#DISCLAIMER i know shit about moby dick so no one tell me if he actually dies thank u dkskskks

[bcstired]

"I am quick to perceive a horror" rip ishmael you would have done numbers on tumblr

[time-fury]

Why I did Movember - My Shame

When someone says they have an interest in something, I firmly believe that means the subject has in some way affected that person. For example, if someone were so say they had an interest in feminist studies, the chances are that person has in someway been affected by the patriarchy we find ourselves living in. So when, at the start of this month, I said I would be growing facial hair to raise awareness of the failing mental health of young gay men, my motives were not entirely altruistic. Nor is it simply down to the fact that I am myself a young gay man. I feel the need to preface this with a disclaimer that this is entirely built around my own personal experience, and that nothing I describe here has been in any way verified by an actual medical professional. So if you read anything that causes offence, I did not intend it so. It’s essentially public knowledge now that gay people are actually pretty accepted, and on the whole we know this as well, but there is still a lot that we don’t speak about that, even in todays quite open society. So while yes, gay men have full and unlimited equal rights in law, that doesn’t necessarily make us equal citizens. I came to this realisation on my first walk for Movember. As I walked around the grounds of Llandaff Cathedral, I found myself thinking about my life growing up as a devout Catholic and gay boy/teenager. This was a rabbit hole of thought that led me to come to the conclusion that while gay men have full legal equality, gay boys (especially religious ones) are second-rate citizens. Gay men can get married, whereas gay boys are rarely taught beyond heterosexual nuptials. Gay men can go for regular HIV check-ups, whereas gay boys are barely educated on what HIV is. Gay men can fall in love, but gay boys are almost never taught about even the potential of not dating a woman. Sex is still for man and wife, with the sole purpose of procreation, and anything outside of this is fraught with risks. Gay sex automatically means a higher risk of contracting a deadly disease, and anyone who is gay is signing themselves up for a life apart from everyone around them. Things are getting better, but better doesn’t mean best. So long as this isn’t the best it can be, gay boys will suffer. While the current climate is not overtly homophobic, its institutions are dragging its heels and continuing to force a deeply rooted shame on gay boys that they may never get over. The isolation this system imposes is certainly something that has affected me deeply. As the month went on I looked back over the parts of my life that I can remember, and I found myself noticing just how much I have changed as a result of these factors. I’ll admit I was never the chattiest child, preferring the solitary company of a book or a CBBC drama to playing football with the boys. But I was (despite my eyesight issues) an excellent observer. I saw boys and girls giggling to the side of the playground, kissing each other on the cheek under the stairs in secret, or behind the wall of the older years playground. So, while not understanding what all the fuss was about, I played along. Whatever girl I was closest to was branded a “crush”, which I assumed it must be. This seems to be a common trend, gay boys pretending to like girls until they come out, freed from those lies, but it’s actually incredibly damaging. With myself, I found that I questioned every close relationship with a girl. I would interrogate myself about how I felt, why it wasn’t right, why I wasn’t right, and why I kept looking at that boy over there instead. Every platonic friendship becomes a quest to force a crush, and every crush becomes a quest to force platonic friendship. And if young people don’t allow themselves to feel what they want to feel, it’s going to be difficult, if not impossible, to shake that when they are fully-grown. Every time they fall in love it’s tainted by the deeply rooted shame surrounding their first love. If you want to look at why some gay men take such risks when having sex, that might be a good place to start looking. Another obvious place to look is in the education. While young gay boys are in the throes of puberty, juggling their schoolwork with their own sexual and emotional crisis, they have nowhere to turn for guidance. Now this is of course not the case in many schools these days, so this part is where my own personal experience takes over. It is difficult, sitting in a room of thirty people, being taught about sex, and feeling like the only one not learning anything. The boys are all sniggering about vaginas together, and the girls are grimacing at the idea of childbirth, and none of it really means anything to me. There was brief talk of condoms (Catholic school), and the pros and cons of safe sex. There was a talk on various STI’s and how they’re contracted (all with the Catholic “don’t do this” angle), and there was a lot on the process of pregnancy. The only thing I vividly remember was how my stomach turned when AIDS and HIV were mentioned, which of course meant the introduction of homosexuality to the module. It was blink and you miss it. Gay means AIDS, let’s move on. There was nothing on the mechanics of sex, and certainly no notion that whatever it was could occur in a loving relationship. So what’s a young gay boy to do? Of course, turn to the internet. An introduction to a topic defines someone’s interest. If you gave an infant a copy of Moby Dick, they’d never read again. If your first exposure to sex is two guys meeting in the woods to have casual, unprotected sex, I think you can see how that would define your approach to sex. It’s dirty, it’s sleazy, it’s dangerous, and you put your penis where?! If you want to know how bad sexual education is for young gay people, I’ll tell you this: I didn’t know what lube was or how to use it until