“Now class, let’s talk about LGBT rights,” Mr. Brady announces. He opens a PowerPoint presentation with a photo of Ellen DeGeneres waving a pride flag on the first slide. Whispers and murmurs erupt from the back of the room. “Would you care to tell us what’s so amusing?” Mr. Brady glares at a group of boys huddled around a single desk. They turn towards him and shake their heads. “Okay then. Shall we continue?” The boys nod and remain silent.
I am a gay, cis woman. I have attended private, Catholic schools my entire student career. I know how lucky I am to have this opportunity- but as member of the LGBT community, sometimes I don’t feel so lucky. While having the funds to attend this schools and the privileges to be accepted, I am not truly accepted by the students, faculty, and staff because of how I love.
“Gay.” I can remember this term used to be something that rolled off my tongue as a kid, that’s before I understood what attraction was. A time that anything which seemed convenient to call gay would be announced as it. In year 5, the year before high school, I found this group of guys attractive for the first time. I didn’t place much significance on it at the time. Basically, for me primitive understanding of lust mixed with the innocence of just turning a teenager made me just get off over guys and think absolutely nothing about it – well nothing more than the task of satisfying sexual urges while fantasising about what allowed me to reach a state of gratification. Gay still didn’t mean anything more than something used to slag things off, I didn’t know it described me.
My name is Stitch. When I was in the 6th grade I was attracted to females (me being biologically a female). It was before being bi was even a little bit acceptable. I did not know that being attracted to females was “wrong” to society, I thought my crushes were what was considered normal to usual middle school society.
I am a 22 year old lesbian in the South of the UK. I grew up in a pretty ordinary household, not stereotypical but ordinary. I lived in a house with my mum, brother and two sisters and spent every other weekend with my dad. School was pretty normal for me up until I started high school because that is when I knew. I mean I had always had celebrity crushes on women and not men but I hadn’t really understood what that meant and just thought that everyone felt the same as me. So high school was when it clicked, my friends either had boyfriends, were talking about boys or talking about heterosexual sex.
So about two months ago, I came out as a lesbian. Publicly. On social media. So naturally, everybody knows. Even people who don’t know me know I’m gay. Before coming out, the only repercussions I thought of occurring were to myself. I never thought me coming out would really effect the other people in my life. I was apparently, very wrong.
I have begun to shed my femininity again. It always begins with my hair. The act of cutting my own hair comes too easily — the scissors are right there, sharp and waiting. It took me months to return to this point. I told myself I’d get my hair cut by a professional at an actual salon (my mom’s preference, for sure) once I moved back to California for the summer, and that I’d just have to deal with the shoulder length curls — my definition of long hair — until then.