I was mad at my mom. I was 16
She turned my Dad over to the police. She was mad at him and wanted him to know she was serious. So he was arrested.
I took a small bag and moved to my uncle’s.
He let me live there and be a teenager, and stay up late, and leave Chinese food take out leftovers everywhere. I wrecked his car and ran up his phone bill.
He never said anything mean about me.
He never said anything mean about my parents.
He helped me with my homework He gave me money to see movies with my friends. He did my laundry. He woke me up for school.
I stole some money from him. He let me think he didn’t know.
I was driving his car and my girlfriend thought I was gonna hit some pigeons. I sped up, she covered her eyes. The birds flew off but I smacked the window from the inside so it would feel like we hit a bird. I broke the window. She screamed. We laughed. I lied to my uncle about it.
My Dad had a drug problem.
I woke up one morning and decided to go back home.
I don’t think I thanked him for a decade.
Queer. Non-binary. Survivor. Poly. Agnostic. Artist. Activist. Performer. These are identifiers I hold and value. They’re identifiers I’ve hated, read about in secret, palms sweaty on the pages, and identifiers I’ve almost lost my life over. They’re identifiers that a society that claims to be centered on love seems to hate. And that’s confusing for a kid. So, growing up without support for these identifiers led me to self-destructive behaviour that continued as my ‘coping’ mechanisms for over 7 years. I’d come out slowly, pushing away most so I didn’t have to deal with pushback of those I know/thought wouldn’t be supportive. Then, one day I did an identity pie and realised how my queerness was TAKING OVER my pie. And I wanted my pie to chill out, so I thought – fuck it. I came out. On facebook. I felt exposed and vulnerable and I sat outside on the curb and cried. It was a messy cry. My family (the ones who matter) commented with love and support. My cousin sent a letter, I was uplifted. I cried myself to sleep that night and I felt visible – vulnerable- like I existed. It was cathartic and scary and I wish I’d done it sooner.
I had sunk to the bottom, burned down an apartment, terminated a pregnancy, and lost a love – but… in the process… I found me. I stood by myself and discovered for the first time… my strength.
It’s a time when things are pecking away like a gaggle of hysterical birds at our bedroom window pane. Families falling apart with a kind of pathetic ease making everyone wonder if they would cash their ticket because the tote board can’t be trusted anymore to tell the truth. What does one do when the carpet turns to sand beneath your soles and you realize the fish bowl you’ve been swimming around in distorted the view for the past forty years? It’s like the man said, your default position, the ‘i’ is rubbish, you are not the axis upon which all turns. Now turn in and figure what’s left.
She turned my Dad over to the police. She was mad at him and wanted him to know she was serious. So he was arrested.
I took a small bag and moved to my uncle’s.
He let me live there and be a teenager, and stay up late, and leave Chinese food take out leftovers everywhere. I wrecked his car and ran up his phone bill.
He never said anything mean about me.
He never said anything mean about my parents.
He helped me with my homework He gave me money to see movies with my friends. He did my laundry. He woke me up for school.
I stole some money from him. He let me think he didn’t know.
I was driving his car and my girlfriend thought I was gonna hit some pigeons. I sped up, she covered her eyes. The birds flew off but I smacked the window from the inside so it would feel like we hit a bird. I broke the window. She screamed. We laughed. I lied to my uncle about it.
My Dad had a drug problem.
I woke up one morning and decided to go back home.
I don’t think I thanked him for a decade.
Queer. Non-binary. Survivor. Poly. Agnostic. Artist. Activist. Performer. These are identifiers I hold and value. They’re identifiers I’ve hated, read about in secret, palms sweaty on the pages, and identifiers I’ve almost lost my life over. They’re identifiers that a society that claims to be centered on love seems to hate. And that’s confusing for a kid. So, growing up without support for these identifiers led me to self-destructive behaviour that continued as my ‘coping’ mechanisms for over 7 years. I’d come out slowly, pushing away most so I didn’t have to deal with pushback of those I know/thought wouldn’t be supportive. Then, one day I did an identity pie and realised how my queerness was TAKING OVER my pie. And I wanted my pie to chill out, so I thought – fuck it. I came out. On facebook. I felt exposed and vulnerable and I sat outside on the curb and cried. It was a messy cry. My family (the ones who matter) commented with love and support. My cousin sent a letter, I was uplifted. I cried myself to sleep that night and I felt visible – vulnerable- like I existed. It was cathartic and scary and I wish I’d done it sooner.
I had sunk to the bottom, burned down an apartment, terminated a pregnancy, and lost a love – but… in the process… I found me. I stood by myself and discovered for the first time… my strength.
It’s a time when things are pecking away like a gaggle of hysterical birds at our bedroom window pane. Families falling apart with a kind of pathetic ease making everyone wonder if they would cash their ticket because the tote board can’t be trusted anymore to tell the truth. What does one do when the carpet turns to sand beneath your soles and you realize the fish bowl you’ve been swimming around in distorted the view for the past forty years? It’s like the man said, your default position, the ‘i’ is rubbish, you are not the axis upon which all turns. Now turn in and figure what’s left.
