Understanding
At the age of ten, an older mentor says to me, "Don’t let anyone make you gay.” Upon hearing this, I am confused, I feel uncomfortable and guilty. I watch a show with an aunt and a cousin, the show has a couple of guys kissing. My cousin asks the aunt why those guys are kissing. The aunt replies with something to the effect of because they are gay, guys who like guys like girls and guys, mom and dad. This is bad, wrong, evil. I again feel guilty, uncomfortable. I wonder if she knows that I feel that way. I have never hidden my emotions well. Time passes.
At twelve, I see guys and get aroused. I am unsure about these feelings. I get more confused as I hear other guys talk about girls. I watch a porno with some cousins and find the guys intriguing and the women ugly.
Thirteen comes along and I am full into puberty and growing more aware of sexuality. I develop a crush on a classmate. Fourteen comes along and I have made friends with that classmate. I find all sorts of reasons to spend time with him. We join the young firefighters group at the local volunteer firehouse, but we skip out, get drunk, and cause havoc. First time I ever drank, smoked or did drugs. I run away to his house in the middle of the night, a 15-mile hike through the woods and along the railroad tracks from Emida to Fernwood. The Moon is bright. Mom and dad come for me, dad and I fight. Punching, wrestling. Eventually I go home with them. A week later, I do it again; mom calls and says to come home when I am ready. I stay a week. But nothing ever happens. Mom has cleaned and fixed up my room. She asks me sometime after this if I am having gay feelings for this guy. I say NO!!! As time passes, I begin to understand more.
At sixteen, I am finishing my freshman year of high school. I refuse to dress down for PE. I am afraid of what might happen. I argue with the teacher over it. I never tell him my reasoning. You don’t talk about this in Benewah County. Through out I never tell anyone or let on. I don’t even tell my best friend. I fear being anymore different than I already was. I was into Star Trek, and all things Sci-Fi and science. I was really into space. I wasn't into sports, drinking, drugs, four wheelers, hunting or much else that kids in my school or town were. I was interested in games, hiking, reading, figuring math problems, usually dealing with space: speed of light, distances, and space ships. My normal differences were enough to ostracize me and it would be worse to be gay. I felt guilty and uncomfortable enough. Things were easier when I quit school that year and did home schooling. I felt an extreme relief.
Seventeen comes, I have moved in with my Aunt Laurie in Palouse, Washington, I want to find a job. No one will hire me because I am not 18. I go back to Emida. One night I see a commercial for the Army. With in a week I am talking to the recruiter. I go to night school and end up with my GED. During the final stages of paperwork, the recruiter gives me a survey; he crosses out a question and says that question can’t be asked anymore. I read it; I feel a pang of worry and guilt. I glance at mom and dad; they are smiling and looking proud. I suppose my face doesn’t betray the feelings. It passes. That summer I join the army.
Eighteen has come and I leave for the army. Every thing is great, easier than I expected. It is the first time I have been far from home, get homesick. It passes. I get tunnel vision in the showers, stub my toe many times, once so bad it still hurts when it is cold out. I was afraid to look down to see where I was walking. I get to my duty station, Fort Drum, New York. Guilt and pressure relax; I am quiet and reserved. I have no friends for a while. My sergeant decides I need his special attention and extra training. I am the only other trained clerk in the unit. My formal job training was in the old ways, the sergeant gets pissed about this. He makes my life a living hell. Working from 7am to midnight several nights, gets angry with the smallest things. After some time, I get acquainted with some of the company clerks they invite me to drink with them after a really bad day. I drink half a bottle of Wild Turkey in an hour and a half. End up in the clinic with the sergeant when I wake up. I am sick and depressed now. The stress builds and builds. Nineteen has come.
