I'm From Driftwood

by Rebecca

Looking back, I remember not always feeling “normal.” In elementary school I wasn’t very pretty, and I had a few good friends, which I still have today. As soon as I was in fifth grade, I was a lot more sociable and comfortable with my looks. But that’s not why I’m writing this. See when I was in fifth grade I felt different. Not as in my religion, my looks, or my friends. But my attractions to girls.

I didn’t know what lesbian, or bisexual at the time was, but I was still young and growing. In fifth grade I had my first kiss. It was special and different; it was my first kiss with a girl. Yes a girl. It felt right to me. As I went through middle school I ignored a lot of my feelings. Because by this time I was told that being gay or bisexual was a sin and not excepted in society. I was pretty much being brainwashed, but I didn’t believe what anyone with hate said. I knew I was made just the way I am for a reason, and that I’m perfect being who I am. That was all 5 years ago. Here I am a sophomore in high school. Freshman year I came out saying I didn’t find women more attractive than men, and that at that current time I did have a girlfriend. A lot of people found out and thought I was “gross” and that I was going to try and “touch them.” I was hated on a lot, but I never let it get to me because I was perfectly fine with myself around school and public. Just last week I went to the beach in Galveston, Texas, with my girlfriend. We held hands and kissed in public, and I felt comfortable doing so. We got uneasy stares from people who weren’t comfortable being around a lesbian couple, but a lot of people smiled and enjoyed seeing two people love each other even though they’re the same gender.

I may face many obstacles in the future with my sexuality and my choice of living, but I sure am proud of myself for who I am, and how far I got myself in this world.

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by Clint Thomson

Dallas Texas, where I currently live, has one of the largest GLBT communities in the United States. This is a far cry from where I grew up. I was born in Germiston, South Africa and since South Africa has year round school and my mother could afford it, I was sent away to an all boys private boarding school in King William’s Town.

King William’s Town is tiny compared to Johannesburg, Cape Town or Dallas with only about one hundred thousand residents and living at the private boarding school made my world even smaller. I felt like I was the only gay person in the world and was constantly bombarded with negative information about gay people and the link between gay sex and AIDS.

Due to my effeminate manner and high pitched voice, I was tormented at the boarding school constantly by students and teachers alike. There was no hiding my orientation, there never has been and so this was my life for six years from Standard 2 (4th grade) to Standard 8 (10th grade).

When you live in an environment like that, you adapt and learn defense mechanisms that help you to survive and I am still living with these today. That being said, the mind is a wonderful thing and when I look back now it is with fondness. I barely remember the torments I endured, yet I remember fond memories of secret sexual relationships with other closeted and sometimes straight peers and teachers as well as strong friendships with other gay men who were also struggling with their sexuality.

It gets better and I am living a wonderful life in Dallas surrounded by openly gay friends in a loving and progressive city. Looking back at my birth country I can also point to South Africa as a leader in GLBT rights with legalized gay marriage and strong GLBT protections in their constitution.

As time passes, the world improves. Our lives as GLBT individuals improve as we take control of our destiny and I’m glad that I have endured. Living and adapting to life’s challenges makes us stronger and more resilient. It has made me who I am today and I would not trade anything in the world for those experiences.

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by James Waygood

I had been haunted by homosexual thoughts and indulgences for some time. But with being 16 and within easy reach of an internet enabled computer at home, they were getting hard to ignore. How the Bible was taught to me I knew that this really wasn’t something I should be making a habit of as a “good Christian”, especially someone who was leading the school’s Christian Union in fellowship, and every so often being allowed to preach to my entire school and even at church.

Coming out to my parents, making a statement that I was gay, was surprisingly rather subdued. It was just after Graham Norton’s chat show – probably not the finest of timings with his camp japery still zinging off the credit roll, but certainly the most apt. I turned off the set and said, “Mum. Dad. I’m gay.”

“We know,” said Dad. Apparently there’s something called an internet history that can be one hell of a give away if not properly cleared out. There was no drama. No brimstone. No tears. Just an oddly dull clearing of the air.

