Painful experiences

The thing about life is that you never know what to expect. You're plodding along in a certain rhythm one minute, and the next thing you know, life throws something your way that literally turns your world upside-down, and you've got to dance to another tune. Everything you had which you stood on or took for surety disappears and you feel lost. The more you try to cling onto stuff from your recent past, the more rope burn you seem to acquire.

That's the thing here - clinging, grasping, not letting it go. Is that what hurts us the most, or is it the loss of what you once had? Take any scenario for example. It might be a job (and let's face it; a lot of us these days have been made redundant or know someone that has), or a breakup. Or it could be a change of circumstances, like a family illness. You remember what your life was like before the event, and it just seemed so much sweeter, no matter how crap or difficult the situation was.

We all go through losses. It's just a part of life unfortunately. And we all know the cliched sayings or quotes - it gets worse before it gets better; it's a chance for you to start again; it'll make you stronger, blah blah blah.

So you go and buy the self-help books and you find a new lease of confidence. There's hope at the end of the tunnel, even if it is superficial. But it takes more than that. You've got to look inside and realise that you can get through this. Which brings me back to my point about the rope burn. I am a self aware clinger. It's in my nature. I will cling away to my heart's content and with great difficulty accept that it is over. Some things are worth fighting for of course, but for how long? When can someone safely say, "right, it's time to let go now. So do it."? Do we have that little blinking light in our brains which goes off at such scenarios?

Acceptance. Looking at your situation and putting yourself in the present moment. It's what stops your brain from becoming an avalanche of thoughts, which leads onto more suffering. Unfortunately we seem to be programmed to have one thought which leads onto another, and then another until you seem to be surrounded by this mental cocoon and the original thought, which was painful to begin with is now a tornado which has picked up a lot more debris which rips its way through your head.

As a result it's difficult to live in the now, and you lose opportunities to be happy. By all means cry about your situation, but realise that you are NOT your situation, and your situation is not YOU. Pain is unfortunately a part of life, but extensive suffering isn't. That part is up to you.

Kicked out for being gay

Yesterday I had a frantic phone call from one of my colleagues after 5pm. He called me to ask my advice. One of his son's friends, who is openly gay, was kicked out by his parents for being gay. He was now at my colleague's house taking shelter and not knowing where to turn to. As I was the only openly gay person he knew, my colleague called me for resources and advice as to who he should contact. I gave him both the Lesbian and Gay Switchboard number, and guided him to the Albert Kennedy Trust, the charity for homeless or vulnerable LGBT young people. This morning I called him to find out what had happened to the boy, and he told me that he had gone back to his parents' house to try and patch things up. He added that the fact that he did not have a knock at the door at some stupid hour of the morning meant that it "went well".

I asked for more details, both out of concern and curiosity. Apparently the boy came out to his parents a while back, knowing from a very young age that he was gay. They did not take too well to the news, and began to treat him differently to his younger brother, who is straight. His parents' lack of support even stretched to his school life, refusing to turn up to one of his award ceremonies (the boy is apparently very talented, intelligent and a high-flyer at school), and just about ignoring him when they gather for family events, even dinner.

What on earth is this doing to the boy's self-esteem and confidence? It really does astound me when someone's own small-mindedness branches out and touches their own flesh and blood. Is love really that conditional?

Unfortunately there are many stories such as the one I heard yesterday. Parent's not accepting their child for who they are, and throwing them out of the nest at such a young and impressionable young age. There are countless children out there living in fear of what their parents might think of them being gay, and this ultimately pushes them further into the closet. The psychological implications of this are vast, and you don't need to be a professional to recognise or even acknowledge this.

I urge all young people who find themselves in similar situations to ask for help. Don't suffer in silence, and above all, don't end up on the streets because you've been kicked out of your home. Unfortunately we live in a dangerous world, and the cold streets are no place for these children. Never forget, they are children who need our help and guidance. What does it say about you if you are willing to expel them out with nothing just because they have told you that they are gay?

Help is out there for such vulnerable people. Ironically some of it is probably better than the 'help' and 'guidance' they can find at home.

