They Found Out

Yeah, so I made these. Glad I can wear these all the time now.

Ladies, gentlemen, variations thereof and none of the above, you are probably wondering where I've been these past few weeks. You must have been frustrated, enraged, cursing my pretty face as you mash the refresh button, praying for a new post from me. I can hardly forgive myself for keeping you in such a state, dear readers. So let me tell you why I've been so long away.

They found out.

Up until March 27, I lived with and was fully financially supported by my homophobic parents. I lived a slick double life of deception and subterfuge. It was thrilling to have this secret life. There were times where I felt lonely and depressed, but there were times where the exhilaration of the game made it all worthwhile. There was a thrill in knowing that it couldn't possibly last.

It didn't. And this blog was how they found out.

I only got up for a minute. I'd been frustrated that Thursday night, thinking about the article I was supposed to write for Tuesday. I decided to go stretch my legs. I got careless, going so long without them catching me. Really, this is all no one's fault but my own.

When I came back, my dad was reading something on the computer. I came up behind him to see what he was doing. My blood froze when I saw my picture, name, bio, and articles in that screen.

I fled in a panic. I won't regale you with lurid tales of my escape into the night, waiting in an alleyway and fleeing from any pair of headlights. Being rescued by a friend. Having only the clothes I was wearing, phone, bike. No shoes. My sister informed me through text that I was being kicked out.

What did normalcy mean? My beautifully duplicitous life had burned away from me. I spent years lying to my parents about who I was, and my penance was to tell the whole truth, homelessness and all, to everyone. Counselors. Principals. Teachers. College financial aid offices. Friends. Friends' parents. It's quite a fitting penance, when you think about it.

I couldn't do things anymore. I learned the meaning of wealth and the allure of things.  I learned that I never loved my car, but the freedom to wander that came with it. I didn't love money, but I wanted my pretty dresses and shoes, my favorite foods, my concerts and dances and musicals. I didn't need my parents but I did need their security.

I always thought I was a person with a reasonably humble lifestyle. I now know that I was a goddamn princess. I lived in a nice part of town, I had a car and a closet full of clothes and steak dinners on Sunday and fancy French cheeses (Giving up Brie was arguably harder than giving up my house). I tell you, there's nothing like hearing that you're now eligible for food stamps to put your entire life into perspective.

I will always love you, baby.

They want me to come back now. They want me to leave my gayness at the door though. And it'll be a cold day in hell before that happens. They miss me. I know it. My mother is in hysterics and my father is trying to enlist my teachers in a quest to bring me back to their home. I heard they even called up a lawyer to force me back. But they refuse to recognize my agency. They want to fix something in me that can't and shouldn't be fixed. They think I am being coerced by a fabulous cabal that my mother has christened, I shit you not, "The Gay Mafia".

The Gay Mafia: both fierce and FIERCE since forever (S)

Hell, my life would be so much easier if a shadowy group of evil gays and lesbians were intervening on my behalf. I wouldn't have to do all this applying for financial aid. 

People look at you differently. They wanted to know if I would graduate high school! And with only two months to go! Christ. Having ambitions doesn't depend on having a permanent address. Before all this went down, I got into UCLA. That's something my parents called up the relatives half-way around the world to brag about, back when I had parents. I'm a potential Bruin, bitches!

Sure, I can't pay for the privilege now, but I got in, dammit! And I want all you ladies, gentlemen, variations thereof, and none of the above to know it!

I have a sneaking suspicion that UCLA's Fin Aid dept. refers to me as "the kid with the pipe dream".

Things that you never have to worry about become vital. I'm sorry I haven't kept you posted, but when you're in a panic trying to find a new place to stay because that friend's parents needs you out of the house, details kind of slip by you.

But it's better to obsess over the planning, to run around getting the big things squared away than to have the despondency set in. I spent like five full minutes staring at a wall yesterday. Why? That's stupid. I've got more important things to do than to stare slack-jawed at some stupid wall. Writing this post, definitely. Securing a place to live for the long-term is one thing. Moving back to California is another. There's not much left for me in Texas and to be honest, when I visited colleges last summer, I left my heart in 90024.

I'll keep you all posted. Love from your favorite literary homeless person.