26 Years and 6 Months

26 Years and 6 Months of living in this body,

Confused. Angry. Hating myself.

26 Years and 6 Months of denial, depression, suicidal thoughts.

Hidden. Untold. My secret.

26 Years and 6 Months of putting on this beautiful, God given smile.

A lie – show the world nothings wrong… and nothing will be wrong.

All the while, 26 Years and 6 Months of everything being wrong.

26 Years and 6 Months of living a lie and wanting nothing more than to die.

The only safety to be felt was in the dark abyss – never wanting to see light again.

26 Years and 6 Months of accepting that just maybe I can live this lie.

Get the husband, bear the child, buy the house, drive the minivan, feed the dog.

The blueprint of my life. Just follow the steps. Like I always have.

The life everyone expected from me – wanted from me. Be the people pleaser you were born to be.

Then – My world changed.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

I looked in the mirror. I saw nothing.

Worthless. Broken. Empty. Misery.

The only self I’ve ever known, yet the only person to see it was me.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

I decided to be free.

Weightless. Alive. Gay. Happy.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

You gave me this. The ability of acceptance.

Strength. Love. Hope.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

To the Woman who gave me myself, Thank you.

I love you.

26 Years, 6 Months, and 1 day.

The first day of my life. Reborn.

“I Wish I Was Straight.”

A thought that has crossed my mind hundreds of thousands of times.

“I wish I was straight.”

My whole life I always knew I was a little different from the other girls. I was a tomboy for sure. I grew up around boys. I wanted to emulate the looks and styles of my cousins and friends. I was a kid. My parents, mostly my mom, let me be me. For which I am eternally grateful. A tomboy in and of itself made me different from the other girls.

“I wish I was straight.”

I remember asking my mom if I could get a haircut like Todd or Kyle. Somehow my 6 year old self was able to swindle my parents into letting this happen. I assume they let me because, hey, I was 6. What’s the harm? That haircut and tomboy look lasted until I was 12. Honestly it may have lasted my whole life if I didn’t feel peer pressured to fit in with the other girls.

“I wish I was straight.”

I get asked a lot by people how I know I’m gay. For one, I’m not into labels. I know how pretentious that sounds, but it’s true. I say this because I know up until this point in my life and continually, I want to be with a woman.

“I wish I was straight.”

How do I know though? Well how do you know you’re straight? I get the pressure society puts on people to be straight, however, it’s that feeling you get when you’re around a certain person. I remember being in the third grade and my heart racing a little faster around my female friend. The way a crush would feel.

“I wish I was straight.”

I know because of the thoughts I had during puberty. Wanting the attention of female classmates while pretending to want to kiss the boys. I know because of the attraction I had toward friends in high school. I know because no man had made my emotions, feelings, heart, body, soul, and mind fluster the way any female has.

“I wish I was straight.”

I know because of the day dreams I’d have about the bartender at work. How we were barely even friends, yet I was drawn to her. How I’d think about cuddling with her in her dorm room. Long to see her. Smile like an idiot when she was at work. Try stupidly to get my shifts to line up with hers. While still being “straight” I’d ask my friends if they thought she was gay.

“I wish I was straight.”

I know because of that girl at work that made me question everything. She was the driving force in making me come out. My final straw in lying to myself.  How I long to see her laugh. How I want to be better for her. How seeing her when I get back to the office can make or break my entire work day – even if we don’t talk, how I want to talk to her, but her beauty paralyzes me. I want to touch her. Smell her. Hold her. Taste her. I know that just seeing her face, watching her smile, hearing her talk, makes me want to sit and stare for the rest of my life. I may love her. She will never know.

“I wish I was straight.”

I know because who in their right mind wants to disappoint their parents. I know because who wants to constantly hear how they’ve let down their family. I know because this was going to happen, but I said it anyway. It’s freeing. It’s also emotionally destructive.

“I wish I was straight.”

It’s funny how being who you were always meant to be can feel so liberating.  I have a confidence that is astonishingly noticeable.

“I wish I was straight.”

It’s insane all the attention I get from males now that I’m out. I’m told it’s because I now carry this noticeable confidence and pride. I smile and I’m outgoing. Apparently I’m also a tease or a flirt. I say, I’m me. You can interpret things as you please.

“I wish I was straight.”

As happy as I am to finally be me, being gay is hard.  Trying to flirt with girls only to find out they’re straight is hard. Rejection is hard. Trying to sort through the emotions and feelings women are having, and trust me, there are a lot, is hard.

“I wish I was straight.”

I can walk into almost any room and it most likely contains people who are predominantly straight. Being straight means being able to walk up to someone of the opposite sex and there is a strong chance they will be straight, worst case scenario, they’re just uninterested, but hey, there is still opportunity in the room.  Not being straight means if there is one other gay person in the room, that can be your only conquest of the night.

“I wish I was straight.”

