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Rated: 13+ · Non-fiction · LGBTQ+ · #1773588
I'm writing something. It's about me. Read it? I think you should.
So I've never written things publicly before, but I want feedback. Seriously, don't be afraid to talk to me. If I wanted to write to myself, I'd keep a diary. I guess that's all I have to say at first here. I'm not a fantastic writer. I don't write much except for school and even then it's grudgingly. But I guess everyone has a story and since I know I won't get a bestseller out of me, I still want to make it known.  This is part one. I'll probably write more. I'm not saying I'm an interesting person, but we all have something, right? I'm going to write it as a story. I'll do my best to make it interesting, but I'm not sugarcoating shit. This is how it goes. This is life. Here goes nothing.


Homophobia has always been a part of my life. I can't remember a time when it wasn't. I can still remember being eight years old and being The Queer. I can still remember middle school when all the heteros were hooking up and I told a boy I liked him and he reminded me that that wasn't right. Boys don't like boys. Boys like girls. I was the fag. The queer. The homo. The freak. I was different.

I was different in my family too. My sister liked me for a while, but then she decided that I was a sinner and if I had to go to hell, I wasn't dragging her down with me. And my brother never thought I was enough of a man. Feminine, but not a girl. And my parents despised who I was from the moment I came out. Before too, when they had just assumed. Coming out only confirmed their fears.

I have to stop here because I feel like I'm complaining. I just know that you need backstory before I dip right in. I'm not writing this to complain. I'm writing this to tell a story.

I guess this is more of an introduction than a part one. But there it is. Continuing later today most likely. Continuing right after I hit submit most likely.
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