It was my imagined community at a time in my life where I had none.Ī few guys in my middle school thought I was too gay to like punk. They teased me and even made a Myspace page about me being a faggot. The verbal threats eventually escalated to physical violence. Kicks and punches, nothing I couldn’t fend off. Then one day, during one of our almost daily scuffles, Daniel - who was at least half a foot taller than me - stabbed me in the head with a pencil. My first inclination was to not tell anyone because I knew it would come to light that I was being harassed for being perceived to be gay. It was during lunch and I only had one more class left, which was band. I thought I could just take care of it on my own and no one would have to find out about it. I asked my fellow tuba-player sitting next to me to look at it. The fear in his face worried me and he told me that because I was bleeding so much, I should go to the nurse. She confirmed my fears and told me to go to the emergency room. I nervously called my mom and told her that I was feeling ok but that some guy stabbed me in the head with a pencil. I strategized ways to tell her as little as possible while also not inviting any further questions.
It also happened to be her 30th birthday, which we spent in the emergency room. In the hours of the waiting room, I hoped that she wouldn’t ask for details as to why I was stabbed. I brushed off her inquiries and told her that he just had issues and I didn’t know why. How could I explain to my mom that the kids at school for over a year and a half had called me gay? How could I explain to her that I wasn’t gay even though everyone thought I was? Would she still love me if I did?Įven though I still had no idea I was gay - my desire for other boys pushed towards the back of my brain - I felt a deep shame for people thinking I was gay. I was in 9th grade English class when the straw finally broke the camel’s back. A boy called me a maricón and I retorted: “So what if I am?” He looked mortified. “You’re gay?” “Yes, I’m bisexual.”īefore this moment I had never thought of myself as bisexual. My desires for men were not really accessible to me.
I had a couple of girlfriends and I was attracted to them. I could easily access my emotions for them. Indeed, I actively fed my curiosities for girls, while I starved my curiosities for boys. But after externalizing the label, I felt a freedom to finally let myself explore these thoughts and desires buried deep in my brain. That moment was the closest I ever had to coming out. Queerness was somehow always attached to me and after that day I decided to stop denying it. Yes, I did have crushes on other boys in my class, and I didn’t want to feel ashamed for it anymore. It’s taken me years to realize that something really precious was taken away from me: a curiosity about myself. Before I was able to enjoy the pleasure and excitement of desire, I learned about shame. For years that shame was reinforced by threats of and actual violence.