During the semester, I live with my girlfriend and her mom. On Christmas and summer breaks, and holidays, my parents require me to visit home and try to make me stay as long as I can.
So basically I spend my year traveling between two households. This equates a lot of time, stress, and gas money.
It basically all boils down to the fact that I am gay.
For my very first year of college, I went to a small, private, all-woman’s liberal college in upstate NY. It was 2 1/2 hours away from my parents. I dormed. I freaking loved it!
Three months into college I came out to my parents, over the phone. I’m not sure how they took it, but the subject was dropped for a while.
In May I decided I wanted to transfer to another college around here and live with my girlfriend. I decided to tell my parents…over email (bad idea, I know).
The summer of 2011 was hell. There was a lot of crying, a lot of screaming, a lot of hopelessness. Finally I convinced my parents and I even got a car out of the deal.
The deal: I use student loans for school and they’ll pay my car insurance and my phone. The catch? I have to come home whenever school is not in session.
This creates two main problems: finding a job with restricted, unpredictable availability is practically impossible, and my girlfriend gets really down when I leave.
Okay, fast forward about a year to now. It’s June. I came home last Friday for the first time since Easter. And it’s been hell.
I have tattoos that they do not know about, in visible places, like on my arms. I have to find ways to cover them that include bandages, bracelets, and really weak, transparent lies.
I can’t sleep. I’ve spent the past year sleeping in a bed that has two things my bed at home doesn’t have: memory foam and my girlfriend. Nothing feels right about my childhood bed anymore. I can’t find a comfortable position, my pillows don’t feel right, it’s too hot, I can’t free-ball it because my dog pushes open my door every morning and my parents bedroom is right across from mine, and I barely get any sleep. That means I wake up feeling like crap.
I’ve been ridiculously busy. I got home late Friday, I stayed out late Saturday, I volunteered/worked at a bookstore I worked at in high school all day Sunday, and Monday I spent all day chasing an asinine idea around.
My grandmother. Crazy German broad. She’s my mother’s mother and she grew up privileged. Then she got married and became poor. She moved in with us when I was five because she foreclosed on her mobile home and her other three sons wouldn’t take her in.
She’s essentially a spoiled brat. She’s wants everything when she wants it, how she wants it, and she’s not afraid to hurt someone’s feelings. In fact, she makes you feel like shit at least once a day. She doesn’t pay rent and she eats all of our food. My mom does everything for her yet she is the most ungrateful person you would ever have the misfortune of meeting. She’s been putting us through hell for 15 years.
And now she has found out I am gay, and she’s a big homophobe. I am not allowed to talk about my girlfriend, mention her name, or even wear anything with rainbows on it. I have to pretend to be straight.
My brother. Here’s what you need to know about him. He’s my half-brother (my father was married before he married my mom, divorced, married my mom, and then it took them ten years to have me), he’s 14 years older than me, and after going through a divorce of his own he is currently homeless. His own mother won’t take him in so guess where he is staying.
We only have three bedrooms: my parents, my grandmother’s, and mine. So all his shit is now in my room, and when he gets back from his weekend at his new girlfriend’s, we will have to flip a coin to decide who will sleep on the couch. I’m 20. He’s 34. Shouldn’t we be passed this stage in our lives already?
I am so pissed about this it isn’t even funny.
And this is the big reason why there is so much stress in my life. Between my parents, my grandmother, and my brother who doesn’t know that I am gay, my girlfriend is not allowed to visit the house. That makes her really upset and I totally get it. So while other couples my age can bring home their significant other during holidays and such, I can’t. This means I’m constantly running between households in order to make everyone happy. It would just be so much easier if I could bring Emily with me every time I visited home. So much easier. But I can’t. And it hurts.
So bitches, these last four days have been ridiculously stressful. And don’t even get me started on what happened yesterday, that’s a whole separate blog post.
Peace out, bitch scouts. I have to go pretend to be someone I’m not.