HE ASKED ME WHY

He asked me why I was gay. I looked at him at first in confusion then in disbelief. Like who asks that? It felt completely personal even though he asked in a calm manner. My mind quickly went to defense mode. Like why would you think I would want to be gay if I had a choice? Like that question absolutely let me know that he wasn’t gay nor was close to anyone gay. The thoughts that ran through my mind was instantaneous. I didn’t wake up and say I want to be someone that has to walk through life ridiculed and teased. That I wanted to experience a harder life when it comes to fitting in because people will always have something to say or throw or abuse. I didn’t want to live a laugh that felt like I walked around with a bullseye on my back.

He asked me this question like if was picking a shirt out the closet or deciding what color scheme I wanted to dress in. He asked me this not knowing the 1000’s that contemplated suicide just because it’s extra hard to find comfort in a society that finds it perverse to be who you are. His questions brought me back to my adolescent years. When a question like that was usually followed by a scuffle of fists and demeaning words.

I was born this way. Since young I knew i was different. I knew I was attracted to the same sex and having no one to explain it to me just guaranteed me that I would go through trials and errors on top of doing what’s expected of me like school, a job and being a responsible human being. 

So when I turned around and answered him- “I’m gay because it’s in my make up. It’s in every fiber of my being. My sexual preference is just a pinch of what I am, that there is a whole lot more to me then just what I do in bed.”

He couldn’t grasp it. With a dumb look on his face he walked away never knowing that my right to live will always be stronger than his ignorance to ask.  

 

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