Before coming out I did everyday things with my friends. Now, just to meet more gay people, I have to go to support groups and outings. Things many straight people don’t have to do. While I’ve met some great and not so great people at these events, sometimes I just miss my Tuesday nights of watching TV with friends or Friday night drinking and dancing. Not being straight means if I want to go to these “gay” outings, my friends really aren’t invited. Things straight people never have to worry about.

“I wish I was straight.”

If I was born normal, straight, I would’ve had all these emotions and feelings in the ritualistic timeline. If I were straight, I wouldn’t have gone through all those struggles, pain, denial, that I went through while Sally’s biggest concern was if Tommy was going to kiss her after the school dance.  I wouldn’t have had thoughts about life, death, do I deserve life, would my family prefer a dead Caitlin over a gay Caitlin, at 10-14-17-21-24-26-27.

“I wish I was straight.”

 

Trust me, I think I turned out to be a pretty ok lady. I think I have a lot to offer the world. I like who I am… most days… admittedly though, sometimes I wish I continued the lie… continued to be straight… continued to be who I was… it was easier… freeing as this new life before is, my old life was just… easier

“I was I was straight.”

 

 

Note: This post parallels something I wrote when I first came out that I’ve only ever allowed 2 people to read.  This is a much, much, MUCH lighter version of my thoughts from when I first came out.  I am happy to be out and I love who I am, but sometimes we all fall into that dark place. 

 

Why?

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Hey everybody (or nobody), the names Caitlin and I’m here to discuss, vent, and overthink a variety of topics.  Let’s start with the basics.  Why now? Why am I starting to get into blogging now?

First of all, I’m hoping this is going to become a blog where people share or interact with my content, but realistically, I’m aware that this may just end up becoming a public journal consisting of the nonconventional thoughts of a possible sociopath. I’m taking a small chance here, while understanding that some people may just read what I write, scrutinize or mock my thoughts, kind of like a Live Journal. Anyone remember Live Journal? Live Journal was fuckin’ lit! But we digress…

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Blogging is something I’ve always enjoyed.  And I’m definitely not talking about my Tumblr days where I’d waste time reblogging pictures, gifs, or funny videos. I mean “real” blogging where people share thoughts or ideas, giving others the opportunity to interact with or cyberbully them. Also, I figure, why not take a chance? I can be a 27 year old, gay, mail lady taking a chance on writing a successful blog, or I could be a 30 year old, gay, mail lady who spent 3 more years locking in my thoughts, feelings, and emotions causing mental turmoil and irrepricable damage to my psyche.

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I remember watching a video once where someone on Taylor Swift’s “team” was discussing how talented she was. The interviewer asked something like, “What do you say to people who say she can’t sing?” And the interviewee responded with, “Her talent goes beyond singing. Who can just sit down and write a song because the feel like writing a song?”

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Now, I’m not saying I’m Taylor Swift, but I’d happily accept her paycheck.  However, I really believe we all have something to say. Thoughts come in and out of our minds constantly.  Our brains are always moving, yet, most of the time we don’t sit back and reflect on what’s happening inside our heads or we hide our opinions behind what we’re “supposed to think.”

Personally, I have thoughts, quotes, phrases, “what’s that from?”‘s running through my head more rapidly than than a heart monitor attached to a shot gun wound victims chest. Working alone for most of the day will do that to you. And then I’ll think about it, overthink it, forget about it, then think of it again. An endless cycle.  It’s not always bad though. It gives me time to reflect on my thoughts or statements on whatever audiobook, podcast, or song I’m listening to at the moment.  I love to text my cousin or call my friends to hear their take or have a discussion on what I’d just heard or thought of. Take feedback, learn, grow.  That’s how we become better people.

I’m taking back my voice and seeing what others have to say (or not say).  Maybe I’ll get something great out of this or maybe no one will even see it. Who fucking knows…

“But blogging is becoming a thing of the past Caitlin, why not try vlogging or something in that metric?” (no one has said this, but I assume it is a possible question).

My answer is simple. My man, Richie Crocco didn’t talk about my vlogging skills for years to come at good ‘ol Kolbe fucking Cathedral.  He talked and used my writing to show the youngins how shit was supposed to be done.  My college essay was a work of freakin’ art.

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Also, expressing your feelings and thoughts is a truly healthy form of clearing your mental state.  Not everyone has the ability to write a poem, paint a picture, or sing a song, but we all have the ability to form sentences and try to construct them into paragraphs only to bear your soul to strangers. Words are just so expressive and to limit them is absurd. We should use as many words as possible. Learn them, study them, and fucking use them!

Writing is also a form of venting. A release. It assists in the positive progress of mental health! I personally have had my run ins with mental health and didn’t always seek out the healthiest of ways to go about it. I’m working on it… Life’s a journey bruh, not a destination.  Every single thing in your life takes effort, consciously and subconsciously, so I’m just gonna take it for the ride.

And in the mean time, just gonna try to be the best possible version of me I can be.

 

So sit back, pull out the reading glasses, tip back your evening brandy, and enjoy.

 

Final Note: Mama wouldn’t hate if this turned into a side hustle, attempting to retire by 55 nah mean? You can hit me up on Venmo, or nahhhh.