THE COMING OUT

MONOLOGUES
2011 Texas A&M University

Introduction
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Gays

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Lesbians

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Bisexuals
And transgender people

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There are tons of things we dont know about them

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But we DO know some things about GLBT people.

Chorus 1
It is important to remember that the so-called gay community is not
monolithic it is more of a confederation of individuals with identities as
diverse as the general population.

Chorus 2
Gay mens buying habits have little to do with gay womens. Transgender and
bisexual people may or may not identify as gay.

Chorus 3
Gay men may live in Atlanta, Memphis and Hollywood or they may be nomadic
truckers.

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They might own a home in the suburbs with a partner and child; they may be in
a retirement home or could be struggling to make ends meet.

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Lesbians may own a vegetarian restaurant in Colorado or they may run a major
media company.

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They might live in a penthouse in the city with their partner, or in a mobile home
in California.

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Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people are Hispanic, African-American,
Asian, American-Indian, White, bi-racial.
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Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Mormon, Buddhist, Atheist, Agnostic.

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War veterans, retired, teenagers, Republican, Democrat, rural, suburban, and
many, many other layers of identities.

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Like everyone else, they face issues based on race, class, ethnicity, nationality,
age, religion, health and socioeconomic status.

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They mirror the general public population.

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Then theres the questions that do very often get asked, often the result of the
myths and stereotypes associated with being different:

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Theres the age old question of nature vs nurture
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How did you know?

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When did you know?

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Are you sure?

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Do your parents know?

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What did they say?

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Are you sure?

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Since when?
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Do you even know how to be gay?

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Are you sure?

ALL
ARE WE SURE?! YES!

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One important thing to remember about the GLBT community isWe are
everywhere!

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You may not know it but the person sitting next to yougay!

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GLBT people are involved in all kinds of professions and trades

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There are quite a few celebrities and famous figures who are gay, lesbian,
bisexual, or transgender. Just to name a few, theres:
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N Sync Member Lance Bass
Author Truman Capote
Roman Emperor Hadrian
Actor Neil Patrick Harris

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Comedienne Margaret Cho
Actor James Dean
Mary Cheney-Daughter of former Vice President Dick Cheney
Singer/Songwriter Melissa Etheridge

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Actress Alexis Arquette
NASCAR racer Terri O' Connell
Singer Tracy Chapman
Actress Amanda Bearse - Marcy from Married with Children

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Musician Ricky Martin
Artist Frida Kahlo
Musician Janis Joplin
Tennis player Billie Jean King

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Master Leonardo da Vinci
Football player Dave Kopay
Singer Johnny Mathis
Actor Ian McKellen Gandalf in Lord of the Rings

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Singer/Songwriter Freddie Mercury from QUEEN
Artist Michaelangelo
Actor Robert Reed from The Brady Bunch
Transgender Activist Chaz Bono

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Rosie ODonnell
First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt
Actresses Ellen DeGeneres and wife Portia de Rossi
Ancient Greek poet Sappho

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REM Singer Michael Stipe
Actor Sir Laurence Olivier
Singer/Songwriter Billy Joe Armstrong from Green Day
Writer Oscar Wilde

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The Real Worlds Pedro Zamora
Singer/Songwriter PINK
Author Gertrude Stein
Singer/Songwriter Lady Gaga

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WNBA Star Sheryl Swoops
Musician Elton John
Star Trek Actor George Takei
Singer/Songwriter Adam Lambert

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Actress Katharine Hepburn
Filmmaker Pedro Almodvar
Actress Drew Barrymore
Comedienne Wanda Sykes

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Point is gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people are all around you.

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They are daughters and sons

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Mothers and fathers

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Brothers and sisters

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Cousins and Grandparents

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Uncles, aunts, foster parents, in-laws

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Adoptive parents, co-workers, friends, and
ALL
AGGIES!!

Nocturne
It all started with the thoughts. A fleeting word or feeling as I saw a guy from a
distance. Hes kinda..., or I real like...Not even complete before I brushed them
aside. Not me, anyone but me. I couldnt be gay. I thought to myself, I cant be
gay because Im smart, Im cool, my mom wont approve, I'm athletic, because
I'm a percussionist, etc. Excuse after tired excuse, half of them made no sense at
all. The truth was, I was trying to say Im not gay because Im not like them.
Im not gay because thats not what I want! Without even knowing who they
where. I had this idea of gay people in my head. They where arrogant,
narcissistic, promiscuous, feminine, and sinful. I would sit outside on the bench
in my apartments in the dead of night, looking at the night sky and trying to
ponder the gay away. In actuality, I knew these things werent always true but I
held onto them because they where the only thing that kept me away from
accepting the truth. I was one of them. I knew the whole time, I knew it but I
tried repeatedly to rationalize the facts away, and this cerebral dance of the dusk
I did every night was the only thing that slowed my path to the eventual truth.
But I had been doing some thinking for a long time. I sat under those stars and I
steadily began to realize that no matter how much I didnt want it to be the truth.
It was. I liked boys. I liked boys and I like them a lot. I didnt officially come out
of the closet until my sophomore year of High School. I remember it well. It was
the most perfect timing. I had just moved to a new school (Mayde Creek High
School if anyone knows of it), so I had free reign as far as creating my image was

concerned. But then a new conundrum occurred to me. Im gay, but what kind
of gay am I? What kind of gay should I be? MTV and LOGO had filled my head
with this idea that every gay belongs to a genre like a song or something. Hmm,
if I had to pick a type of song to describe me, it would definitely be the nocturne.
For those that dont know, a nocturne is a piece of music that is inspired and
usually evocative of the night. Its feel mixes with the night air flawlessly and its
tone seems to make the stars sparkle all the brighter. They are soft, lucid,
dreamy, and ethereal. Ive found that Im usually a different person at night.
During the day, Im busy, rushed, full of energy and usually a bit out of it. But
when night time comes, Im calm, contemplative, full of a kind of daring,
emotion, and clarity of thought that only night time seems to bring. Theres just
something about the brightness of the stars on the inky black of space and the
night air that just takes me to my most comfortable place. Takes me to myself I
guess you could say. But I eventually learned that these thoughts where not
quite correct. Just like music varies and sometimes doesnt quite fit into a single
genre, gays are very diverse. Sure everyone has there favorites kinds, but no one
listens to one thing only. Theres no rule that says you must choose what kind
of gay you are. No one will strike you down if you arent really masculine or
really feminine. Lightning wont burn you to a crisp if your not the most
fashionable guy at your job, school, church, etc. You dont have to learn an art or
play a sport or work out 24/7 if you dont want to. And you will not be executed
if you dislike Cher and Lady Gaga! I promise! Whats important is that you do

what you like to do, act the way you would like to, and overall, just be who you
are. The ones that matter dont mind and the ones that mind dont matter. And
Youll enjoy yourself a lot more, trust me. Things after that where smooth
sailing. I came out to quite a few other people. Of course I had my rejections and
of course people talked. But just as I expected most of my friends didnt mind at
all. One of the times that I really treasure is when I found out that my drum-line
buddies knew I was gay. Everyone knows that gossip spreads like wildfire in
High School. I never really told them but of course they heard the rumors and a
few of them where brave enough to ask me if they were true. At this point I
wasnt ashamed and so I told them the truth. They took it quite well. I had
expected to by ostracized and disrespected with the raw maleness of drum-line
and all. I had expected to be shunned and exiled. But all of them where really
cool about it, nothing changed about our friendship except for a gay joke here
and there. I was still invited to the football matches against the brass and the
drum-line pool parties. I was still asked to come do homework and just shoot the
breeze. I was still asked about how this or that should be played and how much
did I like this solo or that ensemble. I was still apart of the group and I was still
the really awesome percussionist that they had befriended at the beginning of
the year. It really made me feel good that my sexuality didnt affect the chemistry
of the group as I had expected that it would. Going into College, I felt secure in
my sexuality. I was proud to be gay and Coming out to people was something I
had done before and something that I knew I could do again. But unfortunately I

realized that coming out to people had become easier, but it was still not easy. In
High School, you tell like 3 people and the whole school knows. In College, you
tell 3 people and maybe 5 people find out. I found that college wasnt so much
different from high school socially. People still had their social circles and the
people they hung out with. These groups just seemed to be a lot smaller than in
high school and didnt gossip anywhere near as much. So it was up to me to
come out to everyone I wanted to. The last person that I recall coming out to was
my good friend Tyler. We had met in Physics 218 and had become good friends
and percussion buddies. It was coming out day and I had decided it was about
that time in our friendship. But I was lame, and scared of what he would think,
so I texted him. Hey Tyler, theres something I have to tell you... Whats
up?,Tyler, today is coming out day, and the person Ive decided to come out to
is you. Im Gay. He didnt text me back for like 15 minutes. I thought my life
was over. So what, do you hate me now? I texted him. Oh, Sorry. I was riding
my bike to the rec and so I didnt look at my phone till I got there. No, I dont
hate you. Thats really cool and Im honored you decided to come out to me.
Thanks man. I dont regret much in life. And I must say, I definitely dont regret
the thinking, the pondering I did in my youth. I dont regret the soul searching
and the nights spent sitting in my bed awake thinking about who I was. My
experiences have made me who I am. But my journey isnt quite over, its just
getting started, and I look forward to the future with my head held high and my
eyes on the night sky.

