As a sensitive and creative kid, books were my refuge. I befriended a girl in first grade, and the unison shouts of “sissy” intensified. So I basically had no friends in school. Does this sound familiar? Then I met a boy named John, another skinny teacher’s pet. With his Coke-bottle glasses, he fit the geek stereotype I could relate to—and my lifelong pattern for romantic interests was firmly set. But our intimate conversations weren’t allowed in class, and teachers kept us apart.
I attended six different schools in nine years’ time, yet the bullies always immediately pegged me as gay. I was shoved and locked inside a gym locker for an hour and got beat up for daring to wear pink, which put me in the hospital with a dislocated jaw. If I sought help I was told, “You brought this on yourself. Why can’t you act more like the other boys?” In college, while no longer compelled to maintain secrecy or protect my parents from worry, I fell apart and was overwhelmed by depression. After another long period of self-imposed solitude, I finally found the strength to slowly rebuild my life. Thankfully, today I am surrounded by good friends and loved ones.