I'm From Driftwood

Our mission at I’m From Driftwood is to help LGBTQ people learn more about their community, straight and cisgender people learn more about their neighbors, and everyone learn more about themselves through the power of storytelling and story sharing. 

The most personal and meaningful stories are shared when the storyteller is in a trust-worthy, welcoming, judgment-free environment. At IFD, we strive to create that environment on every level, whether you’re a long-time supporter at one of our events or a first-time visitor to the site. Be yourself, be comfortable and let’s get to know each other.

We are ALWAYS accepting stories, videos, pictures, and quotes. These can include, but aren’t limited to:

• childhood stories
• coming of age & coming out
• first crush
• love, relationships & encounters
• family matters
• whatever else you feel like sharing!

We want to hear from you!

by Sassafras Lowrey

I was raised to never get away.

Manipulation and abuse are what I thought family meant. I grew up in dysfunction. The physical bruises so much easier to heal that the ones that lay embedded in memory. Still, tender after all these years. The only time I ever stood up to her was when I said I was gay. I’d never kissed a girl, but I told her I wouldn’t change.

I left to save myself.

I still remember that  final time in my wallpapered bedroom taking the one gay book I’d found at the Barnes & Noble from under my mattress. It had been my best friend for months, as I dreamed of the community I’d never seen but believed was waiting. I knew I needed to leave, but didn’t know when it would be safe enough to run. She picked the date without ever knowing. I watched the bruises blister purple and red across my face and arms. Waiting, for her to beat me enough times that I thought the police would believe me.

I didn’t tell that county sheriff that I was a lesbian.

The Polaroid camera whirred as they documented the damage. He asked me questions about her drinking, the manipulation that had kept me her prisoner. Had I stayed, I would have remained forever her toy. Had I stayed, she would have killed me. I looked like a good country girl, no one suspected I was a dyke so he released me into the world. I was free for the first time, but looking over my shoulder. Too much work to have me emancipated, too old to bother with foster care. The courts told me to ‘stay out of trouble’ until I turned eighteen. My friends parents let me crash in their basement for a few weeks.

We compared scars

I met kids on the streets, in the back of the queer youth center I walked into heart pounding afraid here too no one would want me. For the first time I was honest, didn’t paint a picture of a functional family. I told them I was alone, and waited for the laughter. I was met with rolled up memories to reveal scars that looked more like my own than I could believe.

This was family

I learned that family meant hugs shared when meeting and someone who would hold you at 2am when all you wanted was to go “home,” to a place you’d never been before. We named ourselves, claimed ourselves, and each other. We fucked in bathrooms and held hands under bridges, hungry for contact, for connection.

My mother still wants me back

I leave again everyday, when I don’t pick up my phone.  She has never given up hope that I will change. She has never given up hope that she could get me back.  My mother  visits my website everyday. I never know what she’s planning. Decapitated chocolate rabbits at Easter, rambling letters about how this community has stolen me, how she wants me to move back into her house, acting as though I haven’t been gone for more than a decade, acting as though I didn’t run desperate to save my life.

We never stop being kicked out

I’m reminded of this everyday when I see the old jagged scars peek through my conversation, and when I talk with kids, whose wound are still oozing and just beginning to scar over.  We build family and community on this bedrock, scars as proof of shared understanding.  I’m one of the lucky, against the odds I “made it.” I got away. I built a life, a family, a community far beyond what I fantasized about in that wallpapered bedroom.  I can’t forget all those who never did. The kids whose lives were lost to streets and violence and addiction, the kids I loved and built family with, and the thousands I never met.  We trace gentle fingers over the ragged edges of memory, never forgetting where we come from.

-(Share your story with us!)

——

NOTE: Sassafras Lowrey is an internationally award-winning storyteller, author, artist, and educator. Sassafras is the editor of the two time American Library Association honored and Lambda Literary Finalist Kicked Out anthology www.KickedOutAnthology.com which brought together the voices of current and former homeless LGBTQ youth. Hir prose has been included in numerous anthologies and ze regularly teaches LGBTQ storytelling workshops at colleges and conferences across the country. To learn more about Sassafras and hir work, visit www.PoMoFreakshow.com

Wick Thomas, “I’m From Drexel, MO”

To ensure inclusiveness within the LGBT community, Wick helps organize a protest against Kansas City Pride. (Video transcription available here)

Share your story with us!

Our mission at I’m From Driftwood is to help LGBTQ people learn more about their community, straight and cisgender people learn more about their neighbors, and everyone learn more about themselves through the power of storytelling and story sharing. 

The most personal and meaningful stories are shared when the storyteller is in a trust-worthy, welcoming, judgment-free environment. At IFD, we strive to create that environment on every level, whether you’re a long-time supporter at one of our events or a first-time visitor to the site. Be yourself, be comfortable and let’s get to know each other.

We are ALWAYS accepting stories, videos, pictures, and quotes. These can include:

• childhood stories
• coming of age & coming out
• first crush
• love, relationships & encounters
• family matters
• whatever else you feel like sharing!

We want to hear from you!

It’s so important to acknowledge that domestic violence—including, but not limited to, physical and emotional abuse—is a reality for LGBTQ people as well. 

“When a lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender (LGBT) person is abusive to his or her partner, we often do not recognize it as domestic violence because of false expectations that men should be able to defend themselves and stereotypes that all women are safe, or that both partners are equally abusive. 

The truth is that domestic abuse is a serious problem and can occur in any relationship.  An individual’s size, strength, politics or personality does not determine whether he or she can be abused or be an abuser.  As with heterosexual domestic abuse, domestic abuse in the gay community cuts across all class and race lines.

