I'm traveling on a bus - I was 10, I think - after a student trip to Gander. We were all bussed in for the weekend for the Royal Conservatory Music Festival, where classes form choirs and compete, where young gay men are forced to share beds with their peers. I am hit with this great paranoia after spending the weekend in Gander.
My friends have distance themselves on the bus, and I am thinking back to the night before where I had to share a bed. Did I do something in my sleep? Did I give away the very thing I have been trying to hide since I hit puberty?
The world keeps flashing before my eyes. I am prone to these long boughs of depression, already at the age of eleven or twelve, and I know if it keeps up, if I don't resolve it, it will forever own me. Even at this age, I already have a few enemies and I am already an adult. I have them and they know me well. It's not because I am a homosexual, although I think it is; I think they know who I truly am. And I see one of them passing around notes.
I think the notes are about me. I think the enemy who I have shared a hotel room has finally discovered the truth and is passing around notes about me - he's outing me with little to no respect for my feelings. And I sink. It's apparent. The children around me see it and they ask "What's wrong?"
In my bought of paranoia, I even see a few kids look at the notes being passed around, then look at me, and whisper to one another that it is truly "a sin", which in Newfoundland dialects means "I feel sorry for you".
I'm sure it was something stupid. Like, a note saying "Charlie has nice glasses" or something along those lines. It's wasn't about me being gay. Although, in my mind, it was always about being gay. I have always struggled with it, and this is a small example of what I had to go through.
After that trip, and the two hour ordeal, I head home, crawl into my bed - it's four in the evening - and my mind is racing. I haven't had to deal with it in such a long time, but thinking back it was awful. It was so consuming I couldn't even function. My mother would visit and worry and I could only reply "I'm tired mom".
You see, just because I could pass, doesn't mean it was any easier for me. If anything, it was the most horrible experience of my life. I didn't have a city to hide myself in, or explore in, I had a small outpost community with nothing to look forward to. I had the worst despair you could possible imagine, the worst yearning, the worst case of depression I have ever experienced in my life.
It wasn't short term; it was from the age of eight right up until I left for BC. It was fifteen years. A lifetime. Don't ever say I can't relate, or I don't understand…
My friends have distance themselves on the bus, and I am thinking back to the night before where I had to share a bed. Did I do something in my sleep? Did I give away the very thing I have been trying to hide since I hit puberty?
The world keeps flashing before my eyes. I am prone to these long boughs of depression, already at the age of eleven or twelve, and I know if it keeps up, if I don't resolve it, it will forever own me. Even at this age, I already have a few enemies and I am already an adult. I have them and they know me well. It's not because I am a homosexual, although I think it is; I think they know who I truly am. And I see one of them passing around notes.
I think the notes are about me. I think the enemy who I have shared a hotel room has finally discovered the truth and is passing around notes about me - he's outing me with little to no respect for my feelings. And I sink. It's apparent. The children around me see it and they ask "What's wrong?"
In my bought of paranoia, I even see a few kids look at the notes being passed around, then look at me, and whisper to one another that it is truly "a sin", which in Newfoundland dialects means "I feel sorry for you".
I'm sure it was something stupid. Like, a note saying "Charlie has nice glasses" or something along those lines. It's wasn't about me being gay. Although, in my mind, it was always about being gay. I have always struggled with it, and this is a small example of what I had to go through.
After that trip, and the two hour ordeal, I head home, crawl into my bed - it's four in the evening - and my mind is racing. I haven't had to deal with it in such a long time, but thinking back it was awful. It was so consuming I couldn't even function. My mother would visit and worry and I could only reply "I'm tired mom".
You see, just because I could pass, doesn't mean it was any easier for me. If anything, it was the most horrible experience of my life. I didn't have a city to hide myself in, or explore in, I had a small outpost community with nothing to look forward to. I had the worst despair you could possible imagine, the worst yearning, the worst case of depression I have ever experienced in my life.
It wasn't short term; it was from the age of eight right up until I left for BC. It was fifteen years. A lifetime. Don't ever say I can't relate, or I don't understand…
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1 comment:
You're making me think back. I don't remember this...Was I there?
Sherry
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