My life is really great right now but it wasn't always that way. This story is a continuation of my new series called 'Early Memories'. It was difficult for me to write because it brought back to life a lot of bad memories. I'm not looking for sympathy from you or anything by writing this. I cried enough about it back then, got over it and moved on. I'm just sharing memories so you can get to know me a little more and maybe relate to bad experiences you have had. I'll bet most of you have had similar experiences.
I can't say that I would never have changed experiences like this in my life because given the opportunity I would have changed it. I do believe, however, these experiences helped me to be a better person. It has also taught me to develop thicker skin, which has helped me tremendously in my adult life.
So here is the story. It takes place in seventh and eighth grade in Miami.
I got beat up a lot as a kid. Seventh and eighth grade were the worst times for me. I lived a sheltered life from the real world and had no idea how cruel kids could be until I got to middle school. Fuck, I was so naïve about the world as a whole, even today I have to keep reminding myself that people can't be trusted. I believe strongly that I am a new soul with only one or two human lives under my cosmic belt. The hardest part of life for me is that I feel like I can be trusted and I try to be a good person, so why the fuck can't everyone else do the same!?
A lot of the kids sensed I was different from my first day and targeted me. I was really skinny, shy, and effeminate: great target practice. I had no clue yet that I was gay. Yes I was still humping things and masturbating but not really associating it with boys. It's funny to look back now and see that so many people knew I was gay before I knew.
I dreaded both recess where we were unsupervised, and physical education where I wasn't good at any sports whatsoever, even the girly ones.
I'll never forget a conversation with an older eighth grader who was forced to partner with me in Physical Education. He told me that I was really fucked up. He wasn't being mean, well I guess he really was, but he had good intentions. He was just telling me what he saw in me, a really fucked up kid who probably should have been born a girl in his opinion. I was really hurt that day and went home crying about it, alone cause I couldn't tell my parents. It took me a week to get up the courage to ask him what he really meant. He explained that I acted like a girl, that my body language and hand gestures were more like a girl than a guy. That was the day I decided, again naively, to change myself, to act more like a boy.
I forced myself to get into baseball and do more sports stuff even though I hated it and was terrible at it. All of my teammates were put off by me and didn't want anything to do with me, ever. I remember once when I signed up for and spent a week at baseball camp, the guys I bunked with didn't even want to sleep in the same room as me and forced me to sleep in the bathroom the whole week.
During the summer of seventh grade, the same summer I went to baseball camp, I began to practice more masculine gestures in the mirror. I would watch other men. I noticed how reserved they were and how they weren't 'swishy' like me. Everyday for hours I would practice deepening my voice and make stern almost mean facial expressions. I played baseball with my dad, who was thrilled I stopped playing with dolls, and worked out with weights.
By eighth grade, I was a little bigger, a little more masculine and thought things would be different. Boy was I wrong. The eight graders had gone off to high school, but the kids in my grade were still there and made sure the new crop of seventh graders knew just how much of a freak I was. I got beat up just a much, even by the younger guys.
I didn't get any more respect from the girls. I wasn't even close to being cute. I was 20 to 30 pounds underweight, still effeminate although less so, and bitter because I had a shitty life. I thought twice about committing suicide those two years but couldn't bring myself to even get close to doing it. I had no friends, not one.
I continued to struggle with trying to act straight and over the course of the eight grade but it wasn't enough. In one fight, one of the boys kept grabbing my genitals and telling everyone I was a homo. That was the first time I realized there was a label for my fucked up disease.
Finally in ninth grade, my body began to change. I was practicing being more masculine, working out, playing sports and dating girls. I was a total fake all around and that was more acceptable to the people around me than my true gay self. Ninth grade was much better for me but I was still miserable because, as much as I lusted after every hot guy at school, I thought I was the only one who was like this. Yes, it was confirmed, I was a total fucked up freak like the guy in the seventh grade told me, at least in my mind then. I was certain back then that I was the only homosexual in all of Miami. The only one, that is, until others like me started moving into my parent's South Beach neighborhood.