Five Years of Honesty

Honesty. It is the pillar that we dance around, that we lean against, we push and
pull, love and hate, avoid and ultimately learn to accept. And in that very
moment of acceptance everything changes, things begin to click and there is a
boost of energy unlike any other. In that moment I realized something great
about honesty, that the truth that I once knew, the truth that was stretched, the
so-called truth that became my daily norm was in fact just a lie. In that moment I
realized that lying only forced me to succumb to square one. And In that
moment I realized I should have dressed better for the occasion.
Im currently 20 and have been out and proud for a little over 5 years now.
That is 25% of my existence that I have lived in freedom. It was my former self,
the faade and the lies that I created; it was myself that I broke away from. In
retrospect I understand that the pressures society had on me of course influenced
my decisions to do the things that I did but I was the one who took it even
further. It was I who created and fostered a toxic environment that led me to
contemplate but never attempt suicide. It just didnt sit right that I lived this
double life, never sought for help, would be fine externally yet go home to cry in
the middle of the night. I realized in those moments that we all inherently know
the problems in our life and we as individuals have the abilities to fix them. We
are ultimately in control.
So let me set up when I first came out. I had an extra push: a friend of mine
came out as a lesbian during sophomore year of high school and I observed how

her life changed dramatically. She dressed differently, she shaved her head, and
she had this liberated confidence that was intoxicating, and I wanted that for
myself. So there was a day in my math class where we had a substitute teacher
who fell asleep. A group of us started to play to truth or dare. When it came to
my turn that friend of mine decided to be my challenger if you will. She asked
truth or dare? and Im not willing to pull off someones weave so I chose truth.
She asked, Ryan, are you gay? I knew it was coming. This wasnt a question
that slapped me in the face. In that moment, it was right. It was my time. So I
responded to her and others, No, Im bi. I had always known that I was gay
but fear once again held its grip on me. I knew it and they knew it. But, I
acknowledge that it was a step in the right direction. I started to begin to free
myself from the shackles that held me down. I wasnt completely liberated but
the opportunity had opened its door. And I understood that with patience comes
transition. By the time junior year came around I shed myself of the bisexual
identity since I had come to grow into my homosexual self.
Once I felt the time to be right again, I decided to come out to my sister, she is
my only sibling, and I thought she could be the step that would lead to coming
out to my parents. At the time I was sixteen, she had already left to college and
we were having a conversation by phone. I thought because she was hundreds of
miles away if she didnt accept me what would it matter? I was safe and there
was a distance that kept it that way. I remember watching Queer Eye for the
Straight Guy whilst talking to her. I remember watching these people and

thinking, if theyre on television being who they are I can be like that in my own
life. So I gathered my strength and this is how that conversation went:
Me: Lucy I have something to say.
Sister: What? It better not be something stupid.
Me: No its not something stupid.
Sister: Then what?
Me: Im gay.
Sister: pauses. Well, DUH!
It went over very well. If it were anyone else I wouldve been highly irritated
and ever more confused. I realized the extent and virtuoso to the phrase words
have power. The way I dress, the way I talk, the way I listen, the way I move
has impact in some form or fashion. I realized that the few years I was out before
coming to college I had started to gain control but had no idea what to do with it.
The moment I came out to my parents stemmed from frustration; I was standing
in the garage with my mother and she had been questioning my friendship with
one of my best friends. My mom wanted me to stay away from her because she
thought that girl was trying to do something with me. I told her that nothing
was going to ever happen but she was adamant that something would. This
wasnt the way I had planned on telling my mother but it just happened. I said to
her Nothing will ever happen because IM GAY! The look on her face was
purely stunned. She didnt say anything and then she gave me a hug that only a
mother could give. She took a step back and asked, Does your father know? Im

going to tell your father. And like a six year old she ran inside before I had a
chance to explain myself. That night my dad came into my bedroom and sat
down and we conversed for a bit about how I was gay and the fact that they
accepted and loved me no matter what.
I realized once attending college that I am now in control. I am left alone to
my own devices and nothing except for myself can get in my way. As I continue
to evolve and grow my confidence explodes, as does the cloud of glitter that
surrounds me. I want any sort of extension that I project to have positive impact
to those who encounter it. I like to think of myself as a metaphorical beacon of
light. At the age of 20, I understand that this process is much bigger than myself
and I want to pass this energy and opportunity to others, that honesty really is
the best policy. Im in a position now that my experience makes me a self
proclaimed wise soul, and I have the attire to match. So in hopes that youll
benefit I want to close with some words of encouragement written by Dr. Suess:
I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind.
Some come from ahead and some come from behind.
But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready you see.
Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!

Is That a Challenge?
My sexuality is a game. A complicated one, almost like Magic or Dungeons and
Dragons, but still a game that I find enjoyable and almost enchanting to play.
Others are infuriated by my constantly changing rules and playing fields, but it's
not their game. It's mine. All mine. My sexuality belongs to me.
From age 11 to age 16, I was pronouncing myself as asexual. I had no sex drive,
no desire to get one, nor a desire to do anything but kiss someone briefly on the
mouth. I was perfectly happy this way, numb to emotions and completely turned
off by everything even remotely sexual. Then...she happened. One day in
Chemistry class, a person walked by me and I glanced up, catching a glimpse of
their clothing and haircut. Immediately, I thought, Huh, new guy in school.
That is...until SHE opened her mouth.
My jaw dropped, along with the rest of our small-town class I'm sure, and we all
stared at her. I knew she could feel us all looking and my eyes were back on my
book before she turned around. I'd never seen anyone like her, someone
so...androgynous. She was cute...as a man. Kind of an adolescent-boy type, kind
of like our present-day Justin Bieber. As a woman, well...she didn't look like a
woman at all, so it was hard to imagine her as such.
After the first class, I found myself showing off for her. Displaying my
intelligence and flimsy knowledge of Chemistry with an obvious air of

superiority, sarcastically snapping at other students and to questions I thought

too stupid for an actual answer, stripping off my jacket even in the dead of
winter to flash small bits of skin here and there. Lucky me...this ridiculous
display was a turn on for her. Slowly, over the first few weeks of class, I found
things that would catch her attention. Dropping my pencil or paper, playing with
my hair and such other things that she could see me from where she sat a few
rows behind me.
During chemistry class, my partner and I finished our lab quickly, soon to set
the standard for the order in which groups finished, and I went over to mess
with my friend. Soon, SHE joined in with me, and my friend, being a good sport,
let it go without incident. Near the end of the lab, we somehow got on the subject
of lesbians.
I knew what a lesbian was, of course, I wasn't sheltered quite that much. And I
didn't think there was anything wrong with being a lesbian, I had simply never
encountered one myself. She then began to tell me that there were different types
of lesbians. I was flabbergasted! Surely there wasn't more than two types, that
was impossible! There had to be a masculine one and a feminine one, right? Well,
I was more wrong that had ever thought possible. She defined 4 types of lesbians
that I had never even known about: the lipstick, the femme, the dyke, and the
butch. I was used to the butch/femme pairing as I'd seen on certain TV shows,

but I also knew about femme/femme pairings, like Ross' ex-wife and her new
wife on the show Friends.
I finally gathered up the courage, looked at her and asked, Do you think I'm a
lesbian? With a straight face, she said, No. I had no idea why, but I was a bit
irritated by this simple response. I asked why and she just shrugged and
continued doodling on her paper. Now highly agitated, I folded my arms across
my chest and asked, Is that a challenge? She laughed and looked directly at me
and said, Sure. Three weeks later we were dating.
The way I chose to tell my parents was unorthodox at best. I waited until both of
them were home, sitting in their bed watching television. I knew that my dad
would be in a good mood, since he was already sitting in his underwear and
ugly old t-shirt watching Star Trek. My mother was texting, her new-found
obsession, and was pretty involved with whoever she was talking to. I walked
into their room, stood at the foot of their bed, drumming on their footboard, and
asked if I could tell them something. When they said, Sure, I started with, I
have a girlfriend. Okay, well, I'm pretty tired. Night!
I had just made it to the doorway of their bedroom when my dad called me back
and insisted that I explain. After I was finished, he looked at my mother and
rubbed his face. Who did you tell? he asked. I told him that I'd told my friends
and that they were all a little surprised, but excited. He then instructed me to go

