The Orlando massacre has opened a wound.

A wound that’s always there, so I got used to it.

Now I’m bleeding again, and remembering how homophobia has shaped my life.
Carved it’s trauma into my being.

Being forced into ‘boy’ clothing for primary school, even though I’d crossed dressed, with my twin sister, 0-7years old.

Being dragged to the barber so my father can have me ritually humiliated, my long golden locks removed to make me a ‘real’ boy.

Punishments, slaps, punches, torture, hate-speech, humiliation and shaming by my father (ex-army/PTSD/Religious) to make me a ‘man’. All this echoed in the ‘play’ ground where ‘queer’ was the grossest of insults.

Terrified that I, and all homos are paedophiles, as my father’s newspapers keep telling me.

Believing I must take up arms and kill, as my father did, to prove my gender conformity.

Self-harming since age 7, hiding, drugging, hating, depression, illness, loneliness, alienation.

Being hissed at and told to leave gay clubs because I was too femme or non-comformist.

Being ejected from a gay venue for kissing another man.

Trying to be ‘masc’ to please the ‘masc’ gays.

Falling in love with other similarly traumatized men, and being heart-broken by the fear of losing them, of him being queer-bashed, murdered. Trapped in our closets, unable to open to each other, truly embrace each other. The utter loneliness of failure and loss. Too scared to hold hands in public, hug, or kiss. Letting him go at the end of the night as if we were just mates, coz I don’t want anyone to see us, and follow him, and hurt him. And because I’m ashamed, and scared for myself, too.

Having a whole bus of people, a whole train carriage of people, allow me to be verbally attacked by homophobes.

Being followed down the street, threatened, shoved, pushed over a wall.

Feeling contaminated, dirty, frightened to use my parents towels in case I have AIDS.

Told I should stop giving blood donations, so I stop.

Coming out to my mother, whom I loved SO dearly, and seeing her heart BREAK…………… that was the hardest of all. Fifteen years after her death, I am finally able to look at her photograph and not feel destroyed by grief. Though I weep now, as I type.

The curse of being misunderstood and rejected by the person you love the most in this world. After my mother died, I realised I might one day be able to be happy as a queer, as now she can accept me, and over-stand, from the spirit world.

And still to this day, I have homophobic neighbours who scowl at me, make every micro-second in the lift unbearable, unbreathable, so that my heart stops on their floor – will they be there? Am I looking too obvious? Am I strong enough today, not to give a shit!?

And I don’t expect anyone to care about any of this.

I feel open to ridicule just airing these experiences.

“Just be a man, shut up, and get on with it.”, the world shouts back.

I’ve been known to freak-out, lose it, be ‘on the Tourettes Syndrone spectrum’. But I’m seriously guarded, don’t be fooled. My breaking point feels like a black-out, I have no memory. Heart-circle facilitators can find me ‘too heavy’… so I don’t attend anymore.

But I’m a double scorpio, so….

GET USED TO IT!!!!

Once the volcano has erupted, all is warm flowing GLOW!!!

And the amazing thing is, I still TOTALLY  being queer, and always have. The lies and hurt have made me cynical and cautious, but i still want to reach out, to be heard, to listen, to find real community.

 to all the QUEERS!!!

RaAr AKA Rabbit Star AKA Wynyy AKA Mark