gaggable3210-blog - Tumblr blog

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I wrote this in the hospital after trying to kill myself . Great hospital, amazing chocolate pudding. 10/10 😎

#quote #space #aesthetic#mentalhealth #inspo #gay #gayboy #lgbtq

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I wrote this while sitting upside down.

#gay #quote #textpost #inspo #insparation #lgbtq #queen

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#gay #mentalhealth #depression #gif

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I was in self denial about my sexuality for a WHILE.

But one fateful day at fourteen years old changed all that.

One day I was watching Friends and out of nowhere Matt Leblanc too his shirt off and flexed. And almost immediately I got a rock hard boner. I had been told that boys get random boners during puberty so I was trying to convince myself that it was just hormones. But after 10 minutes of panicking in the bathroom with it, not being able to get sweet dreamy Joey out of my mind, I had to face a hard truth.

Matt Leblanc was hot.

And I was attracted to him and his undefined abs.

I wanted Matt to punch me in the face and stick his fingers in my cheesecake.

I liked boys and there was no way to deny it.

Matt Leblanc had pushed my sexual orientation through the soil of prepubescent turmoil and exposed it to the sun of self acceptance and sexuality.

So thank you Matt Leblanc, thank you very much.

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2017 was NOT my year, December especially was not a happy month.

Towards the end of November, I reported my mom for physical and emotional abuse. She was always hitting me and calling me names, the day she stabbed me was the very last day I let her abuse me. After that horrible experience, I told my school counselor what was happening and she contacted Child Services.

Sufficient evidence was found to place me with my aunt with a protective order against my mom, stating she was not allowed to see me without a social worker present.

From the very first day, I stayed at my aunt's trailer my mom harassed me and violated the order. Every day for weeks she would bang on the sliding doors and bang on the trailer walls in a pathetic attempt to scare me. It didn’t work and I did not give in to her violence, ignoring her every day.

Stress and anxiety were consuming me and my aunt could tell. She had been offered a house sitting job for the entire week of Christmas. Worried that I would have a meltdown she begged me to go with her and promised my mother would not be able to get in the house.

We arrived at the house and us kids had a blast and I really got along with my cousins. I hadn’t bought enough clothes for the whole week so my aunt decided to take me back to the trailer to pick up some clothes.

Arriving at the trailer nothing was wrong. Quickly I grabbed some clothes and began to help my aunt collect some extra food for us to eat at the house.

Out of nowhere, my aunt yelled at me to get in the closet and hide.

My mom had just pulled up outside and wanting to avoid drama my aunt wanted to hide me.

Like a fly around lemonade on a hot day, my mom fumbled around the house arguing, pestering my aunt to tell me anything I said about her.

Truthfully my aunt said nothing to her about me because I never talked about my mom unless I had to. From the closet I could hear my mom asking for my phone, proclaiming that she bought it and wants it back immediately.

I had broken my phone’s charger port so I had to buy a fancy wireless charger, which is why I, unfortunately, left it in the living room.

Looking around, my mom immediately grabbed it and with my aunt protesting, walked out of the trailer and drove off.

I really wasn’t panicking because I had a password so anything private on the phone was safe from her.

Christmas Eve, I was taking a bath when I heard my aunt arguing and yelling into her phone. I couldn’t quick hear everything she was saying but I could make out some words. She was yelling about how awful and cruel my mom was being and to “leave the boy alone.”

Confused to what was happening I got out of the bath and put my ear to the door. Apparently, my mother somehow opened my phone. Later on, I found out my sister had given my mom my password(I had let her get on her Instagram a while back) and that’s how she managed it.

Instantly I was terrified as I had very personal things on that phone. One of those being evidence of my bisexuality.

Basically, I had gay porn.

Lots and lots of Porn generally, but specifically gay porn.

Fueled by delusions and vengeance my mother decided that Christmas Eve was a great time to out me to the entire family.

She screenshotted the pornographic images and texted them to the whole family.

My aunt tried for hours to get me out of the bathroom but I couldn’t budge. The secret I had been hiding and suppressing my entire life was out. And I couldn’t face the consequences of it.

When I was younger I was sexually abused by multiple adults and my cousin, so I was tortured by my attraction to boys for years. Those feelings of dread followed for years and I had always felt filthy for having attractions towards boys.

So being outed was my worst nightmare.

In the bathroom, I found a razor in the bottom drawer. I wasn’t new to cutting but I hadn’t done it for a while, but I felt so filthy, so bad that I was desperate for the “cleansing” pain that it brought.

And after slinking back into the bath, I spent my Christmas Eve cutting myself and crying.

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The day my dad got deported I was shaken awake by my older brother two hours before school started.