back to them the next morning and tell them it had all been a joke, and to tell
HER that, too.
I stayed up all night in my room, crying and being angry with my parents and
what they were asking me to do. I was happy that I'd finally found someone that
activated the part of me I'd shut off for so many years. My parents were
supposed to be happy for me, they were supposed to support me. Why were
they telling me to lie to the people that cared about me?
The next morning, I'd decided I wasn't going to do it. It was my life, they were
my friends, and she was my girlfriend. My parents couldn't make me lie about
who I was any more than they could change it, and lord knows my mother tried.
I told my new girlfriend that we were going to have to be careful, especially
around my parents. We had to tread lightly or my parents would make our lives
hell.
She agreed and told me that she understood; she was always understanding for
the most part. I didn't make it 3 days before I no longer cared if we were
secretive or not. My parents could deal with it. When my grades weren't good
enough, of course she was the first thing I was grounded from, but I still got to
see her at school every day.
Soon enough, seeing her at school wasn't enough and I began to do what every
single one of you have done: I lied to my parents. Don't anyone out there be

shocked, you all know what I'm talking about. You ask your best friend that
maybe owes you a favor to lie to your parents and say you're at their place if
your parents call them or let you spend the night at their house so you can go
off somewhere else.
I got very, very good at this lying thing until one day I went out after being
grounded to see her. We went for a walk and ended up near a busy street when
my mother's co-worker spotted us both and reported it to my mother, not seeing
anything wrong with the news. Of course, my mother went home and I wasn't
there, so she left me a note that read: You're grounded now. Get back to the
house, call me when you get here.
With my new-found confidence and identity, my game gained a new level of
sophistication: I was now a bisexual. I had an orientation! I had a sex drive! I
was...human. The realization was a relief on my end, even growing up in a
stifling community, I found the strength and courage to be myself. I'd been
raised to speak my mind, be myself, and lead my own life. And that's just what I
have done since then. I face adversity head-on with a smile on my face and a
sarcastic remark up my sleeve. I am proud to be who I am and proud of the story
I'm writing for myself. I am me and that's all anyone can ever require from me.

Out Of The Closet, Into Hell

Im not a stranger, no I am yours, with crippled anger, and tears that still
drop sore, a fragile frame aged with misery, and when our eyes meet I know you
see, that I do not want to be afraid, I do not wanna die inside to just breathe in,
Im tired of being so numb, relief exists when I am cut. These scars wouldnt be
so hidden if you would just look me in the eye, I feel alone here and cold here, oh
I dont wanna die, but the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills
inside, I do not wanna be afraid, I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in,
relief exists when I am cut, I am not alone. This song brings tears to my eyes
even to this day its called Cut by Plumb and broke my heart with every word.
I knew I had hit rock bottom, something had to change. But before we get to the
sad sappy part, lets talk about my actual coming out story.
I was 17 and horribly miserable in high school, Im sure that it sounds
very redundant because most of us were miserable in high school. I was
tormented by the jocks, being called things ranging from faggot to broke back
cowboy. I was so miserable that I was about to call it quits and end my own life,
but then I saw the impact that suicide had on my best friends family. So I stayed
alive, not for myself but to keep my mother and father from being destroyed, so I
destroyed myself in other ways on the inside. I disconnected from the world. I
decided that I would write my freedoms challenge speech about the ability for
gay marriage and how unfair it was that straight people could get married and I
couldntever. After giving my speech in from of my entire school all 300 of us,

and part of the small little Baptist community that I grew up in, life got worse. I
told my mother in February of my senior year. She laid on the floor of our
kitchen in the fetal position and cried of hours, she went weeks without speaking
more than a word or two to me. When she did speak she was hostile, sometimes
very demeaning, saying I was ruining my life by making this decision. I was so
confused because I thought I was born this way, and my mother was telling me
that I chose to be gay? Last time I checked no one would choose to make their
life harder. I graduated finally but not before meeting someone that would
change my life forever unbeknownst to me. Dad was completely amazing
through all of this, I know right? This shit never happens to anyone. Dad didnt
say much for the first few days, but then he came in my room when I was in the
isolation phase of fighting with mom, sat on my bed and said scooter I want to
talk. He proceeded to talk to me about my life and where I was going but at the
very end he told me he just wanted me to be happy no matter who I was with,
man or woman.
That was the year HE walked into my life, he will remain nameless
because that is all he deserves after what he did to me. Enough of the actual
coming out lets talk about what brought me to the floor of my apartment alone
crying. I met him the June after I graduated high school and immediately fell in
love, he seemed to be genuinely concerned with my problems and with my
issues. Well I was horribly wrong, he was the absolute worst thing that could
ever happen to me. Im not trying to make anyone feel sorry for me by telling

this, that isnt the point at all Im just trying to make you see that domestic
violence and abuse happens in gay couples not just straight couples. He waged
psychological warfare one me. He used anything he could to hold it over my
head, he would compare me to every single guy that was at our junior college.
Tell me why dont you look like that? Or why cant you be him? I ignored this
for a while, then it just got worse, I wont go into details because this is not about
him, but the damage he has caused to me, and what happened after that.
I reached out for help in two individuals; We contacted each other
because all three of us were battered and broken by society, outcasts thrown
away like trash. For the first time in our lives we were accepted, and somewhat
normal. But our common bond was the dark secret that we all shared, and
unspoken rule that no one knew about any of us. We were all self mutilators,
black sheep in our family, in society, felt only pain because we had numbed
ourselves to everything else. The only way to feel anything was to cut ourselves,
feeling anything was a welcome relief, even if it was pain. We shared many
laughs and tears, trying to recover from the tragedies that struck us down when
we were younger. Fighting through the ostracization that junior college
provided because we werent the norm. We were everything but that, we
realized that the God that loved us so dearly had betrayed us, left us abandoned
and broken like old childrens toys.
Fast forward to a year later, I left my junior college with a 3.7 gpa and
working in a restaurant in my hometown, I decided to make the move to

Aggieland, one of the most conservative universities in the nation, and there I
was the little homo that could, thinking, Im gonna be out, and loud and proud
of my sexuality Wrong again Scooter. I was out and loud and proud for a hot
minute, and then I just wanted to be left alone. I met the greatest love of my life
during my first semester; he was everything I wanted and more in a man. Smart,
funny, damn fine, blah blah blah the list goes on. We got engaged under the
century tree, and by the way I think the century tree is a homophobe because it
doesnt work. I thought that I wasnt getting enough emotional support on the
homefront and I decided to look elsewhere and he left. Talk about a rock
bottom, the only true real relationship I had was gone, in less than 30 minutes.
I turned to drugs for comfort. At first I just smoked a shit ton of
cigarettes. Then came other stuff. I had a psychological dependence, a need to
be high to forget that he was gone. I couldnt cut because I felt everything at that
point in my life. I turned to uppers to help with the depression, and became
hooked on them, I couldnt function without them. They seemed to be the only
thing keeping me held together by the stitches of my being. This continued until
the end of the fall semester, then I had my epiphany, laying on the floor in my
bathtub, razorblade in hand listening to music, my epiphany was that my life
was a complete and utter mess. I threw all my pills and razorblade, and moved
back home for Christmas. I thought that going home would be a good plan to go
get sober. Wrong again scooter. I quit doing drugs, went through an emotional
rollercoaster of coming off dependency while quitting smoking cigarettes in the

process. Needless to say I was not a pleasant person to be around for about 2
weeks. My mother would do things just to push my buttons, and I felt if I ever
relapsed it will because of that cold hearted bitch. She would deliberately do
things to piss me off and make me moody. I came back to aggieland on New
Years Eve, and got a text from the guy I was with saying that I wasnt good
enough to be with him because he wanted to travel and being with me was like
having an anchor attached to him. I felt my heart crash on the floor of my
apartment. He abandoned me, just like my two friends left, leaving a huge
gaping wound in what was left in my heart.
So here I stand before you 21 years old: a self mutilator, a recovering drug
addict, a fulltime student, a full time worker, and a fulltime fragile being. Let
this be a lesson to everyone, my life may seem all pretty roses and unicorns and
all that other stupid shit that I cant stand, but its because I learned at a young
age to hide what was in my heart. I never would have chosen to be gay, and I
would change it if I could. Dont be like me, dont be a victim of society, dont
become a victim of addictions too strong to overcome. Do everything you
possibly can to be the complete opposite of me, Im the worst role model ever, I
have done everything in my life wrong. I went to having everything, a great
love, a stable relationship, a stable emotional state, and I crashed like the fucking
stock market. I lost everything, my love, my stable emotions, most of my friends.
I would give up everything that I have left for a chance to do things differently or
to even live a different life. But thats not in the cards for me, what is in the cards

is finding help for myself. Look at my life, dont be like me, you will end up with
so many built emotions that you break. Learn from my mistakes because I seem
to never do. I have done horrible things to my body, and it took a lot of thinking
to finally decide to tell my story but I felt like if I didnt I would continue to
destroy my body, and wage psychological warfare upon myself.

