ITT talk about how you realized or started asking questions about your LGBT+ identity.
Was it positive, negative, neutral?
Did you struggle with it or go on a journey of discovery?
Did you or do you have to hide it? If so, how?
How do you realistically hope to see public attitudes changing in your lifetime?
I always knew I liked women. But sometimes I'd also get a crush on a cute boy from school or in cartoons on TV. When puberty hit I felt IRL sexual attraction exclusively towards women in middleschool, but somewhere along teenagehood I started occasionaly browsing dick pics and men with shredded abs on Tumblr and hentai and stuff. I thought I was just a porn addicted weirdo teenager (because at the time that's the kind of discourse I was immersed into), until I kissed a guy at a party when I was around 19 and I felt good about it. That's when it clicked that I'm bisexual.
I didn't think anything negative of it because I already hung out with gay guys and lesbians. I was just kind of surprised, or bummed out, that I found out so late. My friends told me they always suspected it because I always felt comfortable with male touch in a way other (straight) guys weren't (kissing on the cheeks, hugging, petting hair). But at that point I was already too much of a dude's dude. I don't present as queer in any way, I look and talk like a straight dude, except for very few mannerisms.
One thing that disappointed me though is that while everyone around me (except for my family) knew and presented themselves as accepting, after some time, some guys started cracking jokes about my sexual orientation that did hurt me. One of my (straight) friends, while drunk, started hugging me as he always does to people, and another guy blurted jokingly "be careful with that cuz he likes it!" and idk, it's not a big deal, but it kinda struck me that they don't see me like one of them.
>Did you or do you have to hide it?
My family still doesn't know about it. They can't find out until I leave the house, and preferably until I leave the city. I'm currently dating a guy though, who's transgender, so I might end up having to tell them about it. Presenting my boyfriend as cis female is out of question.
>>1>Was it positive, negative, neutral?Negative, its been an overwhelming detriment to my life
>Did you or do you have to hide it? If so, how?Dating a woman I don't love.
>How do you realistically hope to see public attitudes changing in your lifetime?Less outwardly violent maybe. But I don't see coming out as possible within my lifetime.
A memoir by Caleb T. Maupin
Chapter 4
The Maupin men were born preachers. Not the TV begging kind, and not the megachurchy kind either. No, they were old school, fire and brimstone, repent or burn, King James Bible types. For six generations, each firstborn Maupin took the pulpit by sixteen, married a pious girl by twenty, and spent the rest of his life wrestling with God, the IRS, and the Federal government.
At twelve years old. I knew I would break the chain. Not because I doubted the existence of God. But because I doubted the lies they wrapped Him in.
While the other boys in Dayton traded baseball cards and boasted about kisses behind the bleachers, I sat in the library, buried in Marx and staring at the crucifix. I was drawn not to the expression of agony on Christ’s face, but to the curve of his ribs, and the tension in his thighs.
“You’re soft,” grunted my father one day, catching me sketching instead of shooting hoops.
“You’ll turn into a faggot. A man’s gotta lead. To want.”
And I did want. Just not what I was supposed to want.
The football team locker room was a torture chamber. Youth group retreats in the woods were a minefield of forced prayers, arms slung over, and forbidden warmth. The altar call was the worst. Kneeling at the rail, in the full knowledge that if they knew what I did, they’d cast me out like a rotten sheaf of wheat.
When I was fourteen, Pastor Rick pulled me to one side. The bugs buzzed around the fluorescent lights, as he thumbed his Bible open to Leviticus 18:22.
“You’re different Caleb,” he said.
“Different is no good. Satan preys on different. You gotta cut this out before it gets in.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I memorised the verse. Later, I learned the scholars debated the translation—it wasn’t about love, but pagan temple prostitution. But back then? What did I know? It was just a knife to my throat.
I left Ohio. I didn’t cry. But I made a promise. If I burn, it won’t be for their heaven.
I flicked my cigarette into the East River and laughed. It was ugly and raw. They wanted a shepherd. They got a heretic instead.
Veronica’s voice echoed in my mind.
Honey… even Jesus needed a Joseph… you think he ever gave a shit about fitting in?
>>1my mom thought i was gay when i was like four but i didn't register that i was queer until i was like 9
i came out to my grandma (my mother died a few months before i realized i was queer) when i was 13 and i've been bipan since then
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