I know it’s only midday, but I have to get this out there.
My uncle called me a minority the other day. It made me feel like I was gross, like I was a ‘less than’. And, honestly, even though I know I’m not a ‘typical cis-gendered heterosexual neurotypical’ person, I never really considered myself a minority.
It’s been bothering me a lot. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why. I think it’s because it’s just further proof that I’m not a real part of the family. I’ve always been treated different and I probably always will. The thing is, though, is that I lied to myself and told myself that I belonged, that they agreed that my dad was a dick for calling me a dyke and so they must accept the fact that I’m just not that into men. That it’s totally okay that I’m gay.
I wear my rainbows as a sort of shield. If I’m super openly in your face gay, then you have to accept it. You can either get with the program or get the fuck out. I’m flamboyantly open about being gay. I talk about it all the time.
But honestly, being gay bothers me. It bothers me more than Autism bothers me. Because being gay isn’t something I can choose to ignore like I can with Autism. Autism, I can laugh it off, I can ignore the symptoms and work hard to pass as NT. But with being gay, I can only do so much. I’ve never lost friends because of Autism. I’ve lost friends because of being gay.
I’m constantly telling myself that, if I wasn’t gay, my dad would talk to me and he would love me again. That my brother wouldn’t be so aloof. That my mother and my aunt and uncle wouldn’t see me as a ‘less than’, as a ‘minority’. That I might be able to find someone who loves me for me and not get sick of my weirdness and not joke about how the Gay is contagious.
My last relationship with Exacerbating Ex ending very poorly. But what hurts me the most about it isn’t the lying about me stealing drugs, it’s about her accusing me of raping her, of forcing her to do sexual things because I was the first girl she’d been with. I would never force anyone to do anything that they didn’t want to, especially like that. It hurts because she twisted reality to make herself a victim. And it made me feel like I’m some sort of perverted deviant. It made me question my own sanity, even though I know that the roles were more reversed and I’m easily manipulated and abused. (No means no, not ‘no until I’m made to feel bad about saying no’.)
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, the Mormons, have this thing called the Patriarchal Blessing. Basically, you go to this guy and he gives you a prophecy of how your life could turn out. I was very excited when I got mine done when I was 13 because I was starting to doubt my place in the Church. I already knew there was something wrong with me back then.
When I got it, I was deeply disappointed. It seemed like a generic ‘marry and have 2.5 kids and be a wonderful mother and Sister’ thing. When I looked at it years later, I knew it was wrong. I don’t have a husband and I don’t plan on having one. I can’t have kids because of the Endometriosis. When I talked to Okaasan about it, she said that if I had chosen a different path, the Blessing would have come true. That the Blessing only shows what could be if you follow the church.
I didn’t choose to have Endometriosis. I didn’t choose to be gay. When I pointed that out, she stuck to her words. If I had stayed in the Church, I would be married and have kids. I don’t think she realized how much that hurt me. I felt like I was being blamed for things outside of my control.
I’m not very good at working on more than one thing at a time. I’ve been bitching a lot lately about Autism and how that makes my life shit. I don’t really talk about how being gay hurts me more than being Autistic.
I cried myself to sleep last night. I curled up with Dorobo and I cried. I cried because it finally hit me that I’ll never be accepted as a full member of the family. I cried because I miss my dad and I still love him despite the heartbreak he’s caused me. I cried because I feel ashamed, I feel like I’m just wrong and that I don’t deserve to exist because I’m a burden and an outsider to my family. I cried because I’m a minority and I cried because I hate myself and I cried because I hate that I hate myself.
I’m crying right now because I wish I could change. I wish I was that perfect daughter who got perfect grades and has a decent job and is engaged or dating some nice young man from the Church who just got back from his mission. I’m such a disappointment to my family and my own dad called me names and said so himself.
Being gay bothers me. It bothers me that I feel like I have to be very outspoken and loud in order to protect myself from the hate and hurt that the world keeps slinging my way. It bothers me that I’m the token gay person at church. It bothers me that I can’t stop being this way.
My brother is in contact with our dad. I don’t want to tell him to stop. It hurts me that my brother, despite saying that he wouldn’t talk to DoucheDonor until he apologized to me, is talking to DoucheDonor and hid it from me. It hurts that my brother is always hesitant to ask about my love life and he changes the topic when I bring it up.
I was called a minority the other day and it hurts me. It hurts that I’m set apart from my family and that I’ve been disowned from my father and from several relatives on my mother’s side because I am gay. It hurts that I’m not allowed to talk about celebrity crushes or my exes or anything related to the LGBTQA community at family functions.
It hurts that I’m seen as less than. I know I always sort of viewed myself as less than, but to see and hear others do it too… It drives it home. I hated being called a minority. I hate that it still bothers me.
And I hate being gay.
I hate so much about myself. I hate that I do my spazzing. I hate that I have trouble understanding things. But I can always change that. I can change my behaviour to be better, to appear less Autistic. I can’t change being gay.
I can’t just stop. I’ve tried. I’ve ignored it and I’ve lied to myself and that only made me unhappy and gross. So I throw it around. “I’m allergic to nuts and that’s why I’m a lesbian”. “That’s so gay that it makes me seem straight.” “I’m gay so you wouldn’t understand.” “I’m gay and that was a faggy thing to do.”
I joke about it and I push the issue into everyone’s face, sometimes literally. I force myself to be openly flamboyant and seem like I don’t give a fuck if everyone knows I’m gay because I’m the Sarcastic Autist and I’m fucking awesome and don’t you forget it.
But I’m not. I care deeply when people reject me. I joke about things that hurt me because it’s the only way I know how to cope. I don’t feel awesome. I ‘m not amazingly gay and okay with it. I’m just lost and scared that people will hurt me more. I’m afraid to date because of my past history of exes getting all pissy and saying I turned them gay by force and shit. I’m afraid to let people see that I’m just a vulnerable child inside.
I don’t feel loved by my parents or my brother or any of my family. I don’t feel loved because of Autism and Gayness. I feel rejected and placed apart. I feel alone and so sad and desolate.
I wish I wasn’t gay so my family would accept me. So that my dad would tell me that he loves me and that he’s sorry that he hurt me and that my mum would tease me about boys and my brother would joke about having man-to-man talks with my dates. I wish I was straight so that I wouldn’t be called a minority and that my family would ask when I was bringing the next guy over for supper.
I wish I wasn’t gay so I could love myself easier. So I wouldn’t look into the mirror with disdain. “I can’t change being gay, maybe I can change not being such a lard-ass. I can’t change being gay, maybe I can change not being such a loser. I can’t change being gay, maybe I can change not being such an ugly fuck.”
When my uncle called me a minority, it really struck home that other people view me as a ‘less than’. I know I view myself as a ‘less than’. I’ve always viewed myself as a less than, that’s why I’m so outspoken about my awesomeness. If I say it enough times, it’ll be true. But it’s always more true when someone else says it.
So, even if I call myself names and call myself a worthless faggot, it hurts more to learn that others see me the same way. That others see me as some sort of sinner and sexual deviant and that I’m not worthy of basic respect or compassion.
I’m going to go be sad and feel like I need a hug. I’ll be back on later.
-The Sarcastic Autist