Dance Through The Dark

This is a story about the transformative power of dance. This is the story of how
I found myself on a dance floor, in a small college town. Its a story about
community. Its a story from a subculture about extraordinary experiences. And
in all of that, its a story about my identity.
I cant tell you the moment when I first realized I was gay. I really dont know
when that happened. There wasnt a crystal clear moment for me. But I can tell
you the first moment when I learned to love my queerness. It was in a small
college bar. A place with loud music and flashing lights. I was 18 years old. I
had heard there was a gay bar in town, and I was curious. Perhaps its the fact
that it was Halloween weekend or maybe it was the crushing silence of my
apartment that got me to drive over, alone, in the middle of the night, to a bar
where I knew nobody, and next to nothing about the people I would find there.
I wish I could tell you what was the first song I danced to, but unfortunately
when youre having transformative experiences in your life the little details pass
you by. I do remember, though, that whatever it was it liberated me of my
hesitations, of my fears, of my self doubt. I remember walking out on that dance
floor, alone. For the first time really alone. I didnt have other peoples
expectations dancing with me. I wasnt doing the two step with my fear. I
wasnt tangoing with this secret. I wasnt holding back. The only thing I was
holding onto was the beat.

At this bar theres this little pedestal you can dance on. Theres not a whole lot of
room, but like most things in life technique trumps size. When I climbed up on
that pedestal for the first time something happened. Something inside of me
changed. Somewhere between the heavy base and the synth was a message.
Somewhere in the flashing lights and fog machine was a voice calling out, and
that voice said Imma Be, just dance itll be ok, you are who you are, and baby
youre a firework. This is the best Ive ever had, and Im not blaming it on the
alcohol. That old me is dead and gone, Oh My God, I like it, cause baby I was
born this way.
What I found that weekend is what Ive been finding ever since. These dance
loors are sanctuary for our tired and marginalized souls. They are the home for
our wandering identities. They are the unifying force in a culture without a
shared background. And whether you love them or hate them, they are the
nexus of our community.
I dance. I dance with myself as a way to remember who I am. I dance to
discover myself.
I dance through the beat. I dance to live. I dance to feel alive.
I dance to forget about who I am, and then discover myself all over again.
Ive never really understood the phrase dance like no one is watching. I always
dance like everyone is. Ive danced at weddings, Ive danced at straight bars,
and Ive danced at proms, but theres only one place that I keep coming back to.
Where the DJ knows my favorite songs. Where the bouncer smiles at me, where

the drag queens say hello. You see its this place I know, if youre lookin for a
show, where we go hardcore and theres glitter on the floor.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I really hated myself when I was a teenager. Revolutionary, isnt it? A teenager
who hates themselves and hates their life and doesnt think anyone understands
them and all that but I love him! and leave me alone and youre not my real
mom! shit. Ok, I never said any of those things to my parents as a teenager, the
first two because I respected my parents too much and the third because, unless I
really need to have an in-depth conversation with my parents, my mom is in fact
my real mom. But I digress.
I always thought I was smarter than my peers. Wasnt hard. You grow up in a
town of 2,500 where everyone goes to the Baptist church and have blue collar
jobs and see if you dont feel just a little superior to the other people there. Of
course, I also always thought I was a pretty pathetic excuse for a human being. I
guess it all started when I was six. See when I was six I made the mistake of
telling my family I wanted to be a pasture and, once my family figured out
that I actually meant pastor, I was stuck with it. I dont know why I did itprobably because the pastor was the only guy I knew of who got everyones
attention on a big stage. I was always a little attention whore like that. Still am
I mean why else do you think Im doing this in front of hundreds of people? But
when I told my parents the news youd have thought I told them I was Jesus
himself.
So, by high school I was a kid who lived in a town that firmly believed that
drinking and dancing were the devils tools, whose parents thought I was the

next coming of the Lord, and who absolutely hated every fiber of his very
existence. Oh, and I was in the closet. Deep. Now dont get me wrong, I
believed in God. I believed every word that came out of my preachers mouth. I
was 100% certain that I was going to hell. Not a doubt in my mind.
But thats all boring. I got through to college, even graduated valedictorian, and
then I went crazy. Parties every weekend every night Thursday to Saturday
(Sunday is, after all, a day of rest). I was drinking, I was smoking, I was doing
anything I wanted to. But I was still in the closet. I still hated myself. But when
I drank I wasnt the gay boy anymore. I was the drunk boy and that was a hell
of a lot better to me. I mean, I started to tell people that I was gay. Slowly but
surely. Never made it back to my hometown, though. I was careful. Im smart,
remember?
But then I got into the community theatre and met some other gay people, and
most importantly I met him. Doesnt quite matter what his name was now (and
for sake of pride Im not going to say it), but he was gorgeous. And sweet and
funny and talented and sensible and oh Lord I think I need a moment I
mean he was by no means perfect but it was the first time Id ever had a crush on
a guy who wasnt straight, as terribly desperate as that may sound. He was
attainable. Sort of. I mean nothing happened romantically but he did provide a
great example. He was gay. He was out. He was what I wanted to be and he
was doing it so easily. He was happy.
I just wanted to be happy.

So I decided, almost impulsively, to come out to my parents and, well, everyone.

My parents were coming down for the opening night of the show and it was the
eighteenth of June and my birthday was the next Tuesday. It wasnt actually
until later that I remembered the fact that I was keeping up with the tradition of
ruining holidays by coming out. Of course, I ruined fathers day, which isnt that
great of a holiday anyways. So the play premiered and I took them back to my
first apartment, told them to sit down on my sparse furniture, and I just said it.
Mom, Dad, Im gay.
And nothing. I told them the biggest secret in my goddamn life and they were
fine with it. They werent even surprised. And you know what? It still pisses
me off. Im an attention whore, remember? I wanted a scene! I wanted tears! I
wanted a Lifetime movie for Christs sake! I wanted them to hate me so Id
know I wasnt crazy for hating myself. I wanted someone to hate me! Why the
hell did everyone always assume I was so perfect anyways?
And you know what the worst thing is? After coming out of the closet I was
supposed to suddenly love myself and finally love other people. But you know
what? I still fucking hate myself and Im afraid that I spent so long making
myself not love any other men because it was wrong that Ill never be able to do
it. I spent so long teaching myself to hate myself that Im stuck as that stupid six
year old was with being a preacher. And I am still so goddamn lonely that it
hurts.
SO WHEN THE FUCK DO I GET TO BE HAPPY?!

And you know what the weirdest thing was? For a while after that, my parents
still thought I wanted to be a pastor. I guess some dreams just die hard

Chorus #2
C1
This was a big year for the GLBT community.

C2
We have faced some challenges as the fight for human rights and equality for all
continues

C3
Hey, Dont Ask Dont Tell.BUHBYE!!! Were not going to miss you!

C1
Fred Karger, an openly gay Republican, just announced that he will run for
president in 2012

C2
Many employers STILL do not offer domestic partner benefits to their GLBT
workersincluding Texas A&M Universitybut queer visibility on campus is
definitely on the rise.

C3

Texas A&M University was the first campus to host an official NOH8 photoshoot
with over 400 people photographed.
C1
And for the first time in history, over 50% of Americans surveyed support samesex marriage.

C2
But were still waiting

C3
Have we mentioned Kurt and Blaine and Brittany and Santana bumping uglies
on Glee

ALL
HOT!

C1
GLBT Aggies celebrated 25 years of being recognized as a student organization
on campus.

C2

But Flower Bluff High School in nearby Corpus Christi made national headlines
when they had to fight a legal battle to start up a Gay Straight Alliance.

C3
Candlelight vigils were held all over the nation in memory of the GLBT youth
who took their lives due to bullying and harassment in schools.

C1
Colorado legalized civil unions and Maryland legalized same-sex marriage.

ALL
WHOOP!

C2
And this year, Texas A&Ms GLBT Resource Center has had more visits than
ever before!

C3
Now its time to put your paws up! Because baby, you were

ALL
BORN THIS WAY!!

