Growing up Southern Baptist, I was taught that being gay was bad. My mom thought gay people were mythical beings, “like werewolves or vampires,” she once said. One time at dinner, when my parents found out I went to a drag show with my then-girlfriend, my father told me he used to go to gay clubs to “beat the shit out of the fags.”
I am only officially out to one of my sisters, but six years ago my mom saw that my MySpace profile status listed me as gay. She sent me a long e-mail asking what she had done wrong as a mother, saying that she couldn’t believe her eyes. She hasn’t spoken of it since. And I’m sure she didn’t share the news with anyone else.
After two suicide attempts, I moved to Los Angeles to reclaim my life. Today, I have a great boyfriend and I couldn’t be happier. I still don’t share anything about my personal life with my family. Considering how religious and conservative they all are, it’s the best course of action. However, they all have this photo of me, so I’m sure that in their hearts they all know I was born this way.