I’ve been hiding for a long time. Throughout my life, when there was something new, it scared me. So I would push it away and try to forget how it made me feel. It never worked. The moment I thought I got past it, it would pop up again, and I would spiral down a rabbit hole of strong emotions and tears.

The biggest rabbit hole that I ever spiraled down was one that I fell into when I was twelve, and that lasted roughly three years. I realized I liked girls. And even though I was a naïve preteen, some part of me thought that my parents wouldn’t take it well. I thought that something would change between us, and I didn’t want that. So, for some reason, I thought that if I hid my wants from everyone, including myself, I could be what I “should” be. I hid from the world so that I could bury my sexuality deep within me and be what my parents wanted. I pretended to like boys, even though it made me sick. If my parents brought up marrying a man in the future, I would just smile and agree with them. I would steer clear of the homosexual topics, even though being true to myself felt freeing. I even remember telling myself, “This is what Mom and Dad want; you don’t want to disappoint them, right? No. Then keep pretending so that you can be perfect.” And now that I’m thinking back, all I can recall feeling was fear.

Later, though I don’t remember when or how, my parents found out about me having ‘untraditional preferences.’ My mom sat me down and asked me something along the lines of, “Are you into same-sex things?” Of course, I was shocked and scared. Honestly, I don’t remember what I replied. But, I know that incoherent thought fragments rapidly circulated through my head, and the only full thought was, “Am I not good enough for them anymore?” Even though I don’t remember the conversation, I know that after, I walked to the bathroom with my eyes on the ground, trying to focus on the grooves in the tile. I remember gripping the ceramic sink, clenching my teeth, and staring at the blurry blue striped carpet as gravity dropped tears from my eyes.

It took me three years after I was twelve to realize that lying to myself wasn’t working anymore. All I was ever doing was pushing my emotions and desires to the back of my mind. I wasn’t forgetting them–their ghost whispers were always there–I was only ignoring them for the day. I realized that they resurfaced at night to shake me to the core. I remember talking to myself, arguing with my consciousness, telling it what I was, in an attempt to try and drown out the truth; and that doing so never worked. I just pretended it did.

I was fifteen when I realized this, and I was beyond terrified to be myself. But, I knew that I had to stop acting like I was something I wasn’t. So I did. I guess I thought it was pointless because my parents already knew. Either way, I still haven’t embraced the truth fully. And I know that it’s going to take me a long time to undo the damage I did to myself. It’s coiled up so tight, that it scares me to even think of where to begin. But I’ve picked a spot in the very middle, the roots.

I know that I’m still hiding. But I’ve started to tell myself, "You aren't perfect, and no one is 'normal.' It does matter what Mom and Dad think, but this is your life. In the end, you should be the one holding the reins." And because of this, for the first time in what seems like forever, I feel free.

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