My birthday is lonely, I have no leave yet, most everyone is gone on leave. I spend it alone. The worst day comes soon after. Something has gone against the wishes of the sergeant. He takes me to the office and starts yelling and throwing things. He's been chewed out by the Adjutant for ordering me to disobey the Adjutant. The sergeant has misplaced a file that I was supposed to give directly to the Adjutant. The sergeant yells and rants for a half hour, he throws things. I am scared and don’t know what to do. I can finally leave. I go get Burger King to go and go to the woods. I am eating, there's a voice in my head, “put the pen through your temple.” This scares me, but I keep eating and try to ignore it. It speaks again, “take the pen apart, and use the clip to slice your wrist; you know how to do it.” I quit eating, pick up the trash, and run for the barracks. Try to call mom, she doesn’t answer, try grandma, she doesn’t answer. I start to cry. I am scared, more than I have ever been. The voice comes again, “take that knife, stick it into your lung, you know how.” I run from the room and head for the loop. I walk round and round, fist clinching, relaxing, clinching, relaxing. Slowly the fear subsides, but not before a speeding car comes by. I jump just as the car is a few feet away, it is dusk, and the driver doesn’t see me. Silently, I scream. At the last second, I jump into the ditch. Sitting, shaking, rocking, screaming in silence. I get up; keep walking, the road is clear, no cars for a long time. Calm comes, I think, calculate. I go back to the barracks, shower and sleep. Exhausted. I go back to church, seeking peace of mind and escape. The sergeant has us working on the weekends. He doesn’t want to be home with his wife. They are getting divorced.
Now I am twenty. I have been trying not to be gay. I am still going to church. We get a new senior sergeant, the old sergeant is not in charge now, things lighten up. The unit begins training for deployment to Bosnia. I beg to go. I don’t want to stay with the old sergeant. They say yes. I am going. Fall comes, time for us to go. Fourteen hours crammed on a commercial plan, rifle at my feet, equipment belt sticking my side. We get to Germany. Fog, stuck for a day. Finally, we get to Bosnia. A place where all the buildings look like Swiss cheese. Bullet holes in everything. The base camp is an old farmstead. The building I work in has one end blown apart; plywood haphazardly makes it completely again. I it is drafty and ugly. Dirt and dust cover everything. Inside is like a maze. Doors that go nowhere, hallways that lead to nothing. We settle in. Work five hours a day, no early mornings. PT is not required now. Carrying a rifle with live ammo is. We must have it everywhere we are, except the chapel. We can sleep until eight in the morning, work starts at nine. Can take a two-hour lunch. Then sort mail, type a report. Spend a lot of time in the Rose Garden drinking cappuccinos. Lots of time to think. I see an MP, very attractive. I make friends with him. Nothing happens. Soon after I tell myself, I am gay, nothing will change that. Church didn’t, stress didn’t, nothing will. I send an email to mom and tell her. Then I tell my buddy, he’s cool with it. He has friends back home that are. I feel like the world has lifted from shoulders. The world has a new look, things are great. I feel great. I never hear the voice again. Relief. Understanding.
At twelve, I see guys and get aroused. I am unsure about these feelings. I get more confused as I hear other guys talk about girls. I watch a porno with some cousins and find the guys intriguing and the women ugly.
Thirteen comes along and I am full into puberty and growing more aware of sexuality. I develop a crush on a classmate. Fourteen comes along and I have made friends with that classmate. I find all sorts of reasons to spend time with him. We join the young firefighters group at the local volunteer firehouse, but we skip out, get drunk, and cause havoc. First time I ever drank, smoked or did drugs. I run away to his house in the middle of the night, a 15-mile hike through the woods and along the railroad tracks from Emida to Fernwood. The Moon is bright. Mom and dad come for me, dad and I fight. Punching, wrestling. Eventually I go home with them. A week later, I do it again; mom calls and says to come home when I am ready. I stay a week. But nothing ever happens. Mom has cleaned and fixed up my room. She asks me sometime after this if I am having gay feelings for this guy. I say NO!!! As time passes, I begin to understand more.
At sixteen, I am finishing my freshman year of high school. I refuse to dress down for PE. I am afraid of what might happen. I argue with the teacher over it. I never tell him my reasoning. You don’t talk about this in Benewah County. Through out I never tell anyone or let on. I don’t even tell my best friend. I fear being anymore different than I already was. I was into Star Trek, and all things Sci-Fi and science. I was really into space. I wasn't into sports, drinking, drugs, four wheelers, hunting or much else that kids in my school or town were. I was interested in games, hiking, reading, figuring math problems, usually dealing with space: speed of light, distances, and space ships. My normal differences were enough to ostracize me and it would be worse to be gay. I felt guilty and uncomfortable enough. Things were easier when I quit school that year and did home schooling. I felt an extreme relief.
