Do you ever feel completely different from your parent?
Not just opposites, but opposites in every sense of the word?
I’ve never really related to my dad. He just doesn’t act like me. I always see little boys or even guys my age do the same actions as their father, or speak the same way, or just LOOK the same. I have none of those similarities with my dad.
Lately, I’ve been secretly wondering if he’s been gay all along. That would certainly clear up why I’m gay.
Either way, I guess it doesn’t matter. I just hate that my kids are never going to have a grandpa of any kind. It’s bothersome that however much therapy I go through or whenever I have my life straightened out and I’m happy and healthy, he’s always going to be THERE. In the back of my mind. In the background. He’s still going to exist. And I still have to answer to his existence.
My mom has noticed how our laughs are the same. She’s notices how our hands are the same. How I have the same eye color as him. That my hair is the same. I think once I’ve found that I have similarities, it freaks me out.
I don’t want to be HIM. I don’t want to be anything like him.
I hate my GPA right now. I think it’s somewhere around a 3.0. So, basically, I can kiss any hope of getting into Brown or Stanford goodbye come finals in two weeks. I’m frustrated with myself that I can’t handle my dad’s new girlfriend. I’m frustrated that I’m not effective at my school. Today I prayed with someone who helped me through that, and as I started to weep, I said, “I just want everyone at this school to know how deeply in love with God I am—I don’t just love Him because I go to a Christian school. I don’t love Him because I go to church, or my family’s Christian. I love Him because He loves me, and He doesn’t have to, and I’m something that He simply doesn’t have to accept into the Kingdom.”
My friend’s words were comforting, but he still didn’t understand the full pressure of everything. Nobody at school knows that I am going through therapy to no longer be gay. I wouldn’t dare tell anyone.
I’m frustrated that I can’t go to Europe. Everybody in my class is going except for one girl who is willingly staying behind, and I can’t afford the trip. Everybody was pretty shocked, but, really, do they have the right to be that way? Their parents are all very comfortable and dropping 4000 to go to Europe for ten days is nothing to them. Literally nothing.
I just hate that I’m the one who would appreciate the trip most. My mom is very upset that I can’t go, and she feels partially at fault. She knows how much I love European art and history, but she can’t do anything about it. Sometimes your situation in life is beyond your control, and you can sit and complain and say that it’s an injustice that you can’t afford this or that, or that your brother did this to you, or your father won’t talk to you … but, really, it’s up to you to stand and say that you will break this family cycle. I—Dillon—will never allow my family to end up like this.
I wish things could be back to normal. They are, yeah. They are on the surface. But they aren’t, really.
I over think everything. I really do. In the morning, I have difficulty showering quickly because I usually clasp my hands behind my neck, slick my hair, bask in the water and stare forward. I think about everything. I think about what happened the day before, and I predict what will happen today. I think of how I didn’t do an assignment as well as I could, how a classmate of mine is giving me a cold shoulder, how my good friend is becoming quieter. I just stand there and think.
It’s the same at night. I’ll wake up at three o’clock in the morning and think about everyone important to me. It’s really very curious. If I’m aware that something’s woken me up, I’ll usually sit up and sort of stare around for a bit. Mentally, I’ll go through a list of those close to me and see if they’re on my mind. It’s bizarre.
At school I over think decisions. I over think little assignments and blow them up exponentially. I over think how people look at me and what they say. What’s odd is that I’ll notice a girl being quiet, but I won’t notice a girl who is infatuated with me until somebody points it out. I drift toward those who need help quite naturally.
I over think me. Me. I stand in front of my mirror and run a hand through my hair. I wonder if I’m happy. If this is what I wanted. I have a good house and I go to a (relatively) good school. I have good friends and I go to a good youth group. I have good support.
And then I think I’m going to be okay. But I can never arrive at that without first doubting myself. I doubt. I doubt continually. I sit down to write and wonder if the world will listen. I wonder why my words are important, and I discredit them. There have been so many people who have failed before, what should make me any different? I doubt my ability in almost anything. I don’t believe I can sing well even when my choir director compliments me. I don’t believe I’m good at the piano even when my English teacher loves my recital. I don’t believe them. I can only believe myself.
I don’t believe that my brother is free. He brushes past me and hugs me tightly. He holds me for a second longer than necessary, and in those fleeting moments I wonder if he is gay. I truly do wonder. I wonder if everything he’s established has been to delude himself. I let my mind wander rapidly.
Last night, I had “the dream”. It was the first time I’d had it for quite a while. This time, the man was wearing green. I was sitting down at the table in Starbucks, texting someone on my cell phone. He walked in and sat down next to me, pulling up a chair. He leans in and says something complimentary along the lines of missing me through the work day. I can’t see his eyes. I never can. He leans in and caresses my cheek. I don’t return his affection.
Last night, somebody walked in. Somebody different.
Steve walked in. It had always been a woman who walked in before. Now it was Steve. The feeling that ran through me when I saw his face was indescribable—it was truly terrifying. I woke up in the middle of the night because of this and really wanted to call him. I wanted to call Steve. I had my cell phone in hand, ready to dial his number. But I was afraid. I doubted he would actually answer. I doubted that I was important enough to counsel at four o’clock in the morning. Even as I went to press SEND, I knew, somehow, deep within me, that he just wouldn’t care. A dream isn’t important enough for middle-of-the-night emergency therapy. I closed the phone and rolled over, allowing the rain to overtake me, the sound of it tapping the window like a friend wanting inside. A tear ran down my cheek.
I feel like I’ll never be delivered.
I don’t know if any of my Tumblr friends have read If I Stay by Gayle Forman, but I’d simply like to talk about it for a moment.
The book isn’t depressing; it’s exciting. It’s a celebration of life. Mia’s entire family has just been killed in a car accident while on the way to their grandparents; she sees the events unfold, disembodied, not present. She can even see her own body on the road, broken and bleeding. The paramedics arrive and say that her mother shielded her little brother from impact and so she died first. After some scurrying, one paramedic convinces another to medivac Mia, because she still has a chance; her heart is beating. Says him, “She’s not dying on my watch.”
The book is told in flashbacks. Mia moves from reminiscing about life to her present situation in the ICU. She remembers her brother’s birth, what her parents told her about their years of dating, her parents oddities, and the burgeoning relationship with her new boyfriend, Adam. Adam is one of my favorite male characters ever in a book. Everything he does is just thoughtful and really quite amazing. The depth of his character in this book surprised me.
She thinks of the cello, and I believe ultimately the cello is what propelled her decision.
This is still the best young adult book I’ve ever read. It’s heartwrenching but oh-so-hopeful at the same time. It’s beautiful—you just want to read it over and over again.
Mia reminds me of a friend of mine, whom I shall call M. Her strength and ferociousness is just refreshing and honest.
It’s awkward when a three way friendship ends up in a relationship. You feel like the third wheel, even though you’re not, and you begin questioning the entire purpose behind everything. Was the mutual friendship just to cultivate things, etc.? I think we just hype up little decisions because we are afraid of change. We have our world perfectly in order and we don’t want things shaken up. I have to accept that someday I will have new friends who will not know my story, and I will have to tell them my secrets, tell them what I think about in the dead of night; I will have to start over someday. None of my relationships are going to last forever, and I think that honestly scares me. I’m trying not to let it. I find that prayer works.