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“I don’t want to be gay,” I said while crying with a friend today.
“I want to be normal,” I continued, choking on tears.
“Being gay isn’t normal?” she asked—not to challenge me but to have me hear what I was saying.
I would never think this about my friends, but here I was judging my sexuality as if it was wrong.
“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just…it’s just that people close to me won’t be okay with it. They won’t accept me.”
“ I just can’t be gay.”
“I don’t look gay.”
“My mother wants to ask Ellen why she is gay.”
“I just want to like men and I don’t know, how. I feel nothing.”
“I can’t have children if I’m gay.”
“I’m not supposed to be gay.”
“People will just say it’s because I have childhood trauma or some disorder of my personality.”
My friend listened for a long time, waiting until I had finished.
“You’ve always been gay, Rebecca. Look how excited you got about that woman you liked. I’ve never seen you talk about any man like that.”
I giggled because it was true. I had fallen hard for a woman in a way I never had for a man.
My friend continued.
“You can have children.”
“You will be loved by those who truly love you.”
“You can look however you want to look and still like women.”
“There is nothing wrong with being gay. This way of thinking is archaic. It’s as out of date as Freud.”
I laughed hard at her last comment.
Everything she said was true.
It is okay to be gay.
I can have children.
Those who love me won’t leave me.
Being gay is not a sin.
Being gay is not wrong.
Being gay is beautiful.
I am gay and it’s a beautiful thing to be.