March 27, 2009
By Anonymous

can say that it’s been a long road… A hard, scary road, I was forced to take alone. My road to a cure of being bisexual.

No one understands what it’s like to feel this way. Sorting, rearranging my heart to try to realize, try to find myself internally. I know what I am now, but at first, I didn’t admit it to anyone… not even myself.

It all started when I was ten years old. I was playing basketball for the Lake Champlain Lakers. I saw this girl and she was amazing at basketball. She was blonde, with sky blue eyes and she had a tall, slim figure. There was something about this girl that made me recoil.

I was compelled to her… an instant attraction that I couldn’t control, an internal feeling I was too mulish to admit. I was finding a girl attractive. I thought about her and this dilemma for a long time… it came to an extent where I was so confused, it made me emotionally and physically sick.

When I was in middle school, there were times when I was alone, and I was also with a guy for the longest time… well, for middle school “love”. We were together for five months. I wasn’t “normal”. The people in my grade didn’t understand me. I was quiet, shy, I’ll-let-you-walk-all-over-me type of person. I looked at guys, because I knew it wasn’t right to be looking at girls. It wasn’t “normal”.

My life was a rough rollercoaster. A boy or a girl… I wasn’t sure. Something inside told me it was “wrong”, but when I was around a girl I liked it, I drove myself crazy on the inside, but I remained unphased on the outside.

Recently, I had a girlfriend. Her name was Kayla. She made me feel like it was okay to feel the I did, and do. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid to be with a girl. It was simply the fact that she made me feel right. All the people that knew her, knew we were dating, but none of my friends knew about her. My parents will never know for many reasons.

My mom wasn’t ready to except it, nor was anyone else. My dad once stated that if either of us brought home a black man or girl, he would feel disrespected and he would kick me, or my sister, out of the house. Luckily, I would have somewhere to stay, but it wouldn’t be home.

Thoughts fly through me head of things I could do to push myself to be “normal”. There was never a rational way, only a rough way. A way that no one would understand. Only me. The feeling of pressure and stress brought me to a feeling of failure. Surrounded by flaws and evidence of Depression… I grabbed three random bottles of medicine and ran to my room. They still vivid and pure in my mind. I opened each bottle with apprehension and tentiveness. I found myself looking at piles of pills on my blue carpet. Coming face-to-face with a cure for my confusion. My collapsing heart telling me to stop, my brain contradicting my heart… making me have second thoughts but pushing me over the edge of the Grand Canyon.

Closing my burning eyes to fight the tears, I grabbed whatever pills were in front of me and grabbed my orange juice and kept swallowing the different colored pills until my juice was gone. I lost track after twenty-five… The regret… the shame… the sudden accumulation of tears… Everything inside me knew what I did was wrong. It was too late to take it all back… I was starting to feel light headed. When I looked at my digital clock, it read “7:36”. A random time, but a time I would never forget before I closed my eyes, for what I thought would be forever. My vision was blurred once my body was taken over. Passed out on the floor, music blaring, my bedroom door locked. No one would know… no one would care…

Waking up the next day in the living room of my house, tightly wrapped in blankets. I felt like a caterpillar in a cocoon. My sister was sleeping in the lazy-boy chair across the room. Finding my head throbbing with sounds of my heart beat pumping harder and faster than usual. It was as if I was on crack, or just a really bad hangover… I wondered what happened and how I got to me couch. My living room looked awkward and out of place.

It was only then I realized suicide wasn’t the answer. There should be no reason to end your life early. Never again would I be ashamed of the taunting of the people around me nor my past. Everything I am, everything I was… makes me who I am today. Changing from a depressed, confused, scared, state-of-mind to a positive, happy, tough strong state-of-mind… a complete reversal.

Although I was grounded for taking an overdose, I was in God’s hands. His gracious hands that helped me back up when I was about to fall… I’m here for a reason. That reason is to be free to love whoever I meet and for them to love me in return. This twisting, winding road was rough, and it almost came to an end, an end that would have been pain for the living instead of the dead. I found myself, and ultimately, that’s all that counts.

The author's comments:
What inspired me to actually sit down and write this piece was a couple of my friends and Fred Phelps.
In my town, we used to have a gay mayor and it brought these people from I think the Carolinas up to my town to protest. The man ahead of this all is Fred Phelps and his family.
I went to those protests this year and it bothered me to see how much these people actually hated gay people. I went with some of my gay friends and we stood on the side of the road and just looked at others who were holding signs sticking up for the sexuality of themselves, friends, or loved ones. I didn't understand these people. Holding up signs that said "God Hates Fags" and many other things. It made my heart ache... So I sat down and wrote this piece because I know that it doesn't matter in the end what others think, because if it's what you feel, it's what you feel. No one can tell you how to feel. I personally feel proud to be bisexual and I thank God everyday that I'm still here, and that there are people out there that are willing to except every person for who they are instead of what they are.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Oct. 19 2009 at 7:18 pm
right on! this is so hopeful. keep looking up, and good work. truly inspiring


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