Mike, it's good to see that your generation still has some sunny spots (meaning YOU)
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It's been very refreshing and cathartic reading through this thread. War stories and all. I've been in the same space recently, reflecting on my own horror stories.
I know from growing up in a very wicked little town called Corbin, Kentucky, that the scars and psychological bruises are still very much apparent in my adult self. A lot of neuroses have manifested through that upbringing and I'm still getting over them, slowly unlearning them (as neurotic behaviors are learned and can be unlearned)
Granted, I never had any level of bullying as bad as the recent influx of victims, as mine was mostly on the verbal/mental/emotional level with little to no violence (still haven't been in a fist-fight, ever.)...but it was still like walking through a horrible redneck minefield every day. You feel like an animal in a zoo, or like you're walking around with a big mark on your face that screams FAGGOT. Even at age 8, I had no clue what that meant, but I could tell in their voice that it was in the same vein of "girl", "sissy", "gaywad" and so forth. Then through adolescence and eventually high school, it was more of a war zone than ever when I started to believe what they were saying and felt that I was different in every wrong way possible. I even went to a youth-witnessing camp in Austin, Texas the summer before my senior year (I was a Jesus Freak in high school) as an attempt to pray the gay away. ON MY OWN VOLITION. It didn't stick, as you may guess. I didn't touch myself for two weeks and tried as hard as I could to not ogle the absolutely yummy palate of good Christian boys who would sing worship so passionately with their eyes welded shut as if they were reaching orgasm at any given moment.
I still have those paranoias, because every day, they would stare at me and laugh and draw all this attention to me when I had no idea what it was that warranted that kind of point-and-laugh reaction.
I walked funny. I talked funny. I raised my hand to talk in class and people would laugh. I couldn't trust anyone because when I was afraid of bullies people would say "oh who cares what people think?" and then the next minute when I wouldn't worry the answer would be "dude! don't you realize how many people think you're gay? you'd better watch it! they'll kick your ass!", "who thinks I'm gay?"...."uh, just people..." As it's been said, no one wants to be on the fag's side. No one wants to be in that cage.
One of my good friends once told me that she's very surprised that my upbringing didn't totally screw me up. I am too, darling. I am, too.
I don't WANT to live in what they call "a certain way." In the first place I'd be no good at it and besides that I don't want to be identified with any one class of people. I want to live every whichway, among all kinds---and know them---and understand them---and love them---THAT's what I want! - Philip Barry (Holiday)
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