Contrary To What They Want

Its funny how one can take what society deems a curse and turn it into a
beautiful and glorious blessing, a personal example for me being coming to
terms with my own sexuality. For as long as I can remember, Ive never liked
girls. Dont get me wrong, you ladies are all wonderful people and great friends
and such, but breedingugh. I dont have the slightest clue what happens down
there and Ive seen the Vagina Monologues. Nor do I care to find out.
But since none of you are here to hear my speculation on sub-equatorial
geography, I think its necessary and proper that I give a brief synopsis of my
timeline of coming out: to myself, then to my parents, and ultimately, to the
worldor at least, my world. As implied before, I identify myself as just about
as gay as they get: a Kinsey-37 gay, which is described as, and this is a littleknown factnothing but your finest sausage for me, Waiter. But despite what
I couldnt deny were quite homosexual feelings, I told myself I was straight
essentially all the way until my senior year of high school. Yeah, so maybe I was
absolutely infatuated with this guy in sixth grade [and seventh, and eighth, and
pretty much consistently untilwell, when I die], but I wrote those feelings off
as just weird buddy-buddy relationships for the longest time. For I was an
upstanding young man: where every other boy my age was looking at pictures of
sexy women on the Internet, I did not. I looked at pictures of sexy men on the
Internet. In the tenth grade, my mom found out about my curiosity, and it was

met with her utmost fury-osity. Or her loving concern, as she put it. I was
swiftly sent to counseling in order to reform my ways and neer return. Yet
despite my constant denial and intense desire to reverse the unfavorable role I
had been dealt, I made a point to leave out the fact that my browsing habit was
of a homosexual nature. Whether it was out of a sense of embarrassment or a
sense of pride, I found that to be a significant initial step in coming out to myself.
But that was the easy part. I still had the world to come out to, and I had no idea
how they would react.
Fast-forward to a warm and humid night in late September of last year.
Im sitting in Fat Burger with my parents, gripping the edges of my seat, running
through scenarios of the best possible way to break the news to my ultramasculine father and re-break the news to my ultra-conservative mother (who
had both visited for the night) that I was in a relationship of over a year with
another guy. So mom they say you crave what your mother ate when she was was
pregnant with, so just what the hell were you eating when you were pregnant with me?
Or Remember my friend Andrew? Yep, DEFINITELY more than a friend. Yeah, like one
of those wait-until-the-familys-left-the-house type of friend. Why didnt I tell you
earlier? Because then wed never have the house to ourselves. Running out of ideas, I
just started shaking uncontrollably and crying right there in the middle of Fat
Burger with the football game blaring on the TV next to our table. My dad
noticed and me and was suddenly on the alert, having no earthly idea why his
son was in such a state all of the sudden. I removed my wet hands from my

snotty contorted face I croaked Relationship trouble. Bad day, which is all I
could manage without using the word gay, which wouldve most likely
sparked the biggest College Station manhunt of the year. My parents rushed me
out to the car to drive me back to my dorm, which was certainly the most silent
and awkward trip I had ever had to endure. Before we left the parking lot, my
mom turned around in her seat and commanded me to explain what was wrong.
I turned my head to the window, cleared my throat, and said, Mom, Dad, I was
in a relationship with another guy. Im sorry if this disappoints you, but thats
just the way it is and thats just who I am. A huge wave of finality flooded my
moms car as the words still hung in the air. My dad, who had always been such
a manly leader in our household, expressed how proud we was of me for having
the bravery to tell them. My mom stared at the ground near my feet for a few
seconds before turning around and silently and rigidly watching the night road
ahead.
Fast-forward again to last November: the day I came out to the world. Or
Facebook, at least, which is about as big as my world gets, so itll have to do. My
boyfriend Andrew and I, who had been together for about a year-and-a-half by
that point, had talked about it and we were both ready to take the plunge and
actually made it Facebook official. For a few uncertain hours, however, my
relationship status just read Aaron is in a relationship. I posted that, went to
the restroom, and when I returned, four thousand five hundred seventy-three people
like this! Congrats, Aaron! Awwwww, Im so proud of you! Whos the lucky girl?! To

which I responded, Aha, thats what you think! When it was eventually
revealed to all of Facebook that I was in a relationship with Andrew, I received
some additional comments and likes, but noticed that one of my comments from
before had been erased. My bitch of an ex-piano teacherGod bless herwas
the culprit. And to make things worse, her status was Can someone tell me how
to remove a friend? I have to deal with a homosexual issue. With the smiley
face and everything. Since she was old as dirt and all her friends were too, I was
the first to comment. Ooh, this was gonna be good. I told her how to remove me
as a friend and followed up expressing my condolences that this different part of
me couldnt be something appreciated, accepted, or looked over by her, and that
it pained me to not be friends with her anymore (Facebook drama at its finest). It
was that landmark event, though small, that marked a complete coming-tomaturity in who I wasin who I was made to bein who I had been blessed to
be. I was seeing everything through different lenses. From the uncertainty
regarding my feelings growing up, to the paper I wrote in high school
condemning gays and gay marriage even in the knowledge of who I knew I was,
all the way to the one night I nearly drove my truck into a ditch just wanting to
put to death that within me that I found ugly, repulsive, and evil, everything had
inverted. Rather than being ashamed of the lot I had been dealt in this life, I
found myself to love and find beauty in who I was, even in the face of those who
pulled as hard as they could to straighten me out. My mom told me shortly after
I came out and told me that what I had become was contrary to what [she]

want[ed] for me. But I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was who I
was meant be, and who I had become proud to be, even in the face of such
opposition from many sides.

Semper Fidelis

I didnt grow up with much, but values that were instilled in me at a young age have
been the guiding light for every decision that I have made. I firmly believe that it is those
principles that compelled me to eventually join the Marine Corps. When I was
seventeen, I decided to meet with a recruiter and quite honestly he couldnt have been
more disgusted with me. I know this, only because he told me. I was not athletic. At 5
feet 2 inches I weighed a mere 85 pounds, and was able to do one complete pull-up.

One.

Despite lacking in athleticism, my recruiter, committed to his efforts to helping me

become a good Marine. He motivated me, called me his prodigy, and before long I was
in love with the Corps.
Despite this initial interest, I knew how important a college education was. I would be
the first in my family to attend a university, yet I couldnt seem to find a school that
would fit me. That is until I learned about Texas A&M and their Corps of Cadets. I never
visited campus, but instead took the advice of old Ags and the Texas A&M web site,
and stepped foot on my beloved Aggieland for the first time in May of 2005 for my New
Student Conference. I was beyond excited for my new experiences as an Aggie. I joined
the Corps, was a part of the Fightin Texas Aggie Band, and was even the Commanding
Officer of my outfit during my senior year. I was a Ross Volunteer, a Fish Camp
counselor, even a tour guide. To say that I was in love with Texas A&M would be an
understatement. In fact, I never wanted to leave.

As college went on, I became more and more aware of my sexuality. I talked to a few
close friends along the way, (most of them buddies in the Corps), but still considered
myself in the closet as I came to terms with the fact that I may be gay. This fact played
a small part of my decision making when I decided after my junior year that I still
wanted to join the Marines. I had an idea of what Dont Ask, Dont Tell was, but my
aspirations and hard work meant more to me at the time than the struggle of
understanding my sexuality. At twenty years old, like many young adults gay and
straight, I just wasnt sure about who I was. Years later, I think I am still figuring it out,
but the difference now is, I know that I am gay. I had worked for a year before I went to
college to excel as a Marine, yet I never joined, so in between my junior and senior year I
left A&M to begin and complete my training for the Marine Corps.

After three years of the Corps at A&M, I was in excellent shape and never once faltered.
Even during the 10 mile hikes, with 80 pound packs my back, I stayed as close to the
front as possible. After this initial training I returned to A&M and began duty as a
reservist at a small unit in Waco. I was enjoying college, enjoying the Marine Corps and
I had no complaints.

(In the spring of 2009) However, Shortly After, things began to take a turn for the worst.
It started when I went out with some friends to a local bar. I was around a lot of people,
a few who knew I was gay, and some who didnt. The fact that I was gay was brought
up in conversation and was at first shrugged off. Some other Marines began heckling

and started making inappropriate comments towards me and it became aggressive. The
days that followed involved me worrying that Marines at the bar would tell my
command chain about my sexual orientation. Don't Ask, Don't Tell forced me into
isolation and into a point in my life where I thought I couldn't trust anyone. Events that
followed made these feelings even worse
After a few weeks I reluctantly talked to a Corporal from my unit, an E-4 who I felt
comfortable around. I told him what had happened and consequently told him that I
was gay. He told my Sergeant the story and surprisingly, they calmed me, reassured me
and told me it was not a big deal. To them, the only thing that mattered was that I get to
the unit in Waco for weekend drill. I did as instructed only to find out that my story had
spread and reached my 1st Sergeant and Commanding Officer. The two Marines I had
confided in were asked to write written statements and they complied. This began the
ten month investigation.

