I Feel Better

I was out cold for three days. I did not dream, and I could barely think. I was just a singular being floating in the edge of darkness. And then, the darkness gave way to a blinding white. The white was so pure that it seared my eyes. No- white was not the way to describe it. It wasn't just a pure shade of white. It was clear. Somehow, I could tell that beyond that square of clearness that nothing existed and nothing inhabited and never would.

I tried struggling away from it, fearing the end. I didn't want to die. I'm too human to not care about death. It terrifies me, and the blankness in that square scared me more than anything. Then deep rouge lines appeared in the darkness, surrounding the square like varicose veins. They covered the square, filled it, and then filled the rest of the inky darkness.

Then I woke up.

The doctors say I was out for three days. The blood of the donor was peculiar and my body weakened into a comatose state to accept the new blood. My blood type is O-, the universal donor. However, the donor's was a strange state. They couldn't quite tell what it was, but they said that it was close enough to O-. At least, that's what they said.

I feel good to be alive. It feels good to get out there now. I feel rejuvinated. I feel alive. I'm supposed to go to muscular therapy. Apparently muscle in my shoulder was blown clean off. But... it's like the incident never happened. It's so strange.

But no reason to be suspicious of a blessing, is there?

In any case, I have to go home. I have a month of schoolwork left, and I'll turn it all in, whether they grade it or not.

It Hurts

Stop no
it hurts please stop
please help me
help me
God help me.

They beat us all.
They pulled out bats and pipes.
They found out about our project.
They beat us.
They beat us to the ground.
And kept beating.

Then they started laughing and taunting us.
Then one of the kids pulled out a gun.
He shot me right above the collar.
They told off the gun-toting kid
Called him a "fuckin' idiot"
And then they left.
They left us.

We were shipped to the hospital.
It hurts to write.
They're going to prescribe
Medication soon.

I keep my head held high
To stand up for rights
But it hurts too much
I want my mommy
Help me it hurts.

They say they're going to do
a transfusion.
Do it.
Help.

The First GSA Meeting

I found people out there. People willing to help out for a cause. People who were going through the same thing or just sympathized with the cause. They all agreed privately to hold the first meeting at the study hall after school at around 5 PM.

Well, most of us met there at the allotted time. Those who didn't we were worried about. What if they were set up to learn about us and then attack us for being different? We didn't put anything behind those bigots anymore. Thankfully, most of them showed up, if a little bit late. They said they were busy finishing up their homework in the cafeteria.

We talked about a few things. We talked about things such as the horrible things done to each and every one of us. I feel both glad and mortified at the things they talked about. On the one hand, they're beating us all, and they're hurting us in ways that are mentally and emotionally scarring, they're hurting us and knowing they can get by with it. On the other hand, I know that I'm not alone. There are others. Just like Schwerner said. There are others who sympathize, who listen, and who can help each other out.

We talked about how we can raise awareness. Some murmurs about rallies and protests and sit-down strikes were talked about, but we all knew the consequences. Like Hell were we that stupid. Then I recommended we each tell our story on Facebook or Twitter, but leave our name or identity anonymous. Create sockpuppet accounts and advocate for gay rights and raise awareness about the town's atrocities.

We adjourned after singing some songs. Songs of pride and holding our heads up high. About strength in the odds of danger. Pride is what we need. Pride is what'll keep us keeping on.

It's been a long time. We can keep strong just a little while longer.

Dr. Schwerner

I went to Dr. Joseph Schwerner today. He's the distant relative of the Civil Rights activist, Mickey Schwerner. Schwerner was working dilligently to help put an end to the racial segregation taking place in the deep south, specifically Neshoba County, Mississippi. In Neshoba, he, another Civil Rights activist named Andrew Goodman, and an African American COFO member named James Cheney were rounded up and murdered by seven KKK members. I know this because he has a plaque dedicated to the loss of his third cousin on a plaque in the waiting room.

It kind of showed me that ... it helped me think that he was willing to sacrifice to help people like me. It really gave me a good outlook on life.

So I walked into his office. He was sitting back there. He looked the spitting image of his third cousin, Mickey. He had the brown-grey goatee surrounding his mouth. He had the curly, dark hair, and the bony, kindly face. He had the eyes that made me feel safe and comfortable.

I was not "coming onto" him, by the way. I hope it doesn't need to be said. Others might have, but it takes me to become close friends with a guy before I start liking him. It's smarter that way. It hurts less that way. Unless he turns out to be one of the bashers in the town. Then it hurts.

I told him everything. I'm not going to tell you exactly what happened. All the horrible things said, done. It hurt enough to tell them to him, but I'm not posting it on the net for everyone to see. Besides, they might figure out who's writing these. I remember what he told me. Word for word.

"Listen. I don't know if I can ever understand how much pain you could be going through, and it's not something medication can fix, give me a healthier paycheck be-damned. I'm going to suggest this for you. Tell your parents. Have you done that?"

I told him I did.

"Good, good. The next thing you should do is write down in something. A journal or just a piece of paper you write to yourself then dispose of, anything."

I told him I was writing in a blog.

"Good, that's good... well... the world can see everything you write, though. Have you given away your name and address?"

No.

