His name is George. He’s only a few months older than me. We used to be in the same class when we were high school students. Now we’re not and I rarely see him, though we live in the same town. We’re not friends so I guess that’s expected. And I don’t think of him quite often. It’s just, sometimes, when my mind is covered with dust from the past and I can’t unlock myself from my thoughts, I go back to high school and relive those days when I was in love with him.
I first realised I liked him round the time I found out I was into guys. I was too young for it, only 12, and I couldn’t function on that ground. For the first couple of days, I sat on the balcony, doing nothing, just listening to sad songs and thinking of ways I could un-gay myself, straight me up. The sun was striking my face for hours, causing me headaches that made my thinking even harder, but I had to stay there. When I was trying, I was protected. I wasn’t a boy who liked boys. I was a confused teen.
Almost a month later, I figured my feelings for George out. We were on a school trip and my best friend was sick so I was sitting alone on the bus, when he came and sat next to me. All I could think was how close he was to me and how perfect that feeling was. During our visit at the museum, I was waiting impatiently for the ride back, when he would sit next to me again. After that, it didn’t take me long to understand. And how did I react? Of course, another couple of days at the balcony…
I was in love with him for two years, swimming into this ocean alone, without finding land, without even trying to discover a shaft in the sea to hold me, like they always do in the movies. Instead, I was letting myself drown, I was letting go slowly but steadily.
I reached to ocean’s bed in the first grade of lyceum (we got six grades of primary school, three of high school and three of lyceum here). I finally gave up. Totally. I drove away from all my friends, I stopped going out, I stopped studying for school, I started smoking. I was lying on my bed all day, watching tv or listening to music. My parents were concerned but I wouldn’t let them get through to me. I knew that if they found out they would stop loving me, so I decided to make it easier for them. And then, right when I thought I had reached bottom, I found a new low to fall to. Suicide.
I was just about to do it, end my life. I would slash my wrists and let myself bleed to death, as a punishment for my difference. I didn’t believe it was a way out. I just wanted everything to end, I needed to just STOP, stop right there, stop being what I was. I still don’t know how I snapped out of it. I guess I realised I didn’t really wanna die. I just wanted to change.
I kept on hating myself. I hated my life, I hated my body, I hated my (new) friends for not hating me. But most of all, I hated God for making me this way. I hated Him for making me go through this. Why couldn’t he make me straight like the rest of the world? Why couldn’t I be normal? Why?...
As a senior in lyceum, I decided it was time to take matters ino my own hands - those very hands I once wanted to make bleed. I started going out more often, I started studying to get into college, I found a girlfriend, I started having sex with her. And it felt nice. I liked her sweet little freckled face, I loved the way her hips swayed in walking, I loved her firm back, her humble but shaped breasts, her legs that seemed so perfect whenever she wore a skirt (which was often, as she knew how much I liked it), her vagina that felt so warm whenever I entered it…
We were together for only a few months, but it was enough for me to blissfully realise I was into girls too. I still liked guys, more than I did girls, but the fact that I was able to function in a heterosexual relationship was enough for me. Come to think of it, not just enough. It was perfect. It was a gift from God, it was His answers to my prayers, when I kept on saying I would rather die than ever come out and live as a gay person.
And now, I saw George again. In fact, we got into this conversation about the future and made plans. We decided to be partners (I mean, job partners…) in the future, when we both have finished college, as our dream-jobs are in the same field. Specifically, what made the most sense to me was when he told me “Don’t worry, even if it doesn’t work out after all, we’ll find a way to cooperate in something. Say, I’ll be your body-guard, I’ll protect you whenever someone thinks they can deal with you.