I would say “I woke up this morning to…” but the fact is that I didn’t actually sleep. The anxieties of my life snowballed every time I closed my eyes, but that is a story for another time.
My real story begins at 6 am today when I realized I didn’t know why I was gay. I’m not making an underlying comment here, it’s as simple as that. I had always attributed this fabulous part of who I was, to a mishap of genes or something to do with science…stuff. I didn’t actually know what it was, for the mere reason that I didn’t want to. So, like I always do when my mind takes over after a night of no sleep, I began to research it and immediately regretted it.
I spent several hours poring through research papers, news articles and youtube videos. First, I found that the research was still so slow-paced that there was no way to tell/single out a gay DNA gene. Next ,I read an article about how hormone imbalance was to blame. Unsatisfied, I watched a youtube video about studies done on gay men (honestly, sometimes it’s like women don’t even exist). The more older brothers you have, the more likely you are to be gay and female relatives of a gay man has higher chances of having a gaybie (yes, that is an actual term). Many phermones, brain structures, finger lengths, chromosomes, hair swirls, and abusive parents later, I had still not found the answer.
Being agnostic, I have always relied on science to solve problems for me (a debate about my beliefs can take place at a later date of your choosing). Science had failed me. Despair, shame, guilt and anxiety clawed through my body. The same emotions from the days of my teenhood, when I wondered if me beging gay was a phase like wearing all black or obsessing over anime. I had hated myself back then. I was always looking for an excuse not to be gay. The day I embraced it, was the only day in my entire life when I felt real relief (whew, I’m not just an attention-seeking teenager). How could this be anything other than real?
While I have complete faith that science will eventually figure out why I am so odd, all I have are my memories, feelings, and experiences. And these are so very important to someone like me because, in the end, they are my only defense against all those who hate. For now, does it even matter? When I posted this worry on facebook, someone I don’t even know that well said, “Because that’s what you were supposed to be.” I will, as with almost everything else in life, content myself with this answer.