They had always wanted me to come to them about it rather than them confronting me about my online shenanigans. They had already accepted my disposition before I’d come to admit it, something which I’m still very grateful for. After a bit of a discussion about what it meant to them as my parents, I told them what it meant to me as a Christian and informed them of my resolve to reconcile my urges with my faith. I had their full support. Coming out to friends was similar. Despite a few initial awkward shocks, particularly from my best friend, everyone had either already sussed it out or simply didn’t care.

But then things took a downer. I started to hate myself for not being able to control my urges. I was unceremoniously thrown out of the Christian Union for being honest about my sexuality and the conflict I openly acknowledged it caused with my faith. Christian “friends” started to blank me because I apparently wasn’t making enough effort or “progress” in becoming the good straight Christian God demanded me to be. I was denounced by a member of my own church as a heretic. At one point I even got exorcised of my “gay demons”, something which despite wanting to be straight gravely insulted and upset me. Because of this I had become emotionally fragile, volatile, and incredibly depressed.

But at some point I was fortunate to realise that there was no cure or answer. I had done nothing to bring about my sexuality. I had not asked for it, yet it was there. But why was I looking for a solution in the one thing–religion–that was only making things worse? I had been sat crying alone and skipping class in a solitary stairwell in high school when I had this revelation. Then everything changed.

That moment was my real coming out. Whilst many find affirmation in a statement, I had to go beyond that. I had made the statement and was accepted by those that meant the most to me –my family, and my real friends. But little did I know that I had to accept myself, be honest about myself, and know that I wasn’t evil, possessed, or simply not strong enough.

These days I’m no longer a Christian. Twelve years on and I’m unfortunately having to cope with the damage to my mental health that the entire episode has caused. But I’m happier than I could ever imagine myself be if it hadn’t have been for that epiphany. My parents still love and support me. Yes, they’d rather I’d be straight and in church, but that’s by the by. And my friends are still there too, including some Christian friends who decided to accept and respect me rather than deny me. They’re all happier that I’m happier and finally who I was always meant to be.

Coming out is tricky. There’s always that expectation of a pride parade in your honour, or the fear of being chased by a lynching mob – turned out and torn up. Even if those extremes do or do not happen, saying what you are, for me at least, was just the first step in coming out. Being comfortable with who you say you are is its completion.

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by Patrick Holmes

As a kid, I wasn’t exactly the usual boy. Sure I loved my matchbox cars and I liked to play video games but that was only one side of me. The other side of me loved to go to my grandma’s house and try on all of her high heels and walk around the house. That side of me also liked to play Barbies with my little sisters and dress them up and do their hair. He liked to play dress up with them and try on all the girly clothes and accessories. I never really thought anything of it as a kid. I thought it was normal and I didn’t care what people thought of me and my mom never thought anything of it. Mostly because I was her first child but it also didn’t bother her.

I can remember when I was about 7, I went over to my aunt’s house and she painted my toe nails. Each one was painted a different color and I loved it. I loved makeup too. I always wanted to put some on and be pretty but it never happened. My sisters were too young to have makeup and I never bothered asking my mom if I could use her’s. This was all very normal for me and I can remember that I was a very innocent child. I actually tried on one of my best friend’s dresses when I was about 8 and it fit perfectly. She then called in our moms and they saw me and were a little shocked but they seemed fine with it. They actually looked kind of happy but I was a little embarrassed so I took it off immediately.

Those are all the memories I have of being a girly child. I still think it would be fun, even at 15, to wear makeup and have your nails painted and wear dresses but I’m not the kind of person to do drag. I’m not very girly anymore. I hid that side of me for a while and it’s just starting to come back out and I’m ready to let it out. I’m happy again.

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by Felisa Hanamaikai

The first time I wrote for I’m From Driftwood I wrote as an ally… it’s still very true; I still believe that everyone needs to be who they are and not hide it from the world. What I didn’t understand was who I was, nor did I get with the program until I moved to Utah.

As a lot of Utahans (I still claim California as my hometown) know, being a member of the LGBT community is hard… almost too hard, sometimes. Too hard to the point where you feel, or at least I felt, that it’s not necessary to show your true colors, especially if you’re going to get tons of shit for it. But, with that, here’s my story.

