Category Archives: Hospital
“Eventually, you’ll move along, leaving me to live my life with an empty space.” I wrote these lyrics in 2008. I was gay, and had one foot in the closet – that means I’d only told one person out loud. I thought I was being so obvious at times, how could anyone not know, least of all you. I guess I was just so wrapped up in my own insecurities that I didn’t stop and take stock of the situation, and calmly tell you everything. Now, when I finally am – and finally sharing everything with the world, none of it matters.
I left school in 2004, a few weeks after I’d turned 18. I remember having a huge argument with a classmate once – couldn’t tell you how it started, or what it was truly about, but I vividly remember yelling at her that she didn’t understand – this was it for me. I wasn’t taking A Levels to get a qualification that looked good on my CV and helped me in the real world, I was taking them because school, at that point, was all I knew. “This is all I’ll ever have.” I shouted. This was the closest to a normal life that I would ever have. I walked out of the classroom to take some deep breaths outside in the fresh air to calm myself down. I’m allergic to sunlight, so that shows you how emotional I was – that I would go outside during the middle of the afternoon just to stand and breathe. I later cried in the arms of a friend. Crying because I couldn’t say the words that explained what I was going through. It had never dawned on me until that moment that it would all be over soon. Life was changing, and I didn’t know my place in the world. I was lost.
And then, I found him – my online friend. One solitary being who was so attuned to my every thought and inner feeling that, before I knew it, I’d fallen hard. I was so blind in love that I didn’t even see it until it was too late. It scared me. He was completely unattainable. Lived in a different city, born in a different decade. I had zero confidence and self assurance, but he changed me. I knew if I ever dared to dream of a moment with him, I needed to change all of that and learn how to live in the real world. A normal life, independent and capable. Before I could ever say those three words to him, I needed to first say those other three words to someone else…
25th April 2007
He said something really reassuring to me; it’s not the fact I came out that’s a big deal (hold on, we’ll get to that), but it’s the fact I managed to see my way through the, as I called it, cloudiness and realise I’m gay considerable quick.
It all started on Friday – well, it didn’t all start on Friday, but that’s when this chapter started. Me and him had, what we refer to as, “The Big Talk” last year and ever since then I’ve felt that if I were to come out to anyone it would be him.
When he visited me at hospital on Friday, I started what I’ll refer to now as “Coming Out” (clever, huh). As you’ve read, I’ve wanted to tell him since last year, and the fact that only four months later I’m now out to him shows just how accepting of myself I’ve become. So, when I saw him on Friday, I told him how I’d reconnected with my old friends from 6th Form. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when they visited. A big part of me felt that I hadn’t seen them for so long, I wasn’t even sure if we’d still click like we used to. Well, we did, but something had definitely changed – it was me. I didn’t tell them, but I certainly didn’t hide anything. When me and “J” were exchanging witty banter (like the mature twentysomethings we are), she said that the male TV presenter was more my type than hers, and I agreed. Even something like that would have been unimaginable a few months ago.
So, when I started coming out on Friday, I side-stepped telling him and decided to focus only on the friends issue. Once I’d got as far as I could without fringing upon the no-going-back territory, I told him I was coming in for three consecutive days next week and would really like a game of Scrabble and a talk during this time. He came over on Tuesday and we picked up our game of Scrabble from a few months ago. All throughout, it was on my mind. Towards the end I noticed he would have to go soon. I hadn’t even begun to hint at what I really wanted to talk to him about. I told him I couldn’t decide if we should continue playing Scrabble or have a talk instead. He told me we should talk.
I hesitated, and backed out, but earlier that day I had written a song/poem about some of my feelings. I gave it to him and told him, if he read it, it would give me an incentive to talk on Wednesday. I regretted not telling him, but to be honest, I just didn’t feel like there was enough time or privacy.
Wednesday morning came around and I woke up with a feeling that today was the day I was finally going to come out – if only the world would have realised that too, maybe I could have done it a little earlier.
I almost didn’t. I mean, technically I shouldn’t have. I was put in a shared room for my treatment and when I finally got the room to myself, I used the last of my battery power to send him a text which said “raincheck” – only he didn’t read it, and I didn’t phone my stepdad to come pick me up early. He came over and that was that – I was about to come out to him.
I started tidying up, fluffing pillows, my heartbeat got very fast! Luckily, as I’d planned, my song/poem was a good starting point. When he asked what I was trying to say communicate in the song/poem, I slowly began, “I…”
I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. I couldn’t hear anything; I couldn’t see anything; I couldn’t say anything. I began to flash through all the recent events in my life, summing everything up into this one defining moment. After what felt to me like 6 minutes, I pulled my hands apart, opened my eyes and finished the sentence, “…am Gay.”
And that is how I came out. We talked – boy, did we talk! My throat was so dry by the end of it. But once, as I called it, pulled out the stopper, everything came gushing out. And he, as I knew he would, was perfect. He couldn’t have been more perfect. Everything that I had never dared speak before suddenly came passing through my lips and out into the world for everyone to see. So what only one person saw, that doesn’t mean only one person ever will. It’s going to be long, and it’s going to be very hard, but it’s also going to be very interesting. He asked me if I’m happy and I told him I was… because that’s the truth.
There’s a boy I knew, he’s the one I dreamed of.
