Titled

Today was a very bittersweet day for me. My high school’s last marching band performance was today for a Memorial Day parade. It was the last time I would wear my high school’s drum major uniform.

     Today was also the one year anniversary of my parents knowing, knowing that I’m gay. For those of you following me, specifically the handfull of people who follow me from school, now I guess you know too. I remember telling them both at the same time because I felt pressured, feeling that they would find out from someone else.

     During sophomore year, I told a close friend of mine at the time, Danielle, who I believed I was. After sophomore year, I finally told one of my best friends, Walter, that I was gay. Knowing that some of my relatives are very homophobic, I had them promise that they wouldn’t tell anyone else. It was nice to know my secret was safe with them (at least I had thought). However, very shortly after telling Walter I found out that he had told our friend, Ally. Ally later brought it up at the lunch table one day. I felt like everyone knew. Another close-ish friend of mine, Jay, knew. I know a lot about Jay from what my mom tells me. He knows much about me because of what my mom tells his mom. You see, our parents work together and gossip about this and that. They tell each other practically everything. I know that Jay tells his mom absolutely everything. 

     I was so afraid of his mom telling my mom that I was gay. 

     Finally, one night, a year ago from right now, I was working on an AP English paper. I was completely stressed out with the thoughts of my parents finding out lingering over my head along with the crazy amounts of schoolwork that I had. I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus anymore on anything else until I made sure I was the one who would tell my parents. I went downstairs and blatantly stated it to them. 

     They told me they loved me and that they thought nothing differently about me, at first. 

     The next day, my parents discussed with me of how they wanted me to see a therapist because of what I had told them. They told me it wasn’t my fault and that I could get better. 

     I’m not close to them the same way anymore.

     Now that a full year has passed, things are better. My dad may be voting for Obama even now since he officially supports gay rights. My mom, who is still very awkward at times about my sexuality, tries to make light of it all.

     Acceptance, friends becoming distant strangers, and new friends developing into true friends can really be dependent on a single year’s time. Looking back, I’m quite bittersweet for how some things turned out. I do have hope that as my life progresses further, they are only going to get better.

My dad is such a fucking asshole sometimes. Tonight, my sister and I got back from a cast party for my school’s Kiss Me Kate performance and my dad is drunk, as usual. The first thing he does is call my sister a “friggen bitch” and that there’s no way that she’s his daughter, then he shoves our dog and accuses me of hating him just because I left the room quietly since I didn’t want to deal with his behavior. In the past, he’s blamed me for causing such a disturbance in our family and said that I was the reason for him almost splitting up with my mom (several times). He just takes his drunken anger out on us all the time. I’m sick of the abuse my siblings and I receive from him. If my mom defends us, he threatens to split up with her. My mom chooses not to be involved. And heaven forbid I defend my sisters or myself. If so, then I’m referred to as a moron, meaningless, stupid, a mistake, and a faggot. This is usually followed by being threatened to be kicked out of the house on the spot and cut out of the will. Honestly, I could care less if he cut me out of the will. Also I would rather enjoy not living here. 

I am looking so forward to college to escape some people, including my dad.

I am so sick of living with an alcoholic.