Straight bars just don't fit

Since being out, I very rarely venture out into straight bars anymore. Besides the occasional pub that is, but even that is a rarity these days.

I hear some of you say that the majority of society is straight; so what difference does it make?

Well... let me try to explain. Bars/clubs are like a watering hole for singles, those who want to do some 'window shopping', and for those who want to flaunt themselves. We might go with our pack of friends, or meet just a couple of people for a quick drink or two (or three, or four), but let's face it people - don't tell me you don't go into these places and don't notice people's eyes wandering around the room for some eye contact. It happens, and you do it, even if you don't admit it. We're creatures driven by sex and attraction. It's what makes us dress up nicely, pamper ourselves and take that extra glance in the mirror. You wanna look good so people can be attracted to you, and the more heads you turn, the better. Or failing that - you go in to check out the hottness.

My girlfriend and I had to make an appearance at one of her (straight) friend's 30th birthday in Richmond. The place - The Pitcher & Piano. Absolutely filled to the brim. With straight people. And two lesbians.

I remember walking in and feeling quite self conscious. Kind of like I did when I was in the closet at school - such a bizarre feeling of wondering if people could tell I was gay. Honestly, I think they could because I was the only female wearing jeans and trainers (sort of a lesbian uniform which you can never go wrong with). All other females of the species were in summery flowery dressy thingies with heels, beads, bangles, handbags and other goodies straight women tend to flock for in Accesorize. I stood out, let's put it that way.

But I liked it.

I looked around at the female fiasco of Cosmopolitan/Vogue/Marie Claire readers and thought, "thank god I don't look like you."

It made me realise and appreciate the world that I belong to - Diva, G3, Soho, Tottenham Court Road, The L Word... I was different in this world and I liked being different.

It's a complete contrast to the way that I used to feel when I was trying to fit into it in my younger years. I guess the best way to describe it is like trying to shove on a shoe that's 2 sizes too small for you. No matter how hard you push and squeeze, it's just not going to happen.

I shed those heels/bangles/beads years ago. My Converse/short hair/jeans fit much better, thank you very much.

Barbie, Ken and the Gay

I was eight. Or maybe I was seven. Or six. I was a kid, I remember that much. My friend Sherry invited me over for our almost daily playing sessions in her room. I loved going over to Sherry's house - her room was an Aladdin's cave of weird and wonderful objects that fascinated my curious mind - I think she even had a grandfather clock in her room; although that could be another imaginary addition - this was over 20 years ago.

Amongst the chaos that was Sherry's room, including thousands of books, jewellery boxes, VHS tapes, clothes and other cool things I could only dream of, was Sherry's enormous collection of Barbie and Ken dolls, complete with sports cars, Dream Houses and all of Mattel's accessories for the archetypal Californian beach babe dream. We always lined up her collection of dolls - Malibu Barbie, Ken, his wavey haired blue-eyed friend Derek and all of the other Barbie clones. Our ritual was to each choose one in turns until all were gone.

Sherry's first pick would always be a Barbie, and mine would always be Derek.

There was something about his painted short hair, his unblinking blue eyes and that smile of his that could only be obtained by some serious oral plastic surgery and dentures. Unlike Sherry, I wasn't attracted to the idea of Derek-type one day coming over in his red sports car to whisk me off my heeled feet and run his hands through my peroxide blonde hair and rescue me to our detached beach dream house. No. I was attracted to Derek for a different reason. To me, Derek was an opportunity to express a part of myself that I simply couldn't understand or comprehend at such a young age. I wanted to be Derek. I wanted to talk through him, charming the girls with my wit and compassion. It was only through Derek that I could somehow be myself. Of course at the time I thought nothing of it. It's only now that I look back that I realise just how ironic it all was.

So we chose our figures, and set the game plan, which inevitably always revolved around who was going out with who in our own romantic soap opera. I remember Sherry looking down at her choice and mine, and commenting about me always taking the guys and her being left with the girls. Again, I thought nothing of it, and brushed off her comments by sticking my tongue out at her.