When I walked in to my 1st Sergeants office that day the first thing he asked me was,
Are you gay? I stood there in what was immediately a hostile environment. I
hesitated, but answered honestly. He proceeded to tell me that there was no way he
could protect my privacy, as he could not stop the grapevine and that he would not be
responsible for what people within the unit said or did. When I met with my
Commanding Officer later the same day he went over everything I had said and told me
why I should be getting discharged but said nothing to confirm it. I was simply told to
hang tight and wait on what the Battalion Commander would say.

I hoped that the two Marines that I had confided in would be the people that would

help protect my privacy. At that point I did not feel safe and I did not know who else to
contact.
I wasn't out to my family and my pride kept me from telling my friends in college about
it. I was alone, I was depressed. I waited and waited to see what would happen to my
position in the Marines and did not hear anything for months. Ultimately I contacted a
friend from the unit and asked him to find out my status. He got back to me about a
week later and informed me that I was discharged from the Marine Corps in April of
2010.

It took everything I had in me to call home. My family still didnt know about my
sexuality, and they didnt know that I had been discharged. When I finally called, it was
a conversation that I hadnt expected. Growing up in a devout Catholic household, I
didnt know how my family would take the news. Once I told them everything that had
happened, I started crying and tears were coming from both ends of the phone. There
was no anger or betrayal. The biggest concern that my family had was that I had to
endure the struggle alone.

Since coming out Ive been very vocal about the Dont Ask, Dont Tell policy, having
appeared on MSNBC, CNN and in newspapers and blogs nationally. I have received a
lot of feedback, especially from people at A&M. Unfortunately, it hasnt all been
positive. One person told me that I was single-handedly destroying our nations
military. Another told me I was a disgrace to Aggies everywhere. Several said that I
should keep my mouth shut and that I should have kept my mouth shut in the first
place. There were many times when I wondered if I had done the right thing.

Many will say that I have lived through a series of unfortunate events. I wont deny that
statement, but I choose to look at it differently. I am in my position because I decided
not to compromise my integrity; because I chose to stand up instead of turn a blind eye;
because I chose to say something instead of shutting up like many urged me to do. I
didnt think I had it in me to do those things, but I can say I am a better man because of
it. Im still growing, still learning, like everyone else, but for once I know this: I will
never again be silent, I will never back down and I will not waste any more time hiding
who I am.

I am a gay man, and I couldnt be prouder.

Purple
Growing up in deep East Texas, it took me a long time to really come to terms
with my sexuality. My school was really conservative and I didnt know of any
gay, lesbian, bi, or transgender people. I didnt even allow myself to even
question my sexuality till college. After transferring to Texas A&M, I finally had
the space and the freedom to really figure my self out. It took some time, but I
slowly started to come out to my closest friends. Eventually, I was ready to come
out to my friends at A&M. Lets just say it didnt go as planned.
My first mission as a lesbian was to make other GLBT friends. I had know
clue how to do this. I knew about the GLBT center and organizations on
campus, but was still to scarred to go check them out. Luckily, a friend of mine
told me about a dating website that had a decent amount of GLBT people. While
I made a few friends and met a couple of cool people this way, only one of them
is related to this story.
I started chatting with this one girl online, Ill refer to her as D. Well D
and I had a lot in common, mainly nerdy things. We both watched a lot of TV
and fan-girled over Skins, Pretty Little Liars, and Rizzoli and Isles. Eventually
we decided to get some coffee together, and we immediately hit it off. After
hanging out with D a couple of times, she invited me to go with her to this super
gay party. The party was the last weekend before school started back up. I was
super pumped to make new friends and have a blast. As at most parties, there

was alcohol, and I did legally partake. By the end of the night D and I were all
buddy buddy. Luckily, her roommate volunteered to be the designated driver.
After we got back to her apartment, she insisted I stick around to sober
up. One thing led to another, and Im just going to fast forward to the next
morning for decency reasons. I had a hunch that I might have a hickey or two
that morning, little did I know how wrong I was. When I finally got home that
morning, I went to take a shower before work and stopped dead in my tracks as
soon as I saw my reflection in the mirror. My neck and shoulders were covered
in hickeys, at least ten or more. And these werent meek little hickeys. They
were big ass purple hickeys. No makeup in my collection could cover these
things up, and since this was my first time dealing with hickeys, I didnt know of
any other ways of hiding them successfully. I reluctantly went to work that
morning. Id only been working at Freebirds for about a month, but its
Freebirds. I didnt think it would be that big a deal. I was wrong. Everyone at
work was totally cool and had a fun time making jokes. My co-workers kept
trying to put the YUM tattoos we give out on me. Two days later theres a new
notice at the front of the manager book. Because of me there is now a rule about
coming to work with visible love bites. Basically, it was a three strikes and
youre out kind of notice.
After the fiasco at work that weekend, I was kind of dreading the first day
of school. I had to have my picture taken in three classes for roll, and my friends
had a never ending list of questions. After a few days, things finally started to

slow down, but one of my friends just had to know and kept asking. Was it
your boy friend? I said, No. Then the next day came and she asked, Was it
your girl friend?. I froze. Id already told myself, if someone asks me if Im
gay. Id just strait up tell them yes. While Im pretty sure the long pause and my
deer in the headlights look gave it away. I replied with my oh so intelligent
response, Kinda.
After making this statement in front of most of my class mates. I was a
little worried, but everyone was amazingly accepting. I got high fives and
thumbs up from some of the guys, and a bunch of questions like who is she
and have we met her from the girls.
D and I parted ways a few weeks after school started, but I will be forever
thankful for those damn hickeys. Even thought I had to live with those things
for over three weeks.

Barefoot Freedom
[The performer enters, stands center, and stomps loudly]
Stomp went the feet. Crush went the bones. UNNH went my voice as the air
was thrust from my lungs. The feet slammed into me, faster and faster, harder
and harder as I curled into a ball, trying to protect my most vulnerable parts. My
nose began to bleed, my vision blurred, and all I could see were the feet as they
slammed into me. [Stomp] Again. [Stomp] Again. [Stomp] Again. Then my
own feet, fighting to get away, threw off the sweat-soaked covers and pulled me
from the all-too-familiar nightmare into the real world. Even awake, I kept
seeing those feet, moving faster and faster towards me, with pain following
swiftly in their wake.
Feet are tools and weapons, considered unclean, unwelcome, and disgusting. In
some Asian cultures, they bound feet. In the Middle East, they hide feet. There,
showing the bottom of your foot to someone is like showing them your middle
finger here. In our culture, feet get thought about when they smell, or when they
look nasty in the summer months. It doesnt start out that way though. Babies
feet arent disgusting. As a baby I was fascinated with my own feet, content to
suck on my toes and make cooing sounds, both of which were met with cries of
awww! and whos a goo babyyy! My feet were a wonder, a tool that I didnt
yet know the full power of until that first day when I stood on my own and
realized exactly what they can do. I assumed that I could go anywhere now. But
I was wrong. As soon as my feet began to take me places, they were confined to

shoes and socks, the places they could go were limited, and I was taught the
truth about them. My feet, my foundations, the things that moved me, were no
longer seen as cute and beautiful, but dangerous, dirty things that must be
controlled.
I tried to go back to sleep, tried to shut my eyes and dream about something else,
something that didnt want to break my body and my spirit like those feet did. I
started dreaming about James, one of the first boys I fell in love with, and his
smile made me relax into deeper sleep and start to forget about the bruises in my
mind caused by those stomping, crushing feet. But then I did something stupid,
something that I had never done before, even in a dream. I grabbed his hand,
looked him in the eye and told him that I loved him. His smile disappeared, and
all of a sudden his feet turned away from me and took him away, because he
knew what would happen if he stayed. The feet would come back and kick him
too. And come back they did. Stomp went the feet. Crush went the bones.
UNNH went my voice as the air was thrust from my lungs.
I learned the rules quickly. Boys feet cant wear the fun shoes with the high
heels. Boys feet dont get pretty colors put on them, no matter how much you
plead. Boys feet should be dirty and muddy because theyre outside, not white
and soft because you stay inside all day. Boys feet should carry them to sports
practice with the grunting and yelling, not ballet classes with the beautiful
movement and music. Boys feet belong around other boys feet, not always
surrounded by girls feet. But the rule that I remember more than any other was