Sunlight hadn’t even slithered through my bedroom before I was dragged into a car and driven to the seaside restaurant my dad worked at. I remember everything from that day but most details from it are a waste of letters because it was all too much to handle then and still too much to handle even now. We drove from the restaurant to the nearest immigration detention center and I hysterically cried all the way there. Almost immediately after we arrived my family was seated in a dingy and poorly lit waiting room. We waited for hours and during that time I couldn’t stop crying, my brother told me to shut up but I couldn’t and I wallowed in anxiety till we were called. From the waiting room, we were led into a small room with chairs and glass separating the visitors from the detainees. My dad knew I loved watching murder and crime documentaries and so he did something to brighten my spirits. He held his hand up to the glass and told me to put mine up to meet his. It was a scene that a lot of the tv shows I watched had and I couldn’t believe we were doing it.

Conversations between us and him only lasted about an hour and then he was ushered into another room. Us siblings walked back to the car while my mother got more information about what was happening and how and if he could ever come back.

I cried all night and into the early morning when I got home, but my perspective changed when I awoke the next day. I slumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty, it was almost always empty. All that was in it was old milk and a giant bag of almonds. Food was always a problem for us because we almost never had enough for it and other necessities like electricity or water.

Money was always lacking in our family because my father was always wasting it on garbage and hiding checks he got from work and spending it.

No matter matter how kind my father was he was a alcoholic and a pathological liar through and through. He was manipulative and irresponsible, always putting the needs of his vices before that of his family. In his younger years he lost his potential for citizenship due to drug charges, and in his later years he lost countless jobs. Always missing work and being drunk he could never hold a job down for more than a few months.

Examples like my dad are abundant in many families but in mine it was literally starving us. Being deported was a known risk for my dad, he had been twice before (the latest right before I was born) and he came back each time illegally. His ignorance played its role and he ended up right where he was twice before.

After my dad left life slowly got better for my family. My mom was able to get a more stable job now that my dad wasn’t going missing for weeks at a time and my brother got a job as a security guard, bringing more money to the table.

Life as I had known it was changing for the better and it took me a while to adjust, but I quickly got there.

The family was slowly putting itself back together and healing wounds we didn’t even know we had till my dad left. It was our own personal Renaissance of recovery and we had never been more stable.

I have never cried for my dad since that day he was deported and I never will. The abuse he was dealing to me was so obvious once he left I could bring myself to feel sorry for him again. I was finally a few more steps closer to having a functional family and I loved it.

I don’t believe in fate but I do believe in coincidence, and my father being deported was one of the best coincidences to ever happen to me.

[gaggable3210-blog]

The day my dad got deported I was shaken awake by my older brother two hours before school started.

Sunlight hadn’t even slithered through my bedroom before I was dragged into a car and driven to the seaside restaurant my dad worked at. I remember everything from that day but most details from it are a waste of letters because it was all too much to handle then and still too much to handle even now. We drove from the restaurant to the nearest immigration detention center and I hysterically cried all the way there. Almost immediately after we arrived my family was seated in a dingy and poorly lit waiting room. We waited for hours and during that time I couldn’t stop crying, my brother told me to shut up but I couldn’t and I wallowed in anxiety till we were called. From the waiting room, we were led into a small room with chairs and glass separating the visitors from the detainees. My dad knew I loved watching murder and crime documentaries and so he did something to brighten my spirits. He held his hand up to the glass and told me to put mine up to meet his. It was a scene that a lot of the tv shows I watched had and I couldn’t believe we were doing it.

Conversations between us and him only lasted about an hour and then he was ushered into another room. Us siblings walked back to the car while my mother got more information about what was happening and how and if he could ever come back.

I cried all night and into the early morning when I got home, but my perspective changed when I awoke the next day. I slumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty, it was almost always empty. All that was in it was old milk and a giant bag of almonds. Food was always a problem for us because we almost never had enough for it and other necessities like electricity or water.

Money was always lacking in our family because my father was always wasting it on garbage and hiding checks he got from work and spending it.

No matter matter how kind my father was he was a alcoholic and a pathological liar through and through. He was manipulative and irresponsible, always putting the needs of his vices before that of his family. In his younger years he lost his potential for citizenship due to drug charges, and in his later years he lost countless jobs. Always missing work and being drunk he could never hold a job down for more than a few months.

Examples like my dad are abundant in many families but in mine it was literally starving us. Being deported was a known risk for my dad, he had been twice before (the latest right before I was born) and he came back each time illegally. His ignorance played its role and he ended up right where he was twice before.

After my dad left life slowly got better for my family. My mom was able to get a more stable job now that my dad wasn’t going missing for weeks at a time and my brother got a job as a security guard, bringing more money to the table.

Life as I had known it was changing for the better and it took me a while to adjust, but I quickly got there.

The family was slowly putting itself back together and healing wounds we didn’t even know we had till my dad left. It was our own personal Renaissance of recovery and we had never been more stable.

I have never cried for my dad since that day he was deported and I never will. The abuse he was dealing to me was so obvious once he left I could bring myself to feel sorry for him again. I was finally a few more steps closer to having a functional family and I loved it.

I don’t believe in fate but I do believe in coincidence, and my father being deported was one of the best coincidences to ever happen to me.