"Good. Next, I would say band together. Singularly, it seems like a problem. An unsolvable problem. But I know a lot of people in the general area who have come to me with their problems, and I can say there are more people in that town who are considered 'sexually estranged' aside from yourself by the populace. I won't give out names, but you should form together. LBGT, GSA, or just knowing smiles, anything to help you out.

"Just... I've seen a lot of people come through here. Some I've seen in the newspaper- their names in the obituaries. I want you to make a promise with me. No matter how bad it seems, no matter how dangerous or hurtful it is, just band through. It can be overcome. Don't let it end you, and don't you dare end yourself, okay?"

I agreed. He ended the session with a knowing smile and a shake of the hand. I left... I felt so much better. I almost forgot about what the town would do in such a case. They'd kill us, probably. No- but they'd break our legs. Maybe tear out our vocal chords so we can't talk. ...I have no idea. They're sick people, some of them. Some of them are very conservative- some still hate the idea of desegregation, and refer to those who are of darker complexion as the N-word.

But... but it won't hurt to try.

Well...

It will... but it won't hurt my pride.

Coming Out to My Parents

I decided, after making that post, that... well, I decided to tell my parents. They were ... they were shocked. My dad stormed out. He said something about how I'm worse than a blasphemous anti-God piece of shit. My mom was more kind about it in the beginning though. She put her hand on my shoulder and she told me the dangers of homosexual intercourse. I told her I felt that I enjoy guys romantically like that, but I don't think I'm ready to enjoy guys in a sexual way. She said that no matter what, I was still her child, and that if I do keep this mindset I should at least be safe about it.

Then my dad came back. He apologized to me, but he then told me he set up an appointment with a therapist outside the county. Someone who worked with people of the LBGT type and helped them overcome the hurt. He also set up an appointment with a priest. For my Baptism. I'm still a Christian, the haters of the congregation be damned. I believe in the love and forgiveness aspect of Christianity. The actual teachings of the Abrahamic prophet. Respect, togetherness, and equality. Not hatrid, bigotry, and the lack of empathy for those who are different, even only a little.

So- tomorrow, I'm going to go to Prof. Schwerner. He's going to help me out. I might try to rat out the people who beat me. Or I might just need a shoulder to cry on. It doesn't matter.

I finally feel like ... all the hatrid. The discrimination. It can end. It can change. Or I can find a way out of it if it doesn't.

Just need to take this one step at a time.

Questions and Contemplations

I've been doing some thinking for the last week or so. My problems have escalated too much. I've been beaten and harassed in this offensive town for the last time. But I don't know how to get out. So I thought  for a while. Looked for ways out. There aren't many, and they're all nigh impossible.

I thought of coming out to my parents, asking for help on their part. No... that wouldn't work. I don't know if they're just as bigoted, as hateful. What if they kick me out? What if they make me leave home and never return? I can get somewhat far, find work, maybe even rent an apartment, but then again they may keep me in the house. Beat me. Torture me. Burn me and tie me down while they "pray the gay away". I know cases where something like that's happened. But it's not likely, is it?

Another idea I thought of is finding... I don't know, a way to spread my pain out on the internet. And it has worked to an extent. But it hasn't staunched the blood, or stitched the gashes, or helped me feel any less hopeless about it. It just clarifies why my life is horrible.

I can't go to family. I can't go to friends. Do I have friends? No. Not anymore. I could see a psychologist but that would require telling my parents. Or lying to them. I can barely walk down the street without getting mugged and they've started using lethal weapons.

...there is one way. I don't want to do it, but the problem's never going to go away. I've tried looking on the bright side, getting help, asking for opinions and comments and just support, but it never came.

I made my decision. Tomorrow I'm going to the center park with a knife. I'm going to cut my wrist open and throw myself into the pond. They might think I go missing if they don't find me before I sink.

It's just... it's the only way out. It hurts... it scares the ever-loving fuck out of me to say it, but it is the only way out.

Examples of Their Hatred

They've done horrible things to me for my gall to be different. I live somewhere in Missouri. The bad part of Missouri. The one that fought the hardest against the Union in the Civil War. The ones that beat and abused the poor black people in the towns we pushed them into. The town where men could beat their wives without repercussion, where someone who was diagnosed with a mental illness or a missing limb could get shot. I live in the most bigoted area of the United States this side of the Mississippi River.

And after most of their scapegoats were now placed under the civil protection of the law, they naturally went to another group. And I happen to be homosexual, and they ate it up.

It started at school when I came out to someone who I thought I could trust. He was a close friend, or so I thought, and listened to what I said. He punched me in the face, then got on his bike and rode off in a direction. I tried running after, but he called me an abomination and rode off.

Then he spread word throughout the school. I could tell by the whispers, the furtive looks they gave me. Then they started speaking louder, and louder.

Then the teachers started glaring at me like I was a bat out of Hell. They gave me F's on tests that I should have passed with flying colors. Once my Biology teacher made the mistake of telling the answers to us a week after a test, and I noted that most of the questions I got right were counted wrong. He ignored me.

Then the kids started attacking me physically. Honestly, it was better than the stares and the remarks. At least it would heal. Except for the stone that hit me in the right eye. That stone blinded me in that permanently. Gave me a stigmatism and made everything a lot blurrier than before.

In any case... I don't know what to do. But talking about it is step one to recovery, right? ...right.