Empty Pages Bleed Words

I always thought homophobia never really had that big of an impact on me. I’ve been closeted for 5 years, and I always explained to myself that I just was too scared to do it yet, that all the horror stories on the internet had scared me away from doing it. But recently I thought more about all the things I’ve heard and seen and how it’s effected me and giving me quite the case of internal homophobia. I live in a tiny town full of white conservatives, my school (Grades 4-12) had 200 kids. My graduating class had 21 kids, half of which I’ve known since Kindergarten. The problem with small towns is that when something changes in your life, it is everybody’s business, every relationship, every fight, every job, everyone, adults and teens alike, want to know what the latest thing is. We have only had three openly gay people in our town (though we have had several more closeted), and none of them were accepted positively. They were the topic of the biggest dirty gossip and victim to constant hate. I never thought homophobia had that big of an impact on me, until I remembered all the thing’s I’ve heard friends and family say, and all the thought’s I’ve kept to myself.

“I heard that she spies on the girls in the change room. That’s so gross! I’d change in the bathroom stall if I was in her class.” 

(She heard you say that and she looked so sad, how could you say that about another person?)

“She’s kind of messed up yeah,”

(Maybe she’s just upset cause people keep calling her messed up)

“I don’t understand how she could possibly know that so young, she is too young to make that judgment.”

(Kid’s know their straight. This isn’t different. And she’s allowed to explore, she’s allowed to try and discover herself without everyone dissecting her. She’s allowed to be wrong and change her mind. She’s 14. She’s allowed to be herself for gods sake)

“Don’t be a fag” “Faggot” “What you a fag?” “Fag” “Fag” “Fag”

(Shut up, don’t sat that word)

“It sucks I really liked his books until he made that character gay, that’s disgusting and I can’t read them anymore. It’s just wrong.”

(I don’t think you’d want to be my friend anymore then if you knew the truth. I don’t think I want to be your friend anymore either to be honest.)

“I’m glad no one in our class is a fag, could you imagine?”

(Your wrong, there is one. And yet nothing is different. Would you treat me differently if I told you?)

“Do you support the gays?” “No”

(You’re my best friend, you know I’m gay, yet you still said no? In front of me? How could you?)

“I bet the other volleyball team wouldn’t be so impressed by all her hickeys if they knew a girl gave them to her” “Hahaha”

(Don’t talk about them like that)

“It’s just not natural. Just be the gender your assigned.”

(Let them live their best life. Stop harassing them, you don’t know anything. About them. Their life. What they’ve gone through. Educate yourself.)

“if they were fighting for equality I could support them but all they want is special treatment!”

(They are fighting for equality your just too dumb to recognize your own privilege)

“They can be gay if they want but I don’t want to see it, all I see on the TV and the news and even in fucking shopping malls is all this rainbow shit and I don’t want to see it anymore”

(You don’t understand. Would you think differently if you knew how happy all that “rainbow shit” makes your own daughter? Your pretending to be an ally but your not)

“I mean yeah some peoples brain chemistry just makes them the gender their not assigned at birth, but not all these people are transgender, most of them are just faking it for attention or their confused or something.”

(They’re not confused or faking, they don’t need your invalidation. The reason your seeing more trans people now is because they’re trying to normalize it and the world is slowly becoming more welcoming so they’re being brave by being themself.)

“God all you see on TV now is fucking fags. Just show me normal stuff I don’t want to watch that.”

(If you knew your gay daughter is right here you wouldn’t be saying that, but you would be thinking that. And I love seeing representation on the TV, but at least it’s good to know you don’t)

“Why do they get a special day and parade and shit. Can you imagine the uproar if we had a straight parade? We’re not fighting for one though. They’re just begging for attention.”

(The reason you don’t have a straight parade is because you’ve never been oppressed. You’ve never been murdered, raped, assaulted, yelled at, illegal, or hurt for being straight.) 

People have never said anything directly to me, but they also don’t know how strongly I disagree with them. They don’t know how my stomach drops and my heart aches every time I hear these things. They don’t know how I’m terrified to come out to my parents because our relationship is so good right now and I don’t want to damage that. They don’t know how happy it makes me every pride month with the stupid rainbows everywhere, I know they’re just a marketing scheme but god they make me so happy. They don’t see my eyes light up every time I see a gay couple on TV cause even though sometimes the representation is bad, at least it’s progress. They don’t know how I look up videos of pride parades and imagine myself there, and promise myself “some day”. They don’t know how I look at empty space on my walls and think “that would be the perfect place for a pride flag”. They don’t see me linger at the pride items in hot topic for just a little longer than anywhere else, yet never buy anything. They don’t see the plethora of gay memes in my Instagram for you page. They don’t see me smile proudly and a little sadly at any out gay person, they don’t know how much I wish I was them. They don’t see these things. They don’t know these things. Because if they did, I would not be treated as well as I am now.

1. I want to travel to as much of the world as possible. I want to exist in the same space as people who live much different lives than me. I want to talk to them, learn about them. I want to eat the food they eat, walk the streets they walk. I want to educate myself on human life. And when people find out about the travels I’ve been on, I want to excite them with tales of my adventures and watch their eyes light up as if I was reading a bedtime story to a wonder struck child. 