the age of eighteen, I didn’t know how to put a condom on until the day before I had sex for the first time, and I didn’t realise there was a way of cleaning your systems out before sex until I was twenty. This lack of education could have led to some serious risks being taken without me even knowing they were risks. My lack of knowledge may come as a surprise to some who once upon a time saw me as an expert, which brings me onto the next topic of how mental health in young gay men is fucked. For most, our limited knowledge has come from the internet, be that porn or Youtubes countless coming out videos, we have no real concept of the LGBT community, and we have been harbouring secret loves since the dawn of our memories. But then the doors to that closet open, the confetti guns go off, you step out into the light, and things just become a different kind of shit. Now, you’re an expert. You’re in the limelight, the gay best friend, and in my case for a couple of years, the only gay in the school. This is immense pressure for a newly out boy, as this is something deeply personal we have decided to share with the world. While the relief is immense, it does take some time to get used to. We aren’t afforded that luxury however, or at least I wasn’t, as the lack of education became glaringly obvious. I wrote a line in a play recently that said, “I had always known I liked boys in the way that other boys liked girls. But being gay? That’s different.” Up until this point, being gay was a petty playground insult, but now it had a face. And as the only gay face in the school, I was the only one to turn to when people had questions. The only problem being I went to the same school as them, so I was as in the dark as a lot of the people asking me. Sometimes I think I came out too soon, but that’s bollocks. I just came out before I realised what it meant. It triggered another personality crisis, as I began to struggle with the idea of living under this label. Another battle to fight alone, as now everyone expected me to be an LGBT expert. Thankfully I was never seriously bullied, but you can report bullies, you can’t report institutionalised abandonment. Something else you can’t report is a broken heart. I won’t talk too much about the first time I fell in love as I imagine it’s a story heard a thousand times before. Ask any gay man and he’ll probably have a story about the straight boy in high school. My own version of this tale is relatively passive, through years of supressing my feelings, before accepting them for what they were, and then still having to repress them as he’s straight. Balance that with those who know telling me to hold out hope, it was an emotional rollercoaster of a few years. It climaxed with a story I am still unable to verify. After six years of evolving feelings, he found out, and apparently showed a side that put me off him forever, as he became enraged by the idea of a boy being in love with him. I will say that on the matter. I was in love. For years of my life I was in love, but the environment I was in forced me to repress those feelings, ones that have thus far not resurfaced. This pressure, along with the conventional pressures of GCSE’s, puberty, and with other events out of my control, I ended up in student support therapy sessions. These sessions were essentially the result of a perfect storm that also involved a heavy dose of toxic masculinity, a broader topic I won’t discuss here. I ended up stopping these sessions after roughly two-to-three months, as I felt they were actually adding to my worries, not eliminating them. By the time I turned eighteen, I feel I’d been officially fucked. I was going to university, a hub of gayness, exams, independence, and sexual liberation, and I was in no way prepared. My exposure to the gay world had been tainted by my education, both sexual and religious, by the continued camp and/or depressing representation in film and TV, online porn, and Grindr. I was caught between two worlds, the heterosexual world I’d climbed my way out of, and the LGBT community that felt too far the other way. I had no home in the Church, and having one foot in the closet at home meant I didn’t really feel comfortable there either. Being eighteen seems a long time ago now. But the effects of my childhood are still affecting me today. The repression of my first love has meant that I find myself incapable of exposing myself to that feeling again. The secrets I have kept throughout my life have left me untrustworthy of anyone, including myself, and has tainted my personality beyond belief. I have become bitter and sarcastic in a desperate attempt to hide my actual personality, something I got a glimpse of for the first time back in February to June of this year. My lack of emotional stability has left me looking for the next best thing on an app that I hate, but have become reliant on for human contact however brief. I find emotions themselves incredibly exhausting, and increasingly the notion of getting out of bed in the morning is becoming an arduous task. My passion for writing is waning, and my personality is increasingly impulsive and addictive. I’m not blaming being gay on these issues, but it has certainly been a contributing factor. I only faced up to my issues at the end of university, forced to admit it by my lecturers. I am ashamed. I love men, but I am ashamed to be gay. But I think more importantly, I am lost. I am still that eighteen year old with nowhere to call home, caught between the world he knew and the world he’s yet to explore. So why did I do Movember? Why do I think the mental health of gay boys is worth the walks? Why is it close to my heart? It’s, selfishly, because of me. And while this post is long and rushed, it’s barely scratched the surface of the issues facing young gay boys. It’s sex, it’s relationships, it’s self-worth, it’s friends and family, it’s education, it’s politics, and most importantly, it’s incredibly personal. So long as I have this beard, I will fight for those gay boys, but first I ‘ve got to fight for this one.