We played for about an hour and were in the middle of a beach party bordering on an orgy when we stopped to snack on our treats of Kool-Aid, granola bars and graham crackers her mum brought upstairs to us.

"Oh my god, Tristan is so cute," Sherry said.

"Mmhmm." I replied.

"I wish he'd ask me out one day, I can't help staring at him and feeling like such a dork!"

Tristan was a blonde-haired, baggy shorts wearing guy who all the girls were after. He loved to skate-board and seemed to have all the latest Vans and Airwalks. I loved his wardrobe.

"So who do you like in school?" Sherry asked.

"Tiffany," I answered, without even a moment's hesitation.

Tiffany Lantz. My God did I have a crush on her. She was the best singer in the school, and would always perform at school rally's and choir nights, which I insisted on attending. I remember her singing "Wind Beneath My Wings", which I then recorded when I heard it on the radio and played it over and over again, daydreaming she was singing it to me and that one day I would be the wind beneath her wings (and skirt).

Reality check.

"Tiffany?"

I looked up at Sherry, my mouth filled with granola bar which seemed to plaster itself into my mouth like concrete.

"Tiffany???"

The look on Sherry's face hit me - the way the glass filled with Kool Aid stopped midway to her lips which were stained blood red from the strawberry colouring. Did I say something wrong?

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "I think she's really pretty. You said yourself that you thought she was one of the prettiest girls in school."

Sherry did say that, as did most of the girls in school. I mean come on - Tiffany was stunning, popular and everyone wanted to be friends with her, including my little band of friends.

"Yeah I think she's pretty, but I don't wanna go out with her! Oh my god, that means your GAAAAAY!"

My 6/7/8 year old world came to a screeching stop. My little body started to fill with cold liquid silver.

Gay.

Gay?

I heard that word around the playground, and used it myself so many times. I had no idea what it meant, much like I didn't fully know what sex actually entailed or where babies really did come from. All I knew that it wasn't good. It was a bad word. It was a cuss word. You'd only use it to pick on the horrible kid at school, and it was something used to describe bad, disgusting people everyone seemed to hate. Was I a bad person?

To give Sherry credit, she just looked at me, she didn't laugh, she didn't point her finger at me and mock me. She just sat there, in stunned silence. We both did.

I thought it was completely natural for girls to like girls and want to go out with them. I'd been feeling like that as far back as I remember in my 6/7/8 years on this earth. I didn't want to be the princess in fairytales, I wanted to be the prince rescuing the princess and make her live happily ever after.

"I'm just kidding," I retorted. "I don't wanna go out with Tiffany. I thought you meant who do we think is good looking at school."

Sherry kept on staring.

Think quick kiddo.

"Tristan!" I nearly shouted the name out. "Yeah, Tristan is really cute. He lives closer to me than to you so HAHA!"

She bought it. I had confirmation of this because she picked up a pillow from her unmade bed and hit me across the head with it. I was back in. Accepted. I was still cool.

On the outside at least. On the inside I was a ball of confusion, horror and shame. I went home after helping Sherry clean up our imaginary world of play, made my excuses why I couldn't stay for dinner (I always stayed for dinner) and rode my bike home.

I looked at myself in my mirror at home. Short hair. Never wore dresses. In fact, despised dresses. My toy cupboard consisted of cars, HeMan, Castle Grey-Skull, Nintendo. I had a few Barbies - I even gave one of them a serious haircut to match mine.

Gay = Bad. Gay = Bad.

NO.

I slammed myself into my metaphorical closet and didn't emerge until the age of 21. Those 15 years of my life were spent concealing so many aspects of myself from others. Some I fooled, but others I didn't. I realise now that the only person I was fooling was myself. The only person I hurt was myself.

Some people say that you choose to be gay. Trust me, you don't choose to be gay. It's not something you can turn on and off like a light switch. God knows I tried. For 15 or so years. I refer to those times now as the Dark Ages. I had joys and happiness like everybody else, but much of it was done by living through some kind of smoke screen. My real world was concealed, hidden behind a blanket where the real me cowered away from the world.