that you dont play footsie with another boy under the dinner table. Boys feet
werent supposed to touch other boys feet for fun. Boys feet shouldnt touch
each other when youre sitting on the couch watching movies or playing video
games. Boys feet shouldnt touch each other if, for some horrible reason, you
had to share a bed, or a tent on a camping trip. Boys feet touched girls feet.
End of story.
The nightmares came and went throughout the years. Anytime my feet broke a
rule, they would come back with a vengeance, like when my feet started ballet
classes, or spent all their free time hanging out with girls feet, or stayed indoors
instead of being outside playing with the other boys and their feet. My feet were
disgusting in more ways than one. I hated and despised them. I was terrified
that they would start playing footsie with another boy under the table, or that
they would carry me into the embrace of another boy, or pull me too close to
another boy on the sofa while we watched a movie. I knew that if any of that
happened, the feet in my dreams might just kill me and I might never wake up.
[Stomp] Again. [Stomp] Again. [Stomp] Again.
And then I met Kasey. I was in college, so desperate for the touch of another
man that I was willing to subject myself to the beatings of my nightmares just to
see if it was worth it. I met Kasey online, and we met a few times in public
places to get to know each other. He was older and taller than me, and he
walked with a confidence that I had never been able to muster. His feet knew
where they were going, and they werent afraid to go there. After each date, my

nightmares were worse than ever before, each time bringing me closer and closer
to death before I could wrench myself awake. But I couldnt stay away, even
knowing that every time I saw him I would have to endure a beating in my
dreams. Finally, he invited me over to his apartment one night. When we got
there, he started to remove my shoes and socks. I almost screamed at him as I
asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He told me that he wanted to
see my feet. The terror that washed through my body was indescribablefeet
were dirty, feet were not to be touched or fondled or loved. Feet were dangerous
and deadly. After all, theyd carried me to his apartment. And it would be feet
that would finally beat me to death tonight in my dreams.
He smiled at me and asked me to trust him, and for some unknowable reason I
did. My body was tense, my blood pounding in my ears, but I trusted him. He
just looked and touched my feet for what seemed like ages. He told me how
beautiful they were, how he could tell that Id danced just by looking at them.
He said that my feet held the record of my life because they were what carried
me everywhere I went. I thought he was nuts, and just wanted to get out of
there. My feet carried me back home, and straight to the medicine cabinet. I
knew that tonight I would die because of the feet in my dreams, the stomping,
pounding, painful feet. I had broken too many of the rules. Another boy had
finally touched my feet. I was terrified, and I didnt want to die that way, broken
and bleeding. So I pulled down the bottle of sleeping pills, poured them into my

hand, and swallowed them as fast as I could. I would end my own life before
those feet would kill me.
But even when I tried to control my own death, the feet still came. As I drifted
off to finally end the pain of those beatings, the feet descended on me like never
before, crushing not just my body but my spirit and my soul. Even as the pain
wracked my body, I realized that this final beating was different. Before, the feet
had come from nowhere. This time, the feet were attached to a body, that body
to a head, a head which had a face. And as I looked upward through the blood
that dripped from my eyelashes, I finally saw the face of my lifelong attacker, my
own worst enemy. The cry of pain that left my lips when I saw that face was
unlike any cry of pain before. The face of my attacker was red with blood,
dripping from his eyelashes, his body curled into a ball, trying to protect his
most vulnerable parts, even as his feet slammed into me. Nothing could have
prepared me to look into the face of my attacker and see my own. But with that
cry of pain came a surge of energy, of determination that propelled me out of
that dream world to the toilet where, choking, gagging, retching, I expelled the
sleeping pills from my body before collapsing onto the floor sobbing and gasping
for air.
[The performer, caught in the emotion of the moment, removes his shoes and socks
hurriedly, as if they are choking the life out of him. The movements below are performed
as they are recited.]

Swish went the feet. Brush went the toes. [loud exhale] went my breath as I
landed a cabriole, spun into a pirouette, and finished with my feet extended in a
proud arabesque. Today, my feet are my friends. They are no longer an enemy
to be avoided, they are a part of me. My dreams celebrate them instead of fear
them, whether they lead me to the end of a perfect ballet combination or carry
me down the aisle to marry the man I love. They are my record keepers, my
atlas of the places I have been, the people I have met, and the stories that I have
been a part of. They no longer stomp my spirit and soul, because I have taken
that power away from them. Like Kasey, I removed the shoes and socks that
closed them in and gave them their destructive power, freeing them to dance
through life without fear.

Going Public
As someone raised in the super liberal, accepting city of Seattle, Washington, I
never imagined that I would have anything to say about the GLBT movement
never considered being an Ally, because everyone appeared to be an ally. Live
and let live is a typical west coast motto. In high school (in the 90s) we had a Gay
Straight Alliance, and a teacher who was living with AIDS. The community
supported him, and treated him as an equal--someone with worth and a
purpose. Im not sure I ever recall a time when gay was made apparent to me:
people love people. I have no clear recollection of when someone told me what
gay meantand I suppose my first knowledge that boys could like boys and
girls could like girls came early.
When I was seven, I was molested by a female babysitter. I didnt know
what to make of it at the timeas she described the encounters as a game,
simply playing house. But even then, I never wondered if it made me gay. I
forced the experiences out of my mind, and they never resurfaced until high
school; when I was date raped by a male teammate from the track team. This
didnt make me wonder if I was straightit left me confused. Many people are
quick to say that people turn gay because theyve been molested or experience
abuse at a young age--but where did this leave me? Even at 18, I couldnt wrap
my brain around these experiences, and what they meant. What would a 7 year
old girl have to offer an older, woman? It made sense; for a male to want his
way with a femaleand we were drinking, after all, so it was my fault at some

level, (or so I thought). There were only 2 weeks left of the summer, and each
day was full of remembering experiences, and desperately trying to forget.
The summer after high school quickly passed, and I was frenzied to leave
home FAR FAR behind. I was going to college, where I could be the epitome of a
southern bellenot damaged, broken, or dirty. My parents are Greek, country
club members, well off, established, educated, and important within our home
communityand I was off to a large, SEC school to be the same, but better. If I
was going to be a sorority girl, I was going to be a southern sorority girlbig hair,
manners, pearls, pretty clothes, and perfect. No one would or could know that I
was damaged--how would my sorority sisters take the news of having a sister
who was molested by a female? Would they think I was gay? What if they knew
about the man? Would they think I was bi? Straight? Or, would they just know
that I was dirty, broken, damaged and not as good as them? There were many
secrets to be kept (and hidden) behind perfectly manicured nails, blown out hair,
designer clothes, foreign cars, and extravagant trips.
As I got more involved with my sorority sisters, and my southern lifestyle,
I found myself at churchasking God if He was real, how did all those things
happen to me? What did they mean? How could He love me if He allowed
those things to happen? After searching and examining for months, I found
Godbut this turned the rest of my world upside down. Over the coming years,
I stepped into the role of sorority chaplain, small group leader, worship leader,
and became a vital part of a giant college ministry. A giant college ministry that

didnt believe in homosexuality. I found myself in a culture that viewed

sexuality as a choicea choice to deviate from Biblical standards. I had a hard
time navigating thisso I hid my story, but most embarrassingly, I hid my
friends. I had many gay men in my life (and still do), but spending time with
them was not mentioned, their orientation not mentioned, as to not disturb the
status quo.
I didnt attend or participate in LGBT issues or events on my campus until
graduate school. In spring of 2009, I spent the semester researching the gay male
undergraduate experience at my alma mater. And the stories horrified me. The
words hurled in their direction, the fear that was in every fiber of their being, the
abuse and mistreatment these students went through was unfathomable to me.
But, I was still faced with a dilemmahow could I reconcile my deep,
unwavering Christian faith and my support of this community? My fellow
researchers and I thought about publishing our workbut all I could think about
was if Id ever be able to get a job at a Christian school if I published an article
about gay students. What would be my consequence for publishing something
so wildly liberal? I didnt want to suffer any consequences or discomfort from
this, yet I couldnt stay silent. In college and graduate school I had many gay
men come out to meand one of them saidI didnt tell you sooner because I
didnt know how youd respond. The first words out of my mouth were if
you are happy, I am happy. I love you. Period. The thought of someone,
thinking that I would change my attitude, actions, or love towards them because

of who they love, made me disappointed in who I was. Clearly I missed the
love your neighbor as yourself boat. It was then I started to make a conscious
decision to be an ally.
As I left Tennessee to take my job here at A&M, I didnt envision
becoming involved with Aggie Allies or the GLBT resource center, but now it is
one of the most important things in my life. I met Lowell and other community
members within the first week or two of being in College Station, and let me say,
the first dining out experience was quite an eye opener for this southern sorority
girl. But, I started going to Halo (a GLBT friendly bar in Bryan)started meeting
more peopleand soon, my friend group became largely GLBT. So, when I got
the facebook invite for the Day of Silence, inviting people to wear free, Gay?
Fine by Me shirts, I knew I had to participate. I got my shirt, and was excited to
wear it on the designated Fridayforgetting I had planned an off campus lunch
date with a female friend. So, my friend, Mo (a shorter, athletic, black woman)
and I went to lunch at a small sandwich shop, generally frequented by older
folks. We were both wearing our Gay? Fine by me t-shirts, and thought
nothing of it. We walked in, and all of a sudden, I felt eyes on me. It seemed like
a moviea hush fell on the crowd and eyes burned into my skin. People
blatantly stared, made comments, and clearly thought Mo and I were together
and not only lesbian, but interracial! Throughout the entire lunch I was
anxiouswhat were people thinking? Saying? Muttering under their breath? I
got back to campus, finished out the work day, and as soon as I walked in the

