Living With Labels

I cried every day for answers to questions that I could not face openly with both my internal and external labeled "dysfunctions". I had been raised and taught by both my family and society that "being gay" was not normal. Here I was, at puberty, with no hair (wearing an old ladies hair piece because there were not any for young kids at the time), having emotional feelings for the same sex and going to school at the height of the AIDS epidemic. To add insult to injury, so to speak, I began a long line of infatuations (which I thought was love) with many female friends, teachers and coworkers. The first one, in particular was the hardest to work through. I've heard the stereotypes and feel like a broken record by saying this but I was infatuated and in love with my athletic coach in Junior High School (1982). I selfishly soaked up the attention and mistook it for love. We maintained a friendship until the day I decided to come clean with my emotional feelings I had for her. The year was 1986; I was sure she felt the same and I went for it and professed my love in written form. With all the homophobia running rampant at this time no wonder she dismissed my letter, and me for that matter. I confronted her, thinking surely she would console me as a teacher/educator and then as a Lesbian herself. I was wrong. All I had fantasied came to a crashing, denying halt. The principal at my High School was contacted and called my Mother. I was sitting in the principals office angry and on the defensive that this matter was no one else's business except me and my coach. After that conversation went nowhere I was on my way home to meet my Mother.

My mind went numb and all I could think was that I had to deny that I was gay and in need of a convincing story. I cannot remember how the discussion began but I know that I cried a lot and continually prfessed that I was not gay. My Mothers response; "We have an appointment with a psychiatrist tomorrow and you are going". I look at that visit now and wish that I hadn't lied to him but instead forced the issue to begin my journey as an open, out front lesbian.

All the attention, life counseling and reassurance that I was not "gay" but "straight" became a mask to hide my identity. I needed to feel confident that I wasn't some sort of freak so I focused on the exterior rather than the interior appearance of myself, which turned out to be almost as debilitating as if I had come out. The fears I faced during junior high and high school were not the norm of some of my peers today. I didn't hear the word; dyke, fag, gay, or even queer. If there words were spoken I would duck my head and run away from the conversation or the person. My worst fears were someone who said; "I hear you wear a wig" or the fear of having someone come from behind while at the water fountain and tug at my hair. I was conscious every second of every day about how I looked, how I held my head in the wind, and how I managed to play sports without my hair coming off. All the other stuff was just internal and under my own control, at least I told myself that frequently.