Finding safety and support may be difficult for the victim of LGBT partner violence or sexual assault.  Abusers have the additional power of threatening to expose their partners if their partners are not “out” to their families or employers.  A lesbian batterer may work as a battered women’s advocate and have easy access to shelters.  Gay men may not be taken seriously by police or judges who assume their conflict is mutual combat rather than a pattern of abuse.  Transgender victims often confront prejudice from police and others based on their appearance. 

Community organizations sensitive to these issues are good resources for safety planning, crisis intervention and prevention.  The organizations below provide information about LGBT domestic abuse, prevention services and referrals to community resources that are attuned to LGBT concerns.”

IF YOU ARE IN IMMEDIATE DANGER, CALL THE POLICE AT 9-1-1

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Domestic Abuse & Sexual Assault Resources:

Gay Men’s Domestic Violence Project
For men in relationships with men
Hotline:  (800)832-1901

The Network/La Red
For lesbian, bisexual, & transgender women in relationships with women
Hotline/Linea de Crisis:  (617)742-4911, TTY (617)227-4911

Emerge
For gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender batterers:
(617)547-9879

Violence Recovery Program at Fenway Community Health
For LGBT victims of domestic violence and sexual assault
(800)834-3242

National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs
Information on violence committed against and within the LGBT communities                                                                                         (212)714-1184

National Domestic Violence Hotline: (800)799-7233

(via Employee Assistance)

(Source: awayfromearth, via avillagetoraiseachild)

by Siobhan Fitzpatrick

I consider myself a female-assigned genderqueer pansexual. Though I am open to dating a person of any gender or gender variant, I’ve only had experience with cismen and ciswomen. It’s the women I want to talk about, or rather, my first kiss with a girl.

Now, I can’t tell you the circumstances surrounding my first kiss with a boy. Can’t tell you who it was with, how old I was, where it happened. I haven’t the foggiest notion. My first kiss with a girl I remember like it was yesterday.

I had three friends over to my house, hanging out in my room: the guy I ultimately ended up losing my virginity to, my best gay and our mutual friend I’ll call CJ. CJ and the straight guy disappeared into my huge walk-in closet to make out, or whatever. After a few minutes, he emerged. He said that I should go in with CJ next. I wanted to, so bad, but I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, so I just gave her this deer-in-the-headlights look. She giggled and signaled me over and soon the closet door was closed behind me. I was scared. Just reminiscing on this, my heart is pounding with the same blend of nervousness and exhilaration I felt that day. Before I knew it, our lips touched. You know how romance movies always talk about fireworks and sometimes pull out the camera for a crane shot of the sky blazing with actual fireworks (as if the metaphor weren’t enough)? I saw them. Right behind my eyelids, clenched shut, fire flowers blossomed. Maybe I was so nervous, I had a small stroke, but to me it felt like magic. I’d kissed a few boys at that point and felt nothing. I could have kissed a cold, dead salmon and felt more. But when her lips touched mine, it was like the universe unfolded and revealed itself to me.

I’ve never had this feeling since, but to me it’s one of those experiences that you’re lucky to have once in your life, if at all. It showed me my attraction to women was most certainly legitimate and real and that anyone who wants to rob someone of the feeling like I had simply because they aren’t straight is an enemy. Whoever your lips long to kiss, whoever your heart longs to love, is nobody’s business but yours (and the kissee’s, I suppose). Nothing wrong could feel that much like magic.

Go make magic, children.

Jeremy Craig, “I’m From Mayflower, AR”

A young man recounts his inspiring transition from selfish slacker to proud activist.

Share your story with us!

(Source: video.imfromdriftwood.com)

I’m From Driftwood: LifeWorks Los Angeles

ImFromDriftwood.com embarked on a 50-State Story Tour to collect and share true LGBT stories from the smallest towns and biggest cities across America. This is one of the videos from that journey.

Learn more about LifeWorks Los Angeles here!

Share your story with us!

(Source: video.imfromdriftwood.com)

Shawnta Smith and Jasmine Cruz, “We’re From Brooklyn, NY & The Bronx, NY”

Ex-lovers talk about living together and the meaning of their house and relationship. (Closed captioning available here)

Share your story with us!

by Ethan Blustein

I came out at the age of 12 as gay. Even now I’m not sure where I got that word from or how I knew to say it or what it even meant for that matter. I also wasn’t completely sure in 6th grade who I was attracted to. For whatever reason it was clear to me that it was not an okay way to be. I know what it was like to come out as genderqueer/transgender at 26, but I can’t imagine knowing that about myself at 12…or did I? I digress…

It was a Saturday morning and I had just finished watching the morning cartoons on television while my mom read the paper. As we made the bed I took a breath and blurted out, “I need to tell you something.” I wasn’t sure what I was doing exactly or how this was going to go. She did tell me that I could talk to her about anything. I didn’t realize until much later that she didn’t mean that literally. So we put the blankets down and sat at the end of the bed. I braced myself and said, “Mom, I uh… in health class we talked about…I think I’m gay.” Immediately my face fell into my hands and I cried just waiting for the awful response to come. Instead it was a very mixed bag of, “Oh, honey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” to “Are you sure?” to “Let’s not tell anyone else we talked about this.”

It would be another 4 years before we’d have a conversation about me being bisexual. Another 2 years and then I would come out as queer and another 1 as a genderqueer/trans and queer person. Bless my mother’s dear heart and soul for hanging in there and still being in my life today.

-(Share your story with us!)