2. I want to be known. I don’t want to disappear when I die, no more than a series of letters on a tombstone. I want to leave something behind. I want to touch as many lives as I can, so that when I leave this world, I know I will have made an impact. 

3. I want to create beauty. I want to play a song that makes people feel like their soul has been caressed. Or make a piece of artwork that makes someone feel an emotion they can’t even begin to describe, they just know they like the piece. I want to dance in a way that makes people think, “I didn’t know the human body could move like that.” I want to create, with my own fingers that I’ve been gifted, words and stories that makes peoples stomachs tighten and eyes sting, with sadness or happiness they don’t know. I want to be able to affect people, in a way nothing but art can attain.

4. I want to fall in love. I want to meet someone who undeniably makes me feel like I would rather die, than to have never met them. I want to look into their eyes and feel my heart melt, see their smile and be unable to stop myself from smiling back. I want to hold them in my arms as I fall asleep, and I want to wake up and see them laying next to me peacefully and ethereal. I want to look at them and see nothing but beauty and feel nothing but love. I want to experience what the stories talk so highly about. I want to submit to being known, and know that as long as it’s them, I will be okay. I want to face the world together, and be comforted knowing that they are here next to me. I want to feel loved, and have the honor of loving them. 

5. I want to connect with nature. I want my house to be filled with green. Potted plants around every corner. Vines hanging from cabinets in my kitchen. Small herbs growing by the light of the window sill. Exotic succulents decorating my bookshelves. I want my friends to come into my home and feel the thrum of life, existing in this space. My whole house will feel like a sanctuary, a safe place, to live and thrive. I want a garden in the back, chaotically organized. I want colorful flowers and suspicious rocks. The occasional fruit or vegetable mixed in with the towering grass. I want it to look like fairies could live there, but if you were to look you’d probably only find bugs. I want to spend grueling hours taking care of it, so that I can take a step back and appreciate the life I’ve cared for with my own two, muddy, hands. 

6. I want to learn to cook. I want to learn complicated dishes that I can spend hours on and that I have to meticulously plan. Every hour I put into the dish will be worth it though, as I take a bite and taste the fruits of my labor. I want guests to be impressed and mystified as they eat restaurant quality food from my humble abode, only it’s better because they know the effort I put into it, just for them. I want to express my love for my friends and family by cooking something beautiful and delicious for them, something that will have them admitting in the private of their homes that they can’t wait to eat my cooking again. I want a beautiful kitchen that will make me excited to be in it every day. I want to look forward to every  meal. No more 10 minute precooked oven meals. I want to eat delicious food that I can be proud of. 

7. I want to adopt a cat. I want to learn everything I can about the care they’ll need, so I can be confident in my ability to give them a good life. I want to go to a shelter and find a cat that I feel a connection with, and that I know needs a good home. I want to build trust between us, I want to be deserving of that trust. I want us to grow together. I’ll know that I’ll never be alone, and that I’ll always have this companion. I want to be cooking, or sitting and watching TV, just existing, and for them to come up to me and climb into my lap and ask for pets, or just simply wish to be in the same space as me. I want to feel like they need me as much as I need them. 

8. I want to be able to donate. Every time I see a cause that makes me genuinely feel upset, I want to be able to help. I want to have my own source of income so that I can feel like I’m doing something, anything. I want to help people who are hurt, or causes I believe in. I want to do my part, if only just a little bit, to make the world a little less painful. 

1. I was maybe 11-13. I was at dance class, I had only been with this studio for maybe a year. I hardly spoke, blending into the shadows. I had learned from my previous studio that the only way to survive was to be quiet, nod your head, and be as nice as possible anytime you spoke. If you only said nice things anytime you happened to speak, and stay in the background out of the way, then the only thing people could think of you as was the nice quiet girl.

We were suppose to pick a song, and our instructor played 4 or so songs for us to listen and choose from. After the songs had finished playing and people began to discuss I said,

“Whatever you guys choose is fine with me.” Right after I said that my Instructor whipped her head to me and gave me one of the most, nasty, disapproving looks I’ve ever seen. My gut filled with ice. She shook her head at me and I quickly stuttered out my actual opinion. 

I remember being really confused at first, confused and afraid. I didn’t like making people angry, and I couldn’t really see what it was that I had said wrong. I thought I was being nice, cooperative, a team player. It wasn’t until the ride home, when I had proper time to think about it, did I realize why she was so mad at me. 

I had never been chastised for compliance before, let alone so harshly. It had always been implied that the best thing to do was to just agree and follow along. That was how you made friends in life. That’s how you survived. No one likes someone who disagreed. Who was opinionated. Who would argue with them. No one wants that. Yet here I was, being scolded for not voicing my opinion.

No one had really cared about my opinion before.

This really marked a turning point in my life. I stopped holding back. I let my thoughts be heard. I really owe my dance teacher a lot, but I think this was maybe the most important lesson she taught me. 

Compliance is not a thing to be proud of.

