My name is Emily and I am 18. My story is actually quite long.
I was homeschooled during my 5th grade year, so I kinda missed out on puberty. We had moved to a small town in Illinois, and that's where I started sixth grade. I came to realize that I was sexually attracted to women.
I wasn't well liked in that town because I was an "outsider," so you can imagine the reaction when I was caught looking at a classmate changing in the locker room. BIG trouble. The harrassment became about ten times worse than it had been.
I had to find a way out fast, so I immediately became boycrazy, partially to get rid of the teasing, partially because it was like "I am not gay! I am not a perv!" because I had been taught that homosexuality was wrong and evil and that we all molested children. Heck, I certainly didn't know who was cute and who wasn't, so I flirted with all the guys.
In eighth grade I got a boyfriend, mostly to quell the rest of the rumors. But every time he kissed me or touched me I wanted to run. I hated it. Finally, to prove that I wasn't a lesbian, I kissed him in the hall at school. I hated it, but I had to do it to prevent myself from being hurt (because they WOULD have hurt me).
Then we broke up. He spread rumors that I was gay again. Then the day before Thanksgiving break, most of my gym class decided it would be fun to have target practice with me as the target, so they threw basketballs and soccer balls and volleyballs at me as I covered against a brick wall. The teacher was busy playing basketball with the popular guys. I still have a scar on the back of my head from where my head hit the brick wall.
What was worse is that I had a huge delayed reaction to it. An hour later I was in history class and I just started crying hysterically in the middle of a lecture. I had to be led down to the office by the teacher because I would hit any of the students who came near me because they had been the ones in the gym the hour before. I told the teacher that I wanted to go home and that she had to call my mom and make her come get me. Of course she wanted to know why. So I said that the students in my gym class had attacked me and showed her the lump on the back of my head.
My mom came to pick me up and she called the police and they had me fill out a police report. I hadn't come out because I was still in the closet and in denial, so I didn't classify it as a hate crime, though it probably was one. I don't remember Thanksgiving that year. When break was over, I was supposed to go back to school, but I wouldn't. I told my mom that I would kill myself if she made me go back. They put me in a partial hospitalization program that did very little for me because I was put in there with a bunch of teenage drug addicts that treated me as their verbal punching bag. That resulted in a physical altercation with one girl, who was pregnant. She grabbed me in the van on the way home and I couldn't even defend myself because I didn't want to hurt her unborn kid. I decided school was better after a month of that. So I went back to school after Christmas break, though I never entered the gym again. I even gave my best friend my locker combo so she could get my stuff.
What made things worse is that my best friend...my only friend...moved to Washington before freshman year of high school. So not only was I the dyke, but I had no one to hang out with and forget my troubles, as well as no one to stick up for me. I hadn't realized how much she stuck up for me until she was gone. I sank into a deep depression and refused to go to school on several occasions, though I managed to keep my grades up.
Second semester, I noticed that there was a new girl, and I went to talk to her at lunch because she was sitting alone. We became ok friends. Unfortunately, she was a delinquent, and she introduced me to cigarettes and alcohol. We also took a 3 hour road trip with one of her older friends. I drove part of the way (I was 13). I missed being introduced to drugs by 10 minutes. I stopped doing school work and paying attention in class, but my teachers liked me, so I still got decent grades though I didn't do the last three months of homework.
My parents separated, and I went to live with my grandma. I made new friends at my school in a few months, though I remained in the closet, pretending to be heterosexual. My senior year, I joined debate and wrote a bill on legalizing homosexual marriages, which I debated heatedly. I knew, deep down, that I was gay.
I came out to my friend Teese on our last debate trip, though I told her I was bi, but that I was more attracted to women. She gave me a Look and said "You're gay hon. Admit it." So I did, and we talked about it all night. She's really cool about it, and she sat in my lap at one party, which made me feel really good.
Over the summer I began to get depressed because Teese had left for a summer program at her college. My mom noticed and she asked me when we were in the car one day what was wrong. I started crying and said "Mom I think I'm gay." We talked for a long time about it, and she had confessed that she thought she was bi when she was younger, but had realized that the attraction to women wasn't sexual. It made me feel a lot better.
At 13, I have come out to most of my friends back home, losing a few, but growing closer to more of them. My mom kept urging me to tell my dad, in front of him sometimes. I would tell her that I would later. My dad eventually dragged my mom outside and asked her if something was wrong with me that I was afraid to tell him. She "outed" me, and he said "So? What's wrong? Is she sick? What?" And my mom told him that I was worried about his reaction. He said, "I figured."
I told my grandmother. At first she said that it was normal. Then she told me to go have sex to turn hetero again. One of my brothers guessed when he saw me reading a library copy of "The Journey Out" by Rachel Pollack and Cheryl Schwartz. He said "You're my sister! I don't care what you are!" My other brother didn't take it so well. He told me that I'd probably disappointed my parents, and called me some very derisive names. I'm want to tell the rest of my family, but I'm really worried about how they'll react. But I will eventually.