Today I live the life of an out and proud lesbian. I'm proud of who I am and what I have gone through in order to be the person I am today. God knows I deserve it, as do so many others who live a life similar to my own in the Dark Ages. What I say to those people is this: break through the smoke screen. No matter what you have to face in order to do it, it's not as scary as not fully living your life.

Just before I came out there was an advert on TV for some soap brand. The actors were all filmed in a tub or in a shower singing a song. It was I Am What I Am. I'd like to thank the markerting person behind that ad, whoever they are. Unbeknownst to them, they not only sold a brand of soap; they liberated my life in just 30 seconds of commercial television space.

My coming out story

I could think of no better way to start this blog than to share with you all my very own coming out story. Read into the ironies if you must, but I think it's rather fitting.

Let me take you back in time in the not-so-distant past of Mother's Day 2003. It was a sunny day; I remember that much. I had bought my mother a bunch of flowers, and feeling generous and helpful, I decided to run her a bath, complete with bubbles. After ushering her inside the bathroom, I closed the door behind me and walked through to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. I remember feeling noble in my "oh what a good daughter I am" mode as I walked back into the bathroom and set down her steaming cup of tea (one sugar, just the right amount of milk) by her shoulder. Just as I was making my way to the door to make my exit...

"Come sit down, I want to talk to you."

I still had my hand on the door handle as I turned around and looked at her face. I knew what was coming. Here I was, 22 years old, without a steady boyfriend, and constantly evading her questions of 1) when was I bringing someone home 2) did I have an interest in anyone 3) why are you still single 4) what's wrong with you..

The door handle was freezing cold in my grip. Its temperature slowly made its way up my arm and into my chest.

"Make an excuse! Leave! What are you doing?" my mind screamed at me. My mother was looking at me so intensley I feared she could hear my thoughts; and if not, she certainly saw it in my face.

I closed the toilet seat and slowly eased myself on the lid, trying feably to look calm, collected, and not give her the slightest indication of my knowledge of what she was about to ask me. When all else fails, just play stupid, claim ignorance, make your excuses and leave. That's the game that I played since I realised that the phase everyone says will pass never actually does.

"What is it?" I was grinning like an idiot.

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth."

Oh dear. I nodded.

"Are you gay?"

Tick-tock-tick-tock. Shit. Tick-tock-tick-tock. You knew this was coming. Tick-tock-tick-tock. What the hell do I say? Tick-tock-tick-tock. LIE! Tick-tock-tick-tock For how much longer can I do this? Tick-tock-tick-tock. Yes I am gay mum. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Don't be stupid mum, of course I'm not. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Lie. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Tell the truth. Tick-tock-tick...

"Yes. I am."

Tock.

CUCKOO-CUCKOO!

As the words rolled off my tongue, I felt 22 years of lies, denial, shame and shadows fall down like an anchor with them. I was in new territory now, into the unknown. I felt liberated. I felt free. No more lies! I'm freeeeeee! Braveheart eat your heart out!

And then I looked at my mother's face, and all feelings of liberation quickly emptied and were replaced with feelings of dread. I knew I had a fight on my hands.

What followed was a barrage of abuse, ignorance, denial, anger, disgust... I was called a freak, a pervert, unnatural, abnormal and a range of insults I do not care to talk about even at this stage in my life. I was threatened with being thrown out the house, disowned by my family, written off the will - you get the picture.

I fought this battle for many years with my mother, and some I'm still battling. The truth of the matter is that not all coming out stories are like mine, but then again some are. What I learnt most about this whole experience was the amount of strength I had. I didn't freak out at her when she reacted so negatively. I understood that what I had to deal with for much of my life and had time to come to terms with, she had to deal with in the space of 2 seconds.

Fast forward to today, and we have honest and frank discussions about my love life. Some details I keep to myself of course, but it's amazing to finally talk to my mother the way I've always wanted to. She's now one of my strongest pillars of support and is there for me during times of heartbreak when all I want to do is crouch into the embryo position and cry over a lost love.

Of course I still get the occassional, "I wish you'd come to your bloody senses and start liking men again."