2. Last year, our homeroom teacher was handing back our school pictures to us. As mine came to the top of her pile she commented as she passed it to me,

“Aww you look so cute! Oh...wait that’s probably not something a highschooler wants to be called, sorry!” 

I sometimes have a hard time taking compliments, because often times it’s more of an obligation. If my mom calls me cute, it’s whatever because she has to say that. So while it’s still nice and I appreciate it, a part of me always knows that she could easily be lying. 

When strangers or acquaintances compliment you it’s normally genuine but fairly superficial. “I like your hoodie, is it new?” or “You hairstyle looks so cool, did you do it yourself?” There’s nothing wrong with these, but they don’t actually mean that much. 

When my teacher said I looked cute though, and then panicked and back tracked, it proves to me that it was a genuine compliment. She actually thought I looked cute. While it may not be that big of a compliment, and I’ve had more meaningful ones said to me, this one always sticks out as a genuine moment of human compassion. 

3. This one was also from my dance teacher, although more lighthearted. It was a Monday, in the middle of winter, late at night. Me and 5 others girls were at the studio for ballet. I’ve been with the studio for many more years at this point and have grown as a person and as a dancer, so I’m much more comfortable and open with everyone then the previous story. Everyone was talking about how they’re tired and didn’t want to be there and I agreed with them. My dance teacher then jokingly says to me,

“I didn’t think Mondays affected you?”

Isn’t that the kind of person you want to be? The kind of person who seems immune to all kinds of negativity. A person that even on the worse of days, always seems to be at their best? The kind of person that is so bright that when you see them feeling the Monday blues you almost can’t believe it.

I take pride in the fact that at least one person sees me that way. 

4. This was last year. At dance we had a substitute teacher. Some girls were doing something bad that I can’t remember at this point of time, and the sub yelled at all of us and made us feel bad. When I went home that night I burst into tears and told my mom what had happened. After retelling my story, in near hysterics, I laughed and scrubbed angrily at my eyes,

“God this is so stupid! Why do I have to be so sensitive!? I know she wasn’t yelling at me, I wasn’t the one who needed to be scolded. So why am I crying so hard? Why am I so upset?” 

My mom put on a stern voice and replied, in exact words because I wrote it down, “ Don’t go getting negative about yourself. Your sensitivity is one of your best qualities. It makes you a better person than most people.” Then she pulled me into a hug and let me cry some more.

All my life I heard people talk about sensitivity as a negative trait. “Oh you know how girls are so sensitive?” “God why do you have to be so sensitive all the time?” “Sensitive much” “Man why you crying? Little sensitive sunflower? Hmm?” you know what I’m talking about. I’ve always been sensitive, even as a little kid. I got called a crybaby more than once. I hated being yelled at, or even if someone else was being yelled at. It’s just the way I am. But I’ve always seen it as a negative trait. I wanted to me emotionally strong. I wanted to be someone who you could never knock down. The kind of person who didn’t let anything get to them. But I just...wasn’t. 

My mom opened my eyes up to the positives of being sensitive. She helped me see it not as a weakness but as a strength. Being sensitive means that I can connect better with people. That I can be more in tune with how others are feeling. Feeling emotions as strongly as I do is a beautiful thing, that I shouldn’t take for granted. 

When I got upset I use to get so frustrated with myself. I felt weak and pathetic and that understandably just made me feel worse, which ended up taking me through a viscous cycle of tears and self hatred. Ever since that day though, when I break down over something, it feels lighter. I can tell myself that this is okay, that nothing’s wrong with me, this is just the way I am. I can cry, and I can feel okay about crying. 

For some reason I tend to have very vivid and often times...interesting dreams. My third eye must be wide fucking open or something. I have several great dream recollections, but today I’m going to share with you my most recent dream. This is by far not the most absurd dream I’ve had (I have a really messed up one so keep your eye out for that), but since it’s relatively short and sweet I decided it was the perfect first post.

 I was getting a tattoo from a middle aged man who was set up in my living room. It was not my first tattoo despite not having any tattoos in real life. I had already collected about 8 or 9 on my arms. Inked across my limbs like a list, were different words and sentences in spiraling calligraphy, facing me. My left was filled from wrist to elbow, my right only about half as high.

 The tattoo I was currently receiving was going closest to the top of my right arm. All it said was “Sike” in bold, aggressive lettering, like It was spat out of the mouth of an angry god.

 I don’t remember what all my tattoos said, but one did specifically stand out to me. It was dream me’s favorite. It was at the wrist of my left hand, implied to be my first. It was done in a simple font, neatly placed in one line. It read, “I love you” and to an outsider it must have seemed pretty strange, but I knew the meaning behind it.

 When I had gotten that tattoo I got it as a message. A message to myself, to me in the future, that no matter what, no matter who I became or where I ended up in life, I’d always love myself. Past me made a vow, permanently written on our skin, that they’d always love me. 

And when I looked down at those three words, I’d remember that day when I made that promise. I’d remember the conviction I had, “no matter what” I told myself while sitting in that dingy tattoo parlor, scared out of my mind. When I recalled that day I’d smile, my stomach warm with affection, because I knew I was loved.