Liberated
My entire life I have tried coming to terms with myself. I always knew that I was different from the rest. I could always sense it, and I wanted more than anything to be accepted and to find worthwhile friendships. What I wanted more than anything was someone who understood me, and didn't shy away from who I truly was despite knowing my ugliest truths and deepest scars.
But I was always a misfit no matter what I did.
I remember in junior high one day a couple of the popular girls asked me to sit with the popular kids. I thought that I had hit the jackpot. I thought people finally understood my worth and saw something beautiful in me. A friend warned me to be careful, but I didn't heed her warning. I was too excited and I was so proud that "someone like me" could be seen as special.
They wanted to know who I had a crush on. Of course, I told them. He was a popular guy and rather handsome. He was athletic and had a really nice smile.
They offered to give me a make-over and do my make-up. So I let them. They wrote a really inappropriate note to my crush that made me feel uncomfortable, but they insisted that I couldn't be afraid to admit how I felt.
A teacher later confiscated the note and explained to me that these girls weren't really my friends and they weren't truly trying to help me, and I think a part of me knew because the make-up makeover they had given me looked completely atrocious. Everyone gawked at me, and I had to scrub at my face for hours to get it all off.
He later asked me out, but it wasn't sincere. It was a mockery and a farce, and I recognized that for what it was.
That was my end of popularity in high school.
I realized that no matter how much I tried to escape it, I was different. I would always be weird, and I would always be a misfit. I wasn't quite okay with it then, but it was something that I learned to accept and be okay with because at least when you're weird you've got character. Which is more than I can say for some of the people I went to school with.
When I was walking to work one day it was innocuous as any other occasion. Then all of a sudden some girl was shouting at me, "Hey, queer girl, do you have the time?"
I told her, "I don't have the time" and kept walking.
I misheard her, at first. I thought she had called me weird girl. But when I was at work, I realized that she hadn't called me weird. I was wearing my rainbow beanie, she had called me queer girl. At first, I was appalled and even wounded. I didn't understand why someone could shout something so hateful to a stranger. The only thing I did in this situation was exist, and it was so unfair that I be judged solely on the basis of a beanie.
She didn't know my sexuality. However, I am not straight. I'm pan. I was rather wounded by the comment for a time, and a part of me still is. I cannot fathom what she was attempting to do unless it was impress her friend that she was walking home from school with or trying to be funny? Regardless, the words stung.
But I have decided to reclaim the words as my own. I'm queer girl, and I'm not ashamed of who I am.
I have finally realized who I am, and it feels rather liberating to be able to be honest with myself about who and what I am. I know not everyone will like or even accept or understand who I am. But, I think it's most important that I love myself and care about myself. Of course, there's a part of me that is still that little girl who wants to find the people who speak my language. The people who are meant to be in my tribe.
The friends and kin who are fluent in my tongue, who accept and love me for who I am. I am fortunate, however, that I have found at least two or three of these. One of which has always known that I was pan for as long as I have realized it, and has kept it a secret from all of our co-workers. I appreciate her so much more than she'll ever know.
Submitted by Linda Crate.