I groan as my alarm clock goes off, signaling another day has begun. Another great day at school.. I pushed the blankets back off of myself and got into the shower. The hot water and steam made half of my stress vanish, but there was always that tension that something would go horribly wrong.
My life went horribly wrong, my subconscious adds. I sigh, I even hate myself.
As I was the last of the soap out of my hair, I hear my mother's voice.
"Scott?" She calls. When's the last time she actually wanted to call my name? When was the last time she'd wanted to have an open conversation with me? She never talks to me anymore. Neither does my father. I never knew that this whole decision would make virtually everybody hate me. Even my own parents. I didn't have siblings, not that they would like me anymore either. There was just something inside of me telling me that this was the right way, this choice was mine to make and it felt right.
"I'm in the shower, mom." I call back. I hear a heavy sigh come from her, and I decide to just get out of the shower. I had to face my issues at some point. I dried off with the fluffy white towel I had chosen before I got into the shower, and put on basketball shorts and a tank-top. As soon as I walked out into my room, I regretted it. My mother was sitting there, on my bed, holding my phone. Was she actually going through my phone?
I clear my throat, which makes her jump. "Oh, uh, Scott. Yes, I needed to talk to you. Well, your father needs to talk to you," she pauses, "Rick, come in here!" She calls to my father. This is the last thing I needed. My father and his opinions about me and my life. As soon as my father walks in, the air shifts it seems. The air gets thicker, as if it was winter and it suddenly changed to summer. He hated me now. Something inside me tells me that if I never came out and told them, I would've still had my father-to-son relationship with my father. But, then again, maybe if he weren't so judgmental of others, we could still get that father-son relationship going. I almost laughed audibly at the thought, he would never consider me his son again. They'd practically disowned me without kicking me out of their house. I was 18 now, I could move out whenever.
"Yes, dad?" I ask, not trying to hide the harsh tone of my voice.
"Son, I'm getting you a psychiatrist." He bluntly states. My mouth goes dry.
"And what for, dad?" I ask, my tone getting more and more harsh by the second.
"Because this isn't you! This has never been you! What is this all for? Are you trying to spite me? Me and your mother are worried sick about you and you couldn't care less-!" I cut him off mid-yell.
"No! Don't you dare try and tell me you and my mother care about me. Where was that care when I was crying myself to sleep every night because I can never be accepted anymore? Huh? Oh yeah, probably locked in your head with all those judgmental comments that you try to whisper but I hear anyways." I say, noticing the way his features soften. I don't even care anymore.
"Scott, it's not our fault. We didn't raise you thi-" I cut him off before he speaks any more.
"No. You cant just 'raise' me with all your blessings and your phony religion-based crap! Just because the bible says it's wrong to be gay doesn't stop me, does it?" I ask, my tone laced with venom. My father shakes his head, mumbling about how 'you can never go right with a child,' and I almost punch him. This isn't about being raised right, this is about my decisions and my life choices. I'm so tired of this topic coming up over and over because they think they can stop it like the common cold. This is my life, and I run my own life. Not them. They have never had a control over my beliefs.
I grab my phone, bookbag, and walk past my parents. I half-walk-half-run to the kitchen and out the door. I cant believe I'm about to think this, but I'd much rather be at school than at home any more. As soon as I get home, I'll search for another apartment. Maybe then I can live peacefully. I know I'll never be happy, I'll never be able to love because nobody can love me back. I'll never be married because for some reason it's illegal to marry who you love. This society kills me.
"I can't live like this anymore." I whisper to myself as I walk up the school's driveway. I pass a few cars in the parking lot, all looking back at me like I'd killed their families. I just sigh and continue walking. I cant have this anymore. I need happiness.
Maybe I'll just transfer schools. Maybe I'll move out of this whole state. I'd go somewhere where it'd be legal to marry the person whom you love with your whole mind, body and soul.
I sigh at my sub conscience's mention of a happier place. A new place where nobody knew my story. A fresh start that I wouldn't mess up. I would find love like the stereotypical Disney films always portray. It's not that simple, Walt, it's not that simple at all. There are hardships in life that even Walt Disney can and will not bring into his cartooned movies and shows. If he ever made a Disney movie about the hardships of a gay man and his struggle for love, I would be ecstatic. But that would never happen, because 'gay,' is wrong in people's eyes. They would disown Disney channel faster than my parents disowned me after I came out. They would stop allowing their children to see Disney's movies or shows, or that one movie to be exact. They would gasp and shun their television if talk of such a show being made was commercialized. They might even turn their TV's off in shock. They'd call Disney up, if you even can, and complain to have it not aired.
Not everything can be a fairytale, not everything can end in happily-ever-after.
I got to my locker and opened it up. I was planning on stuffing my bookbag in there and rushing to my first class before anybody can see me or catch up to me. The only person who really kind of accepts me is the school's social worker. I bet even she turns around and talks about me after I leave. Her and every other teacher get a good laugh at my expense.
"I have an oath to not tell anybody anything we discuss in here." She had said. Maybe I did believe her, maybe I still might. Either way, people lie, they cheat their own rules and go behind others' backs.