It all started in February of 2011. I went to the annual Conference on Social Awareness held at U of U. I didn’t think much of it, I was just going to learn and be with my friends and hopefully meet a lot of new people. That conference changed my life. I went to seminars on being LGBT and living a fulfilling life. It got me thinking… wondering, really, if I was actually as straight as I claim to be.

Life went on from that day; working, going to school, seeing my LDS friends… but something wasn’t fitting right for me.

I went to Pocatello, Idaho to visit one of my best friends in April. He and I have a great, solid friendship. I’m so grateful for him in my life. Anyway, being there with him, in his element, seeing how happy and complete he was made me realize that it’s not okay to hide who I am. There came a conversation while we were at the bar about how straight people are so boring. I disagreed loudly with that opinion and Phillip just turned to me and said, “You know you’re not straight…” and left it at that.

I’ll be forever grateful for that weekend.

My name is Felisa, and I’m bisexual, and as proud as proud can be. I love myself, and I love men and women and animals and food and smiling. My bare-boned philosophy is this: Be Happy.

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by Francis Scott

I grew up in a very strict, religious and physically abusive home environment where mistakes were severely punished and there was no room for self expression. Most of my life up until my teen years I lived in fear and in instability. I learned quickly that being invisible and trying to be as perfect as possible was my only way to survive in my home life and I carried that to the world in my adult life. I never had the chance to develop my own personality, my own personal style or even just simple personal boundaries growing up, so when I finally moved out of my parents house at the age of 20, and started college, I had no idea how to navigate in the real world.

I guess I’d been programed to just fit in and try not to be seen. I was scared of drawing attention to myself or making too many waves. I always based my decisions on how others would react to me or based on what others wanted. I always had feelings for women, but I suppressed them and told myself that couldn’t be me. That what I felt wasn’t right. I was never physically attracted to men but I started dating them because they liked me and I thought that was what I was supposed to do. They treated me well so I didn’t think what I felt mattered. At one point I was in a relationship with a guy I didn’t love and I always felt weird with him but since I’d never learned to listen to my own intuition and let that guide me, I stayed. My only saving grace was school. When I studied and learned I felt in control and I felt more in charge of my future. I excelled in that arena. One day, I found out I was pregnant by this guy with whom I was in a relationship.

I didn’t love him and I couldn’t fathom a future with him. That day I did a lot of soul searching and I decided I would get an abortion. We both agreed and I got one. That was the first decision I’d ever made strictly based on my needs and wants. It was the first time in my life where I’d asked myself what was right for me and focused on my feelings. Honestly I felt so good and free. I had never felt so grounded in my life. After that abortion, I started doing more soul searching and asked myself what I would do if I didnt care what anyone else thought. The first thing that popped into my head was to stop dating men. I realized that I never was atrracted to them and I’d only been dating men to please my parents. I was single for about a year and then one day I bumped into my first love, and she was a girl. I’d dated several people but I’d never felt attraction, lust and butterflies for someone before meeting her. I finally understood what all the hype was about and at that point I knew I was a lesbian.

I came out to people one at a time and I didn’t care what they thought because I was so happy. My parents and so many people I knew told me it was a phase and that it wasn’t me, because they were used to me fitting in to their definitions of who I was, but I felt so alive that there was no turning back. It was a second birth for me and since then I’ve been on a journey of self discovery and self love. I realize now that I have a right to exist and that I matter and what I feel is important. It sounds so simple, but I had never lived like that before. I never want to go back to being invisible and being afraid of who I am. My past has informed my present and will continue to inform my future. I’m out, i’m proud, I exist and I matter.

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by Anonymous

I consider myself a lucky man, considering all that I have lived through. I was about 6 years old when I realized I was bisexual, but after 7 years of being bullied by females and being publicly humiliated constantly, I lost all desire of ever being with a woman. At the age of 12, I was sure that I was gay, but I couldn’t deal with the truth. During this time, my life was imploding. I was being bullied at school, I was raised to believe that I was an abomination, and suddenly, my parents announced their divorce. A few months after my family broke up, I decided that life wasn’t worth living. I opened my father’s safe, pulled out the gun, pointed at my head and pulled the trigger.

