I need help sometimes, I am well aware of that.
And now somehow I am getting into a new level of depression. I don’t know why I keep putting myself into situations like that. I evaluate people’s feelings more than my own thoughts, sometimes to a sickening level. And every time I do that I felt like there is a voice in my brain, it says: you want people to feel happy because you are around them. This voice pushes me to become a server to people around me, and sometimes I forgot the presence of me. I remember that was a sentence my parents used when I was little. It was often thrown around during an educational conversation. Depression is really messing with my memories these few years, and those memories are fading at a terrifying speed. I remember me doing math problems chosen by my mom, because I was terrible at math when I was a kid, and as a math teacher herself, she would not allow that to happen. Geometry and algebra questions do not make sense to me as a kid, but she would watch over me like a hawk. There are a lot of physical punishments, but I am not traumatized by them, what bothers me more nowadays is why she could not accept my weaknesses in math area when I was clearly gifted in the music area. I took some violin lessons after I joined the chamber orchestra during high school, and all my teachers told me that I should have started as a kid because I have nearly the perfect pitch, and maybe if I start playing as a kid I would be a good violinist. But back then, I was doing extra math homework. I am not blaming my mom, I am just merely thinking.
I am still weak at math.
The concept of homosexual did not enter my mind until so much later, and I learned it from the Internet. I assumed it was normal to be gay in my puberty until I realized that kids around me are not.
Till nowadays my best friend Christian still has no idea about my identity, because I simply try to hide it from him, and it has been 4 years. I was there for him throughout 3 years of high school, then I was sent away for PTSD and depression. Even during my delirious days when I was under healthy dosage of antidepressants. I remember saying a lot of crazy stuff, and he cried when I told him I was a rape victim, but I did not spill a word about my sexuality.
I am terrified because he could be like those kids from middle school, they told me I was disgusting and walked away. I could not see that happen again. That would make my “unconscious” self do crazy things.
I almost came out to my family. I was in Virginia, it was Christmas Eve. She froze my credit card and bought me a ticket to China because I simply said I kissed a boy. I just turned 18, and I was just asking her why I could not love the person I love, for I hold that right. She yelled at me on the phone and told me I need to be treated. She said I had to get married because she wanted grandkids. She believed it was me “self-diagnosing” as gay because I read something from some books. She went to a lot of meetings about AIDS breakouts, and every time she went to these meetings, I would get messages like “2 boys having sex in college, and they both have AIDS.” She refused to use the word “homosexual.”
D.C. was sleeting hard on Christmas Eve for I was in the airport. All the flights are delayed, and the airport closed down for Christmas. I was having a fever and had to sleep on the bench outside the airport.
Today I ran into Vince by the street.
He called me creepy days ago.
I saw him sitting there with his friends, and I feel ashamed. Because he called me creepy. I have been actively avoiding him because I thought the situation might be awkward. I saw him coming towards my way, and I would turn around and run. He was sitting there by the street, and his friend saw me. I immediately pulled my hat down, so hard that I covered my eyes with it. I walked away as quickly as possible.
He called me creepy. And that became a part of me. And I have another reason to be ashamed.
Everybody told me to let it go, but I was just stuck there. He called me creepy.
I was feeling bad for him because he was just sitting by the road with his friends, and this creep just walked by.
This thought is sickening. I am sick.
I am so ashamed every day. I cannot breathe. I am gay, but every second I don’t want to be gay. I hate myself for saying this, but if there is a pill, I will take it, just to get out of years of self-loathe. Every morning I wake up, and I see myself, and I feel like I die a little.
I am born to like dick, but at the same time, I am afraid of men, and I am ashamed of being gay.