I see a note flutter to the ground gently. It fell from my locker. My mouth ran dry for the second time tonight. I knew what this was. I knew what this was all-too-well. I opened it after I looked around and saw the empty hall.
We all know your secret and you can't really hide anymore.
I stopped reading. I almost scoffed at this note. Everybody knows my 'secret,' its not a secret anymore. I roll my eyes and continue to read.
We're filing a report to the State because we do not want a gay guy going to our school. You don't have the same rights as us, why not move away? So, the principal is going to have a meeting with your parents to discuss expulsion and possibly a move to a different school. Bye, loser.
All I saw was red flickering in my vision. I was so mad I could slam my hand in my locker and not even care. Kicking me out of school because I'm gay? That's too far, even for me. There was no name at the bottom, or anywhere, on the note. I had no clue who wrote it. I didn't really take the note seriously because I get these types of things in my locker on a daily basis. It was just something I had to cope with. And, I never let this campus see my cry. I never would. It would give them more against me and I couldn't have that. They already knew too much. It was my mistake to tell the people I thought would understand most. But when I came to school the next day, everybody had avoided me. I thought it was just a coincidence until my friends disowned me that same day. At lunch, I sat down next to them, and they practically threatened to beat me to have me leave. Of course I left. After that, and to this day on, I still either eat in a bathroom stall, in the hallway, or at a lunch table by my lonesome self. I remember how the girls who used to chase me around were repulsive to me, as if I was suffering from the world's worst case of BO. I also remembered getting tripped the first day I ate lunch in the lunchroom after my friends left me. I was walking with my tray in my hands, almost to the only bare table I could see, when some jerk tripped me. I dumped my lunch all over the floor and fell down right on top of it. I almost cried that day, the chorus of laughter around me filling my ears. But, I didn't. I just stood up, and walked off. I haven't gotten tripped many times since then, but that memory makes me feel the same awful way it did when it happened.
I got into class, crumpling the note and tossing it into class. As soon as I sat down at my seat, the bell rang. Students began to pile in like fish in a stream. I ignored the hateful stares and continued to listen to Mrs. May talking about the book Romeo & Juliet that we would be reading soon.
"So, the two main families in this are... Scott, tell me the names of the two main families." She calls me out. I almost fall out of my chair. My heart started to beat like crazy, everybody was staring at me. They waited and waited for my answer. They only waited impatiently to make fun of me after I'd spoken. Like they always do. When I speak, my voice is shaky and uncontrolled.
"T-the Montagues and the Capulets." I say, mentally punching myself in the face.
"Don't you mean the Monta-gays?" I hear the first snide comment to my left. I look over and see Jerrod Leigh.
"Jerrod! Enough nonsense." I hear Mrs. May scold him. This is all too much. Why me? Why did I ever tell anybody about this? I should have kept it to myself.
It was about halfway through the day, and I finally had my meeting with the school's social worker, Mrs. Simmons. She was always nice and all, but like I'd mentioned to myself earlier, she probably talked behind my back about me.
"So, Mr. Jones, how has everything been lately?" She asks. I remember coming out to her. She'd been the first person I'd told, and she didn't judge me. After she didn't judge me or seem fazed by my words, I had the confidence I needed to tell others. I thought, at the time, everybody would be accepting and kind about it. But I was terribly mistaken. The second people I'd told had been my parents. I had a plan, on how to tell them. I cooked them up a nice dinner, we had a nice night. When it was almost time for the night to end, I broke the news to them. My dad had nearly spit out his drink into his cup, and my mother's eyes went so wide I thought that they'd pop out. Before they began talking, I thought they were happily surprised. But it turned out to be much, much worse.
"Just fine and dandy." I sarcastically state, feeling terrible moments after. Even if she does laugh at me behind my back, I still need to be nice. "Sorry." I say. She nods.
"It's okay. I understand you being so stressed out. You're very brave to put up with all of the other students' comments." She says.
"Yeah, I guess so." I say shrugging. I went through the whole period talking to Mrs. Summons. I always found my shoes to be more interesting than her words. I'd stare at them while I listened to her boring lectures on how it would all get better soon. How it would all be a strange dream once I was happy with somebody. But the thing about life, is that sometimes people don't regain happiness after their world shatters. Some people don't get the freedom of happiness to begin with. Some people die with their hearts saddened, never to be happy again.
I found myself zoning out, wondering if there would be a guy I would meet who could love me. Who I could open up to without them calling me harsh names. Somebody to hug me and tell me it was okay. To tell me they knew how it felt because they were going through the same exact thing. And then we would tell each other how we found out about ourselves and how others reacted. I'd never had, and most likely never will have, a friend like me. A guy who has openly come out. A guy who isn't afraid of socializing with others like I am now. How cowardly, hiding from the social world, I know. But that once special person would understand what it feels like. They could tell me it's okay and that they would never turn away from me the way all the others had. And maybe I would be happy. I would lose the constant pang of sadness and actually learn to breathe freely. To be happy in love with someone who could love me back. Someone who wouldn't say hateful things to me and then laugh at my expense.
Somebody who most likely isn't out there at all.