This is why I am a lucky man. The gun wasn’t loaded. And even though I genuinely wanted to die right there and then, I didn’t have it in me to look for the bullets and give it one more try. I would love to say everything went fine from then on, but I would be lying. I’ve flirted with the idea of suicide many times. But I always manage to push forward.

When I came out to my parents, they didn’t believe me. Life went on as if though nothing had changed. It took them at most 2 years to get used to the idea of me not being with a girl. They still can’t tolerate the idea of seeing me with another man. I became the first person to ever come out of the closet in my high school. Being gay is difficult, but I think being gay in a small catholic country like Costa Rica can be even worse. Every time I would feel depressed because of people’s senseless bullying, I would seek help in my community and would find that all the help was in the US, Canada, or Europe. So naturally I felt isolated.

So I decided to study harder, and apply to boarding schools in the US and leave the country before I would be more than willing to take my own life. And after a lot of effort I was finally able to leave Costa Rica as a student. I love Costa Rica with all my heart, but I don’t feel safe being gay in the country. I don’t feel free as a gay man, having to watch my every step, having to keep track of who knows and who doesn’t, having to hide it all the time.

When I finally started classes at my school, things slowly started to get better again. I started to smile more often and make friends, but still, I was and am the only openly male gay student in my school. It depresses me sometimes, especially now that I’m in my senior year and I see that I will graduate high school without my first kiss, without dating, without any romantic experience whatsoever. I’ve been too busy fighting all the time.

But at least now I’m off to college. I got into my top choice, and I hope that in the next four years of my life, I’ll be able to grow even more. I love my life now, I have a sense of purpose and a sense of direction. And even though the sacrifices have been great. I left my country, my friends, my family, I am proud of what I have accomplished. I am more than a gay teen; I am a survivor. I have survived and overcome every obstacle that society has put in front of me, and with the same triumphant strength I will keep pushing forward until I see myself respected as a human being.

Life may not be always fair, but it is beautiful and worth living. Experience has taught me that the hard way.

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by Farsh A.

My weekend in Vermont changed everything. I knew heading to a mountain cabin with twenty-four guys would yield inevitable fun and lasting memories, but I didn’t anticipate the sense of immense freedom it would afford. It was two weeks into the 2012 New Year and I, along with twenty-four other boys from Boston, MA, were renting a cabin in Ludlow, VT, for a four day ski weekend. Before continuing I should note that we were a crew of twenty-four gay men and one (brave) straight man, so the amount of ski versus drinking and hot tub soaking was greatly skewed in favor of the latter.

Okemo Ski resort was only 7 minutes away but we felt isolated from civilization, which was fine as long as we had the essentials – alcohol, WiFi, hot tub and cute boys. The guys I was with were part of Boston’s FLAG Football League which is a gay football league. These guys were athletic, jovial, boisterous, but most notable, incredibly kind. Perhaps the conscious kindness was borne out of intimate understanding of the stigma and struggles we all had dealt with. We were sensitive to each other’s feelings and strove to cultivate a sense of inclusion, things that we had lacked to an extent while growing up due to our sexuality, whether we were public about it or not.

In that cabin we could be ourselves without inhibition or encumbrance. For me, this liberation carried over from Vermont. While, I had been out for almost two years and taking part socially in Boston’s gay community for just as long, this Vermont trip was a very different gay social experience. The difference was that after that weekend, I wasn’t just comfortable with being gay, but suddenly proud of it.

Since coming out, I have felt things I had long suppressed such as a yearning attraction, excited nervousness on dates and sparks from physical contact with a crush. But after Vermont, I also felt acceptance, belonging, and all the other clichés one hears about being open about one’s true identity. Granted, my facility with being gay was very gradual and to some, having it arrive two years after coming out is an exorbitantly long time. Yet after living most of my life under the guise of being straight, two years isn’t much and good things take time.