door to my apartment, I peeled off that t-shirt. I couldnt get rid of the
discomfort, staring eyes, and disapproving faces quickly enough. But that is
when it hit me.
I can take of that shirt and go back to my normal, Christian, Republican,
well-off, white girl life. My friends, students, and other GLBT community
members cant just take off a shirt and change their reality. The day of
discomfort I had was just thatone dayand not even a full 24 hours. That day
solidified my commitment to being a vocal, public Ally. The gay, lesbian,
bisexual, queer, transgender, or otherwise different people in our community
dont get the luxury of a breakthey have to hide it, pass, or deal with
consequences. And this is the reason I am committed to change. I am Texas
A&M. I am a mirror of the students. I have a unique understanding and
privilege to speak to those like me--explain that accepting others, loving
others, doesnt diminish their faith, their Christian ideals (or conservative
perspective). I am white, from a well-off family, I vote republican, I am a
southern sorority girl, and I am a member of a mega Christian church in town.
But most importantly I am an Ally...committed to change, progress, and loving
always.

Be A Hero
I am standing here in front of you tonight because I believe in the power
of performance. I know that performance has saved my life on countless
occasions. But I am a Performance Studies Graduate student, after all, so I might
be a little biased. From the time I first learned about the Coming Out
Monologues, I have been wracking my brain for the story I wanted to tell, but
everything I could come up with seemed to fall short. I kept thinking of the
message that I wanted to send to all my brothers and sisters out there gay or
straight, in or out of the closet. I wanted to give people hope, but I didnt think
my story was a story about hope.
My Coming Out story or what I perceived to be my Coming Out story at
the time wasnt happy, and it wasnt even really over, not that any of our
stories ever are. It was about a girl who was outed to her parents before she was
ready for them to hear it, before she was really even fully out to herself. It was a
girl who got careless in her first romantic relationship and didnt remember to
cover her tracks. It was the story of a girl whose parents cornered her in her
bedroom, calling her the Devil, accusing her of destroying their family, and
telling her that if she lived an openly gay life, all the orphaned children whose
parents died of AIDS that those deaths would be on her head for daring to say
that being gay is an acceptable way to live. My story was the story of a girl who
carried around so much guilt and shame with her every day that she tried to kill
herself and had to be hospitalized for her depression. It was the story of a 23-

year-old who hadnt planned on seeing her 20th birthday, and spent it eating
chocolate cake with her family in the psychiatric ward of Fairmont General
Hospital.
I thought that my story was that story, and that wasnt a story I knew how
to share. In fact, most of my story was a story I hadnt told anyone a story that
no one knew except for the people who were there when it happened. I was
ashamed of my story and afraid of what people would say or think about me if
they knew. I didnt want their pity; I didnt want them to look at me and only see
some girl who tried to kill herself. I wanted to be much braver and more puttogether, much stronger and more self-confident than I thought my past would
allow.
Besides that, my family as I am sure many families do taught me well
the face I ought to present to others. Taught me not to ask for help or admit to
weakness. Taught me to gloss over family difficulties and pretend they never
happened. My family is excellent at keeping secrets, at showing only what is
meant to be seen. So I hid my past as well as I could manage, and put my acting
talents to the test. I created the Dana I wasnt able to be in life, and thats the face
I tried to show the world. But all the pain, shame, and guilt were still bubbling
under the surface. Though I refused to acknowledge my story publicly, its
ramifications were still deeply felt.
As time passed, and I kept my story buried, it began to be second nature. I
hadnt told it for so long, I never thought that I would be able to tell anyone. I

didnt think that I knew how. But then I met Tim Miller. Tim is a gay
performance artist, and I had been told his workshop on solo performance would
change my life forever, but I had no idea just how much of a prophesy that
would turn out to be. Every night that week in October, the 23 of us chosen for
the workshop would do exercises meant unlock our past, and reveal our broken
parts. These exercises were meant to uncover the story we were supposed to tell
that week. I planned to tell a story about my larger-than-average feet, but at the
dress rehearsal I saw so many people being brave and digging deep, revealing
parts of themselves and their history that were of real consequence in their lives.
I couldnt sleep that night because I knew I had a story like that, too. A
story Id been keeping under wraps for years. A story that had festered in my
soul for so long, that if it hadnt been for the 22 people standing behind me, Im
sure the words would never have come out of my mouth. I wrote my script
during lunch on Friday, and spent the next four hours trying frantically to
memorize it before the performance that evening. I was slated first in the
program, and no one in the cast, even, had seen me perform this brand new
monologue. As I stood there on the stage, hot bright lights beaming down on my
cheeks, it was all I could to do to even speak. I fought to remember the words I
had written hours earlier, and I couldnt even bear to lift my downcast eyes,
because I didnt want to see the faces of anyone in the audience that night. I was
too afraid of what I might find. After my bit was over, I stumbled to the sidelines
and spent the rest of the show just trying not to think about anything at all. I put

all of my focus on being there for the other performers, whether as an actor in
their performance or an attentive listener on the sidelines.
After the evening was over, the audience came out to greet the
performers, and I stayed off on the sidelines. I was still too nervous to seek out
anyone, and I wished that I could just melt into the walls or floor. But to my
surprise, that night, instead of pity, I received more hugs than I think Ive ever
gotten in the span of a day. Instead of awkward silences, my fellow performers,
professors, and people that Ive never met before told me how brave I was and
how proud they were of me for saying what I said, and how glad they were that I
was still around. Brave? Proud? Glad? None of those words encompassed a
response I had ever expected. Where was the judgment? What about all those
fears Id carried around for so long?
I left Rudder Forum that night feeling confused and drained, but also
somehow lighter than Id felt in a long time. Suddenly, I wasnt carrying around
the burden of my suicide like a chain around my neck. I firmly believe that
performance saved my life, just like acting in Top Girls three and a half years ago
the semester after the time I spent in the hospital. But this time it wasnt
throwing myself into a role that saved me; it was facing my biggest fear. It was
doing the thing that I never thought I could do, and only did because there were
twenty-two other brave people behind me telling their stories, too.
It took me several months to realize the magnitude of that performance
and the weight it took off of my shoulders. I had been carrying around my

attempted suicide like Atlas holding up the globe. I was pumped full to bursting
of internalized guilt and shame the poison of the soul. I had thought that
admitting to a suicide attempt would leave me forever defined by it; but what I
began to realize was that that event itself, and more importantly, the pain of
keeping it a secret, had been defining my life for a long time anyway.
I cant tell you when to Come Out or how or to whom. I cant guarantee
that you wont be outed like I was, long before you are emotionally prepared to
deal with the ramifications of it. But what I realize now is that we can write our
own Coming Out stories. That doesnt mean you make up a lie it means you
can decide how to frame the story, and you can choose to be the hero of your
own narrative. I made myself the victim of my own Coming Out story. I gave my
parents all the power and saw myself as reacting to events beyond my control.
And in some ways, perhaps that was accurate. But I was living a life filled with
guilt staying half-way out of the closet in an attempt to appease my parents,
whose opinions might never change. I wasnt giving myself any credit or any
agency to live openly or happily despite the opinions of others. And meanwhile,
I was denying myself the support of people who can see past my past and accept
me not despite it but because of the person it has caused me to be.
Ive heard people say they dont have a Coming Out story to tell but you
do. Even if youre only out to yourself, thats still a story, and an important first
step. We all have these stories, however funny or awkward, or painful they
might be, and its important to tell them because the telling releases the weight,

sucks out the poison, and allows us to finally stand up straight and look people
in the eye. I cant tell you when the right time is to come out for you. But when
you do, dont make the same mistake I did: make sure youre the hero of your
own Coming Out story. You dont have to be the girl who tried to commit
suicide you can be the girl who took a stand, who told the truth, and learned
that weakness only means were human.
Youll have to find your own way of being a hero you might have to
work for it a little bit harder than I did, too. Get creative: make yourself a cape
and a costume if you need to, and give yourself lots of awesome superpowers so
you can defeat the Brother Jeds and Westboro Baptists out there. Trust me, youll
need those powers sometimes when things get rough and you start to feel alone
again. Im still in the process of Coming Out, as we all are, but if I can tell you
anything Ive learned on the journey, its that if there is ever a story you think
you cant tell, thats exactly the story you need to tell. But why not re-image your
role first, and make yourself the star?