Seventeen comes, I have moved in with my Aunt Laurie in Palouse, Washington, I want to find a job. No one will hire me because I am not 18. I go back to Emida. One night I see a commercial for the Army. With in a week I am talking to the recruiter. I go to night school and end up with my GED. During the final stages of paperwork, the recruiter gives me a survey; he crosses out a question and says that question can’t be asked anymore. I read it; I feel a pang of worry and guilt. I glance at mom and dad; they are smiling and looking proud. I suppose my face doesn’t betray the feelings. It passes. That summer I join the army.
Eighteen has come and I leave for the army. Every thing is great, easier than I expected. It is the first time I have been far from home, get homesick. It passes. I get tunnel vision in the showers, stub my toe many times, once so bad it still hurts when it is cold out. I was afraid to look down to see where I was walking. I get to my duty station, Fort Drum, New York. Guilt and pressure relax; I am quiet and reserved. I have no friends for a while. My sergeant decides I need his special attention and extra training. I am the only other trained clerk in the unit. My formal job training was in the old ways, the sergeant gets pissed about this. He makes my life a living hell. Working from 7am to midnight several nights, gets angry with the smallest things. After some time, I get acquainted with some of the company clerks they invite me to drink with them after a really bad day. I drink half a bottle of Wild Turkey in an hour and a half. End up in the clinic with the sergeant when I wake up. I am sick and depressed now. The stress builds and builds. Nineteen has come.
My birthday is lonely, I have no leave yet, most everyone is gone on leave. I spend it alone. The worst day comes soon after. Something has gone against the wishes of the sergeant. He takes me to the office and starts yelling and throwing things. He's been chewed out by the Adjutant for ordering me to disobey the Adjutant. The sergeant has misplaced a file that I was supposed to give directly to the Adjutant. The sergeant yells and rants for a half hour, he throws things. I am scared and don’t know what to do. I can finally leave. I go get Burger King to go and go to the woods. I am eating, there's a voice in my head, “put the pen through your temple.” This scares me, but I keep eating and try to ignore it. It speaks again, “take the pen apart, and use the clip to slice your wrist; you know how to do it.” I quit eating, pick up the trash, and run for the barracks. Try to call mom, she doesn’t answer, try grandma, she doesn’t answer. I start to cry. I am scared, more than I have ever been. The voice comes again, “take that knife, stick it into your lung, you know how.” I run from the room and head for the loop. I walk round and round, fist clinching, relaxing, clinching, relaxing. Slowly the fear subsides, but not before a speeding car comes by. I jump just as the car is a few feet away, it is dusk, and the driver doesn’t see me. Silently, I scream. At the last second, I jump into the ditch. Sitting, shaking, rocking, screaming in silence. I get up; keep walking, the road is clear, no cars for a long time. Calm comes, I think, calculate. I go back to the barracks, shower and sleep. Exhausted. I go back to church, seeking peace of mind and escape. The sergeant has us working on the weekends. He doesn’t want to be home with his wife. They are getting divorced.
Now I am twenty. I have been trying not to be gay. I am still going to church. We get a new senior sergeant, the old sergeant is not in charge now, things lighten up. The unit begins training for deployment to Bosnia. I beg to go. I don’t want to stay with the old sergeant. They say yes. I am going. Fall comes, time for us to go. Fourteen hours crammed on a commercial plan, rifle at my feet, equipment belt sticking my side. We get to Germany. Fog, stuck for a day. Finally, we get to Bosnia. A place where all the buildings look like Swiss cheese. Bullet holes in everything. The base camp is an old farmstead. The building I work in has one end blown apart; plywood haphazardly makes it completely again. I it is drafty and ugly. Dirt and dust cover everything. Inside is like a maze. Doors that go nowhere, hallways that lead to nothing. We settle in. Work five hours a day, no early mornings. PT is not required now. Carrying a rifle with live ammo is. We must have it everywhere we are, except the chapel. We can sleep until eight in the morning, work starts at nine. Can take a two-hour lunch. Then sort mail, type a report. Spend a lot of time in the Rose Garden drinking cappuccinos. Lots of time to think. I see an MP, very attractive. I make friends with him. Nothing happens. Soon after I tell myself, I am gay, nothing will change that. Church didn’t, stress didn’t, nothing will. I send an email to mom and tell her. Then I tell my buddy, he’s cool with it. He has friends back home that are. I feel like the world has lifted from shoulders. The world has a new look, things are great. I feel great. I never hear the voice again. Relief. Understanding.
posted by Luke at 3:57 PM
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