My “gay disclosure” has been an amble rollout. Very close friends at first, then people in Boston, then close family. I would cautiously choose who could know. Perhaps this was due to “cultural guilt” or my sense of family obligations. I’m Iranian-American, meaning born into an inherently conservative value-structured culture where community perception is paramount. However, I have relatively liberal parents who didn’t impose religiosity or outdated cultural standards on their children. They let us kids discover our own spiritual path, but with adherence to strict moral standards. They made sure we knew we were greatly loved and wanted our happiness above all. So given that, why hadn’t I come out sooner? It’s exactly because my parents and siblings have always been very loving and supportive that I felt a need to protect them. The Iranian-American community is known for being extremely judgmental and that bore heavily on my being open about my sexuality. The thought of anyone imposing judgment upon my parents for my being gay was infuriating. Despite having excellent parents, I knew that due to lack of awareness and generational discrepancies in perspective, some wouldn’t understand that one’s child being gay doesn’t have a single thing to do with parental competence or proper conveyance of moral values.

But in Vermont, I was able to let go of that false sense of obligation and consideration of others’ maladaptive prejudice as a determinant of how I live. Whoever would judge these guys in poor light due to an inalienable trait, was just uneducated. These were good, no, great guys with whom I had laughed and felt more alive than I had in years. It felt good to be among them. I felt happy. Really happy. If being gay meant I would be around such people, I started feeling fortunate to be gay.

Much of that weekend was broadcast to the public thanks to Facebook. My Vermont companions were “checking me in” at locations and “tagging” me in photos, and these Facebook postings had descriptions that made it conspicuous we were a big ol’ group of gays in the mountains. I used to be hyper-vigilant and quick to remove comments such as “guuurrrl” and “sexy” made by gay friends on my Facebook profile. But this time I was viewing these postings without stringent censorship and with abandon. The images reminded me of the sheer freedom and sense of camaraderie of the weekend. I didn’t want to delete any evidence that revealed I was having a gay old time. Suddenly, I wanted all my Facebook friends and the world to know this is what my life was now. I wanted people to know who I really am.

Perhaps the “It Gets Better” videos I re-watched on YouTube before my trip had inspired my sense of pride. Perhaps it was my growing frustration that a bigot like Rick Santorum could be seen as a viable Presidential candidate. Whatever the recent influences may have been, combined with my Vermont weekend, they compelled me with fortified resolve to proclaim, and even defend if need be, that I’m gay. It was a debate I was willing to take on with the confidence of knowing I was in the right; the biological, psychological, moral, humane, civil and constitutional right. (The last by virtue of definition, and unfortunately not current federal policy – yet.) After my Vermont weekend, I realized that when you’re open about being gay, about being your true self, it doesn’t just “get better,” eventually it can get great. So for all those people out there who still don’t know…yeah I’m gay. Thankfully.

by Stephanie

In high school, two girls can get away with anything short of making out without raising suspicions. Holding hands, constantly touching, none of those things made an impression until I told people the truth years later and they said: “Oh, well that makes sense now.”

We were best friends for five years before that tornado weekend when I said, “I’ve often wondered if I love you,” and she said, “I know I do.” Her boyfriend off at college was forgotten in that instant when my hands sank into her hair and I bit her lips because kissing wasn’t enough to express the force inside of me.  For months we climbed inside of each other, safe from repercussions because my father’s prejudice meant he never even suspected.

South Beach is probably one of the most gay-friendly areas in the country.  I had always grown up seeing men walk by holding hands. We always had gay neighbors. At the same time, I had always heard my father’s sneer when he spoke of them. I knew that while there might be nothing wrong with being gay, my father didn’t like it. Her parents were from Africa, and she knew that if they found out she’d be kicked out of the house. My situation wasn’t so dire – I just didn’t want him to ever look at me that way.

There was a Starbucks on Lincoln Road that we went to several times a week after school to study. There, away from anyone I knew but surrounded by tolerant strangers, I felt free. There, one day, my heart pounding to break my chest, I kissed her in full view of anyone who cared to look.  There, we held hands for hours reviewing calculus.  We could be ourselves, we could be honest, when the only eyes judging us were baristas and tourists.

It’s years later now, and this bisexual is in a relationship with a man.  We’ll probably get married soon.  I never told my parents, though I have told all my friends.  Sometimes it seems like the most important thing about me, and my pulse races as I mention my high school girlfriend casually to a coworker.  Sometimes I wonder if it was all a fever dream.  Sometimes i think back on that 17-year-old kid and marvel at her bravery.  Sometimes I think I am still being a coward.