew that I was gay) started pressuring me to come out to my grandpa. My grandpa is the one person I will never come out to and he is the one person that I am okay with never coming out to.

A lot has changed in my life and the one thing that hasn't is my decision to come out to my grandpa. I'm just as fine with my decision to not come out as I was the day I realized I was queer. I don't know when or if I will fully be out to him or to everyone in my family and that's fine with me. I love my life and I'm happy not being out if I get to keep my family.

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To The Parent Who Chose Addiction

Thank you for giving me a stronger bond with our family.


When I was younger I resented you, I hated every ounce of you, and I used to question why God would give me a parent like you. Not now. Now I see the beauty and the blessings behind having an addict for a parent. If you're reading this, it isn't meant to hurt you, but rather to thank you.

Thank you for choosing your addiction over me.

Throughout my life, you have always chosen the addiction over my programs, my swim meets or even a simple movie night. You joke about it now or act as if I never questioned if you would wake up the next morning from your pill and alcohol-induced sleep, but I thank you for this. I thank you because I gained a relationship with God. The amount of time I spent praying for you strengthened our relationship in ways I could never explain.

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Thank you for giving me a stronger bond with our family.

The amount of hurt and disappointment our family has gone through has brought us closer together. I have a relationship with Nanny and Pop that would never be as strong as it is today if you had been in the picture from day one. That in itself is a blessing.

Thank you for showing me how to love.

From your absence, I have learned how to love unconditionally. I want you to know that even though you weren't here, I love you most of all. No matter the amount of heartbreak, tears, and pain I've felt, you will always be my greatest love.

Thank you for making me strong.

Thank you for leaving and for showing me how to be independent. From you, I have learned that I do not need anyone else to prove to me that I am worthy of being loved. From you, I have learned that life is always hard, but you shouldn't give into the things that make you feel good for a short while, but should search for the real happiness in life.

Most of all, thank you for showing me how to turn my hurt into motivation.

I have learned that the cycle of addiction is not something that will continue into my life. You have hurt me more than anyone, but through that hurt, I have pushed myself to become the best version of myself.

Thank you for choosing the addiction over me because you've made me stronger, wiser, and loving than I ever could've been before.

Cover Image Credit: http://crashingintolove.tumblr.com/post/62246881826/pieffysessanta-tumblr-com

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Batter Up

Because someone needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat a woman.


I have this memory from when I was younger,

I must have been six, maybe seven? An age

When you can remember, but not quite

Understand. I remember the landline

Ringing sometime in the middle

Of the night in my grandmother's small,

But adequate house. I had been sleeping,

Tucked under a shield of satin covers,

My grandmother next to me, blanketless,

And stiff, on the very edge of the queen mattress

Like she was anticipating some sort of disaster.

It wasn't the phone that pulled me from my sleep,

It was my grandmother's instant jerk, her eyes

Flipping open quicker than a light switch,

The mattress springing back up, adjusting

To the new lightness as she fled the room. My waking

Was soft like a song. Slow and humane.

My eyes adjusting to the dark, my ears absorbing the ringing,

My mind reminding itself that I was at my grandmother's house.

Then, the ringing stopped;

Abrupt, like a disarmed fire alarm.

It was just a drill, I thought.

But, then I heard the mumbling

From behind the door, panicked mumbling.

Rapid, like gunfire. My grandmother's Rs

Rolling down the hallway and under the door crack.

She only spoke Spanish when she was angry.

The call ended, my grandmother returned to the room,

Wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me into the night.

She buckled me into the backseat of her Toyota and said,

We were going to Auntie Mandy's house because someone

Needed to teach her rotten boyfriend a lesson about how to treat

A woman.

When we arrived at the house, we found the front door

Wide open, the house lights spilling out onto the porch.

A truck, I had seen once before, was parked a foot away

From the front door, aggressive. The truck had trampled

Over the dandelions and daisies, which lay wounded

In the front yard. A scene that begged for investigation.

My grandmother told me to stay put in my seat.

I watched as she walked to the back of the car, her normally pretty

Face turned straight, looked masculine. I watched as she pulled

Something wooden out of her trunk, then in her feline walk,

Approached the house. She turned to me, and I saw the

Baseball bat, immense in her female hands.

I slouched in my seat, the window above my head.

I never saw her go into the house.

I don't remember how long I sat,

Until the red and blue lights came.

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