It’s the socially anxious, GreyNight. The girl who writes to her diary as if it is a living being. One day I wrote in my journal, ‘Thank you for listening and being there constantly and consistently’. I’m pretty sure I was crying at that moment…but, details.
If you are tired of reading ‘about me’ sections and ‘auto-biographies’, you might want to stop reading. If you have triggers based on emotional-blackmail stories, suicidal thoughts, close-minded community members, bad relationships, death, you might want to also stop reading. Also, if you don’t have time to read a long story, or just don’t want to (which I also completely understand), you might want to click on another blog 😉
Also, disclaimer, I am not saying that my situation or story is better or worse than anyone. I don’t mean to compare. The reasons for why I am writing this is to help people in my situation to not feel like they are alone, and selfishly, to help myself feel like I’m not keeping everything in and will soon spontaneously combust. Or maybe that’s not selfish. Maybe it’s emotionally helpful? I’m not sure.
My story begins on a dark and spooky night…
Sorry, 😉 couldn’t resist.
No, my story starts on an elementary school playground. All of the girls around me told me I could never dress, act like, or hang out with any boys. My private school was the epitome of gender stereotypes. I wanted to dress, act, and be the way that I was, but I did so privately. I didn’t want to lose any of my friends.
So, to not lose friends, I pretended to have crushes. For the rest of my life. I found guys and girls very attractive, but I had no desire for anything sexual. If I had to choose a person to spend the rest of my life with, it would be a person that I knew because of their personality traits. Nothing else.
Social anxiety and wanting to fit in were always apart of my childhood. I strongly disliked meeting new people, loud noises, bright lights, and I even had (have) sensitive tastebuds. My so-called ‘friends’ constantly threatened to stop being friends with me if I even suggested I had different opinions than them (I mean, come on. I didn’t like strawberries, and a friendship had to depend on that???)
There was a point where I just stopped feeling anything other than fear. I only realized something was wrong in my eighth-grade year.
I went to so many funerals. Everyone that was friends with my parents, babysitters of mine, grandparents… they were just gone. I went to eight or nine funerals within a short amount of time. And I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb. I then thought I was a terrible person and felt guilty that I couldn’t bring myself to care about those people in my life who were gone. I didn’t realize that wasn’t the problem until just last year.
But, there were bright moments that year too. I was in the middle of reading “The House of Hades” by Rick Riordan. One of the characters (no, I’m not telling you. I don’t care how old the books are, it is still a spoiler) came out as gay. That was the first time I had heard anything about the LGBTQ+ community. Think about that! My parents were (and are) so conservative and my life was that sheltered, I didn’t realize there was a group of people who felt like me until eighth-grade! This was a weight off of my shoulders, realizing that there was someone out there who felt an attraction to someone of the same sex, just like me.
But even then, I never told anyone how I felt. I couldn’t help but think, ‘I’m a Christian! I shouldn’t feel this way. My parents tell me this is wrong. Maybe I’m just confused.” Also, there were too many people from my toxic community (including my family) watching to let me even participate in Diversity Alliance or other clubs along those lines.
It was around this time I began to have panic attacks. Out of the blue, I would feel uncomfortable in my skin. My neck felt like it was suffocating by my hair. I couldn’t breathe well. I would try to ‘condense’ by clenching my fists, huddling into a ball. My thoughts would race and I couldn’t stop shaking. I hid because, in my community, mental health issues were just a cry for attention. Even when I told my mom, she took me to a doctor, trying to get the doctor to diagnose a dietary issue or thyroid issue.
It was only until I asked my mom to leave the room was I able to speak up. I told the doctor everything, and she listened, getting me connected with a therapist. She and I were able to link the problem to years back, and she told me I had some kind of depression and anxiety and recommended me to a therapist. My parents refused to accept the idea that I could even have depression. I was their happy daughter who did everything to make sure everyone else was just as happy. On the outside.
My saving grace was theater and Advanced Placement Composition and Literature. I had an amazing professor and got in contact with people who thought like me. Even if I didn’t say anything out loud, I felt like these people would understand and accept me if I was to speak out. Speak out about depression, anxiety, and perhaps my sexual orientation. Speak about my want to shave my head both for confidence reasons and for Trichotillomania reasons.
I admired and still admire to this day the people who came out publically in front of the school, one guy dressing so beautiful and feminine, I had to hide my smile when I saw him (I felt I couldn’t let my friends see what I thought of a person who was openly gay). He was confident and lovely and included everyone and had just the perfect amount of sass.
I fell for another girl, hard. Just her kindness and all of her amazing qualities. She helped me through my panic attacks at school and my crying episodes, giving me tools to make it through the day. She was the first person who showed she cared. And, yes, she was (is) very pretty :). But that didn’t matter to me. It wasn’t that I had any sexual desires, but I wanted to pursue a relationship with her.
I got scared of my feelings, so I got into another relationship. With a guy. He was very possessive and wouldn’t let me hang out with any of my friends. He would blame me for his terrible day because I didn’t text him enough. He didn’t respect my boundaries and forced things very quickly. He would ‘accidentally’ touch me, and when I expressed doubt, he would become apologetic and… would emotionally blackmail me.
He told me that he wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for me, and he didn’t know if he could live without me. One day I went over to his house, where he had told his parents to not be around us at all. He tried to forcibly carry me into his room, and when I told him to stop, I had to explain my reason before he let me go.
He continued to nonconsensually touch me, make advances towards me. I felt so dirty, so trapped that I had promised I would kill myself that night (in the moment (while this was happening)). Then by some miracle I realized I wasn’t trapped.
Note: At this moment, I was in the middle of a full-fledged panic attack. Somehow I remembered that his parents were still in the house and I could leave, scream, or do something. Honestly, if I hadn’t gotten out of there when I did, I don’t know what would have happened. I felt so guilty and told him with tearful eyes that I couldn’t do this anymore. I left his house.
And I walked home. Only, I didn’t go home right away. I went to a park, considering all the different ways I could commit suicide. I had already experienced severe suicidal thoughts, but this was a dark hole that I felt like I couldn’t get out of.
Thankfully, I had the sense to call a Suicide Prevention line, where I got to talk and explain the situation to the person who answered the line. She helped me through that time and gave me some suggestions.
I’m not saying I enjoy the Covid19 quarantine, but… it came at a convenient time. I never have to see his face again.
I’m not saying those terrible points in my relationship happened right away. There were some good moments, but even then, there was no attraction, no desire, no anything. I hate myself for saying that he stole a lot of the attraction I used to feel for very masculine men. Now, I still will be friends with those people, and I know many amazing people in said category, but the desire to be in a relationship like that is gone.
My English professor helped me through all of the confusion and stuck by my side throughout everything, and while nothing is completely fixed, there’s someone who at least will be there if others leave my side. She constantly tells me that when I can be out in the open again, I’ll find people to replace those who have created such a toxic community with me. Starting with theTribe.
Which is why I came out to her first.
My name is Grey Night, or Terr.
I am female, asexual, and homoromantic.
If you have any questions, want to talk, or share your story, you can message me by clicking on the little envelope next to your profile photo in the right-hand corner.