Why bother?

I always knew, you know? That I was different. I would have dreams of being with a boy, we would be dating, or married. One in particular, I was with a blondish brown haired boy, we were on our way to a concert, on a date. He had the cutest smile and I remember thinking, "wow, I am the luckiest guy alive". It couldn't last, happiness never did. I woke with a start because I couldn't be gay, I wouldn't be gay. The dreams went away after a while and I thanked god that he took them away. My family would kill me if I was gay and I didn't want to go to hell. I was only 9 years old but I knew that being gay wasn't something I should be.

Sometimes I would see a cute guy in the hallway at school, or at church (try explaining that one to yourself). For a minute, I'd let myself imagine what it would be like to just go with it and enjoy my life and date a guy. I would always throw those thoughts out of my head because I was not gay.

I listened to the services every Sunday and most Wednesdays. I would sit with my family at the same spot every week. I would listen to the pastor as he talked about how being gay was a choice, and we should choose not to be. I prayed at the end of each service, with everyone else, at the alter. I thought I was happy, and I guess I was.

I never hated the idea of dating a girl at the time. It wasn't as good as dating a guy, but I was willing to make that sacrifice for my religion, for God. I convinced myself to think about girls. When I would see one, I tried to make myself develop a crush. It never really worked that well.

After a while, I just accepted the fact that I would always be alone. No one was going to truly love me, and I didn't want to date a girl, so I had to be alone. I never told anyone how depressed it actually made me.

At the age of thirteen, I had forgotten most of my worries about being gay. I had other things to worry about and it wouldn't matter anyway, no one would ever date me.

A week later I did something that I wish I had never done. I was figuring out how to use a pocket knife when it fell and sliced my hand open. It was really painful, but at the same time, I kind of liked it. I hade heard of people cutting themselves when they were sad. I decided that since I was sad, and no one was going to notice anyway, I would give it a go. I made two more cuts. It hurt a lot and I carefully put the knife back on my desk as I cleaned my wound. Neosporin and a band aid was all I needed. A few people asked about it but I told them the knife fell.

I had a great thirteenth birthday, made only better by the fact that a girl a church actually liked me. Me! I was so ecstatic. I would have dated any girl at that point. I was just happy that I wasn't alone.

Just two weeks after that, it all went downhill. I told you that happiness never lasted, I've never been wrong about that. One of my friends from church camp came over to stay at my house for a week. I thought it would be pretty fun. He was cool and very religious so I figured that he could keep me on the right path.

That was one of the worst weeks of my life.

I was always insecure about the way I looked. My hair was super curly and I had glasses. Every time I saw a mirror, it was like a punch in the face. It didn't help that my friend was gorgeous. He had cool straight hair and didn't need glasses. He had muscles and I couldn't help but envy him a little. Except that I didn't really envy him. I liked him. I had the biggest crush on him.

It was the day after he had shown up when I found myself in the bathroom. I only had my boxers on and I was twisting the knife around in my hand, just thinking about it. I weighed the pros and cons before deciding that I was going to do it. That was one of the most horrible decisions I could have made.

I made over one hundred cuts on my thighs that week. They were punishment for thinking gay thoughts.

I kissed my girlfriend that week. It was the most awkward thing in the world. We were both sitting on the couch and we had kind of planned it, which was a bad idea. After probably thirty minutes of leaning in and pulling away, we finally kissed and it was . . . okay I guess.

It wasn't spectacular or anything. It was just a kiss. I don't know what I was expecting. Fireworks? butterflies? but it was nothing but lips touching lips. I actually kissed her twice, to make sure that nothing special was going to happen. I went to bed that night thinking about how stupid it was that I was nervous. I broke up with her a month later.

Nothing remarkable happened the rest of the year. I kept cutting, gradually filling all the space on my upper thighs so I had to re-cut areas I had already cut. I thought it was pretty good for coping. It was the only thing to get the stupid thoughts out of my head. "You're going to hell, Blaine" was one of the most common thoughts swirling around in my head. I knew I needed help but I wasn't ready to stop cutting.

It was November when my parents found out. I was never going to tell them about it but I asked them to get me a therapist and they said they would, but I had to tell them why. When I said I wouldn't, they forced me to stay in their room with them until I told. I still think that was one of the scariest moments I've ever had.

They got me therapy and I quit cutting for the most part. I had the occasional relapse, but it was never big and I always stopped after.

I had been homeschooled up until then, and I knew that I would have to go back eventually. My parents sent me back part time at a Christian private school. It was fun for that year. I didn't let anyone in and I didn't have any friends but I liked being around happy people. I was able to pretend that I was fine when I heard them laughing.

His name was Mark. He was blond with tan skin and muscles, I never noticed him till my freshman year of high school. Mark wasn't the brightest guy but I found us becoming friends quickly. I always thought he was handsome but because of my depression, it never really went beyond that.

When I noticed I was falling for him, my head jerked up in the class I was in. I asked the teacher if I could go to the bathroom and as soon as I got in the stall, I took the blade I kept for emergencies, and I cut. I cut so deep.

I cried and I cursed God. Most of all, I just hated myself. I tried reading the bible, praying, crying, cutting, but nothing got rid of my feelings. I tried to rid myself of them for months.

After a while, I was just to tired to care. If I went to hell, it wouldn't be any different than life now anyways. I still wouldn't let myself be gay but I just stopped worrying about it.

I tried to focus on school but it was difficult. I couldn't stop thinking about Mark. I decided that I wouldn't date a guy but I would at least accept the fact that I had feelings for guys.

That was a slippery slope and I found myself big into the LGBT community. Online of course, no one could know about this, ever.

Eventually I hit a breakthrough. Why was I bending over backwards for this God that obviously didn't give a shit about me? I think that's when I decided that I didn't want to be a Christian anymore.

Everyone at school noticed when I stopped talking about god and started telling them not to use gay slurs or treat lgbt people poorly.

It took a while but I was happyish with who I was. I told my parents the night of homecoming. I told my mom and she told my dad. I could see the disappointment and anger in his eyes as he dropped me off for homecoming. I knew I was in for it.

He yelled at me for two hours when I got back. He told me how I wasn't gay and how I was going to hell. I already knew I was going to hell and I honestly didn't care anymore. Satan could bring it, it couldn't be worse that what god had already done.

My dad didn't accept me for three months. My mom was accepting from the start. The people at school however, were not good at all.

When I told Mark that I was gay, he immediately stopped talking to me. He spread rumors all over the school about me and they made their way into the office.

Imagine getting a text from your mom saying how the office called them and said that they had a problem. When I asked the secretary, she smiled and said "no, nothings wrong honey". I heard a much different story when I got home that night. The office heard the gay rumors, and they thought it was a good idea to, instead of helping me get rid of rumors, tell me that if I didn't make the rumors go away, I would be expelled.

I was a straight A student and the best archer they had. It didn't matter though, If I was gay. I decided to leave the school when the year was up, I couldn't stay anyway. There was only one other option, public school.

McKinley high school here I come.