It's almost like spitting something out that's lodged in my throat.
Almost.
See, saying those two little words, well, a contraction and a word, that's one of the hardest things I'm ever going to do.
There's no reason for it to be hard for me, but I've always been a reticent person.
That is, I rarely tell people things about me.
They think I'm telling them something about me, but it's just another story.
Whether that story is real or fabricated, that doesn't matter.
What I'm trying to say is that just telling someone things I've kept secret, or at least that they haven't known, is hard for me.
It's so, so hard to say those words.
Hell, even saying them out loud only to myself, whispering it alone in my room, that's hard.
Writing them, that's hard if I think too much.
Writing this is hard, and I've told you already.
They're so harmless, but they can wreck relationships, shatter households.
Someone I know told me that her mother burned half of her books after she told her something very similar to those words and proved it.
Stories like these, these are disheartening.
They're dangerous words, those five letters.
If they aren't managed right, bang.
You're dead.
Bang.
Someone's raping you, telling you it'll fix you.
Bang.
You don't have a home anymore.
Five letters, a conjunction and a word.
I'm gay.
See, I wrote it, and I felt the familiar jolt go through my body.
Adrenaline?
I think.
I was watching a play put on by the drama club at my school last year, and one of the characters said it.
I'm gay.
Whoever wrote the script knew what they were doing.
The actor who played that character got everything right.
I knew what he was going to say before he said it, and yet-
And yet I still felt that jolt of adrenaline.
I'm gay.
Just thinking of telling that to my grandparents, hell, even my aunts and uncles and cousins, it's making me shrink inside my shell.
How can I do it?
How can I tell it to them-
I'm gay?
Even though my friend I've been friends with since 2001 when we were only months old, I know he'll be ok with it, I still can't tell him.
We sit in the basement playing cards or something, and I want to say it.
I'm gay.
But the words freeze in my throat.
They won't exit my mouth.
Is it because of an irrational fear of rejection?
It'll be fine, but it won't be fine until I say it.
I'm gay.
I try to tell my parents, but I say it too loud and a nervous reaction causes laughter to burst from my mouth immediately.
They think it's a joke.
They forget, but months later I still remember.
I'm gay.
What will my grandma do?
My conservative grandma?
What will she do about it?
I've got no reason to be worried about that.
The worst she can do is what, send me to one of those Christian camps that are supposed to turn you away from homosexuality.
No one wants to go to those.
But I'm not worried about that.
As a writer, I would welcome the experience.
I just can't say it.
I'm gay.
I'm crying now.
There are tears coming from my eyes.
There's no reason for that.
There's no reason for me to cry.
I'm comfortable with who I am, but I just can't say it.
I'm gay.
--Sylveon
Almost.
See, saying those two little words, well, a contraction and a word, that's one of the hardest things I'm ever going to do.
There's no reason for it to be hard for me, but I've always been a reticent person.
That is, I rarely tell people things about me.
They think I'm telling them something about me, but it's just another story.
Whether that story is real or fabricated, that doesn't matter.
What I'm trying to say is that just telling someone things I've kept secret, or at least that they haven't known, is hard for me.
It's so, so hard to say those words.
Hell, even saying them out loud only to myself, whispering it alone in my room, that's hard.
Writing them, that's hard if I think too much.
Writing this is hard, and I've told you already.
They're so harmless, but they can wreck relationships, shatter households.
Someone I know told me that her mother burned half of her books after she told her something very similar to those words and proved it.
Stories like these, these are disheartening.
They're dangerous words, those five letters.
If they aren't managed right, bang.
You're dead.
Bang.
Someone's raping you, telling you it'll fix you.
Bang.
You don't have a home anymore.
Five letters, a conjunction and a word.
I'm gay.
See, I wrote it, and I felt the familiar jolt go through my body.
Adrenaline?
I think.
I was watching a play put on by the drama club at my school last year, and one of the characters said it.
I'm gay.
Whoever wrote the script knew what they were doing.
The actor who played that character got everything right.
I knew what he was going to say before he said it, and yet-
And yet I still felt that jolt of adrenaline.
I'm gay.
Just thinking of telling that to my grandparents, hell, even my aunts and uncles and cousins, it's making me shrink inside my shell.
How can I do it?
How can I tell it to them-
I'm gay?
Even though my friend I've been friends with since 2001 when we were only months old, I know he'll be ok with it, I still can't tell him.
We sit in the basement playing cards or something, and I want to say it.
I'm gay.
But the words freeze in my throat.
They won't exit my mouth.
Is it because of an irrational fear of rejection?
It'll be fine, but it won't be fine until I say it.
I'm gay.
I try to tell my parents, but I say it too loud and a nervous reaction causes laughter to burst from my mouth immediately.
They think it's a joke.
They forget, but months later I still remember.
I'm gay.
What will my grandma do?
My conservative grandma?
What will she do about it?
I've got no reason to be worried about that.
The worst she can do is what, send me to one of those Christian camps that are supposed to turn you away from homosexuality.
No one wants to go to those.
But I'm not worried about that.
As a writer, I would welcome the experience.
I just can't say it.
I'm gay.
I'm crying now.
There are tears coming from my eyes.
There's no reason for that.
There's no reason for me to cry.
I'm comfortable with who I am, but I just can't say it.
I'm gay.
--Sylveon