The more things change, the more they stay the same: Homophobia and fear in my modern age.

In my last post, I discussed how my life has felt more worthwhile as I've gotten older. I still feel that, but I've also noticed all the little details that have stayed consistent throughout my life, even the ones that I thought I would have grown past at this point. One example that comes to mind happened just the other night as I was helping my older brother move into a new apartment. In this rare occasion, both of my parents were present, which is unusual given the diverging paths that their lives have taken. Even now, nearly a decade after their separation, they hold so much animosity for each other. It's bizarre the way that hearing them argue transported me back to my childhood. For a brief moment, I was a terrified kid again. Even thinking about the incident, I can feel the gears of my flight instinct churning to life, despite knowing very well that nothing can happen to me at this point. 

I had a rather blessed childhood, and while there are certainly things that I have had to unpack from it all, I wouldn't classify my parents as fearful symbols in my life. My father, a music lover and fellow friend of Dorothy, has never been close, but due to our hearts' orientations and his respect of another part of my identity that I have not shared with you all (If I revealed it, it might certainly connect several dots, but I find it difficult to admit openly. It is much easier to simply exist on the internet without acknowledging that anything ever changed from my birth to now, but I'm sure some sleuths among you could easily decipher it), I have found myself telling him about my life in ways my mother could never hope to comprehend. Perhaps this is why seeing the two argue still makes my stomach jump into my throat; Some kind of concern for my secrets coming out into the open. 

As much as it pains me to admit it, I am still very dependent on my mother, although given my age and circumstances, I doubt it's as embarrassing as I interpret it to be. If what I have been keeping from her was ever revealed, I shudder to think of the consequences. There have been narrow misses, and I'm sure it's more of an open secret at this point, but to have it lain bare makes me more terrified than anything I've ever experienced. It's strange, the dissonance between openly admitting such things on this corner of the internet and being so terrified in my daily life that I find myself trying to think of excuses to avoid those who are not aware of it already. It can be hard for some to comprehend the fear that comes from existing as I do in the place I am from. Things have become exponentially better for those in the communities I am part of, and yet my world has not become any safer. I am still terrified to speak to others in the same circumstances without a veil of mystery covering my identity. My only hope is to gently probe potential allies until I am aware of their views on things as simple as basic respect, and it can often be jarring and disturbing to discover that the people I have chosen to trust may not be as safe as they seem. 

I notice a disconnect between those that may not have this experience and those that know the feeling I am describing all too well. Because of the complex nature of my identity, including the parts I am not open about here, even introducing myself to others can be dangerous. I hesitate when friends of mine introduce me to friends of theirs, often relieved when I am not asked about anything more than my name. At the same time, there are some who feel the need to make my introductions for me, shoving all of my identity into the light. I feel prone and exposed when this happens, and I find it difficult to shirk off the feeling of fear that accompanies a mistimed outing, even if I am reassured that I am among friends. I try not to hold it against those that choose to place me in the light when I much prefer the shadows. It makes me glad that they feel safe enough to proudly strut where all can see them, but I often wish that they could see the look of distress plastered on my face through the glare of the stage lights. Paradoxically, this forced exposure makes me feel even more alone. 

Someday this world will change, and when it does, I can only dream of how different I will feel. Until then, I will stay relatively hidden and attempt to avoid the beams of any enemy flashlights, even if they are being wielded with good intentions by those I trust. Maybe it speaks to a deep seated paranoia, or some kind of misguided survival instinct, but I'm still alive. I will continue to trust it.