Sound familiar? I mean, it happens to all of us! It’s only now looking back, I can see there were a catalyst of personal issues and events that lead me to feel this way about a boy. He wasn’t The One, he was just what my brain needed to survive at that moment in time. To keep on being able to tell myself that I had a reason and a purpose, because everything in my life was telling me otherwise.
I had been stuck in hospital-limbo for nearly three years – transitioning from paediatrics to, basically, the place where no one gives a shit. I had my transfusions in a dark room on my own where I would sit and be left to amuse myself for 6+ hours. If it wasn’t for my dad getting a job there, I may not have had meaningful human interactions at all. I’m making it sounds worse than it is, but honestly, when I finally ended my transition and found a competent doctor and was allowed to carry out my treatment on a special unit, that’s when I realised what I dark place I had been in.
During this time, I only had one person I could really turn to, but I couldn’t even tell him about the way I felt, so I wrote it down in a diary that I kept password protected. Here’s an entry I wrote on this very day, 8 years ago:
28th February 2009
Why is it that being gay is so not gay? It’s not that I envy the alternative or feel like I’m missing out on something by living with myself as I am. But I don’t get why homosexuality got given this pet name that means full of light-heartedness and merriment. I kinda see why the “nu-generation” did a complete three-sixty on that definition. In my books, it makes a lot of sense.
Gay is another synonym for shit.
They don’t have the same rights, they get treated differently, they have to actually come out and declare their sexuality and, I have very little reference from the other side, but getting a date is fucking hard!
That’s weird… I just realised I didn’t identify myself with them until the last part. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been treated differently because of my sexuality. It’s a little hard to be treated differently for something you don’t publicly identify yourself as! But I can draw reference from my disability. As for rights… I’m not passionate about politics. The world confuses me enough without bringing the Government into it. But maybe the real reason I didn’t identify with those first two points is because I have no jumping-off point for them and won’t do until… if… *slits throat* I have a “gay experience”.
I’ve never had one! Who the fuck would I have one with? My closet’s so confined I feel like I’m in a Japanese subway train, except instead of people there’s issues… sooooo many fucking issues.
I only want him. It’s true. The problem is I’m never going to have him. He’s there, I’m here – end of. And if… IF he ever, by the grace of God, actually ever makes it over here I know EXACTLY what will happen… just because I’ve swapped teams from my childhood, I can bet you it does not change any of the same old tired excuses.
I was being far too mellow-dramatic in my last post. I can survive without him. I have this weird feeling in some aspects I might even survive better. I wouldn’t have this nagging urge to stay home and socialise on my computer… but it’s not a nag. It’s a gift. I can turn to him whenever I want and he’s there. I have a better relationship with him than I do with my own family. In fact, I’m quite hostile to my family a lot of the times. It’s not their fault, it’s mine. I’m the one with the problem; I just can’t deal with it.
Why is being gay… so gay?
I remember being alone in that dark room having my hospital treatment, listening to music on my iPhone. A song came on shuffle: Nicest Thing, by Kate Nash. It’s not an especially sad song, or even a very good song – but at that moment, it was exactly what my brain needed. I needed to let out my feelings, to cry. So I thought of my nicest thing, and it made me cry.
I can only write in coffeeshops now – at least, when I’m not in hospital. So, here I am in Laynes Espresso, typing on my Bluetooth keyboard getting a blog post ready for you to read for what feels like the first time ever. I have this A3 sheet of paper in front of me that’s divided into four quadrants. It’s called an Eisenhower Matrix. My friend Sam convinced me to do one. I’ll be sticking it on my wall when I get home. I’ve been afraid to call Sam my friend. I’ve been afraid to call anyone my friend lately. I don’t feel worthy enough to have proper friends. My life is so abnormal, I’ve just accepted people flit in and out with no warning, so why even bother getting attached and calling them friends? Take my writer’s group. I’ve been seeing some of these people for over a year, but I daren’t consider any of them my friends. This is sounding a bit depressing, but I’m telling myself I’m not depressed. I don’t cry, I don’t feel sad. I’ve had a great eight months (why, what happened in August that wasn’t great? I liked a boy that didn’t like me back). It culminated in my first admission into hospital since 2011-ish. I had a temperature and constant, excruciating pain in my Spleen. Don’t know where your Spleen is? Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. Mine’s still there, still enlarged, but feeling relatively back to normal. I’ve little to no explaination as to what happened, whether or not it was linked to my illness (Porphyria, if for some reason you didn’t already know). The most we (parents, doctors) can assess is that it was a Splenetic Infarction. Insert boring medical definition here! I only ended up having treatment for four days, and was discharged last Wednesday. Since then, I’ve sort of felt lost, when left back in the capable hands of myself. What do I do now? Summer is coming up – a potentially difficult period. And I’m turning thirty. It feels disgusting just saying it. Thur-tee. #DirtyThirties. The past ten years, I’ve been keeping a private diary that used to hold my inner-most protected thoughts and feelings. Now I’m looking back on it, thinking how useless it was. I should have been sharing it all with you – which is what I’m going to try and do, starting now.
Me, aged nine, sitting on Father Christmas’s lap at Primary school. I think this was the Christmas Bonanza that lead to the inspiration for one of my earliest pieces of creative writing, Bad Luck. If you can make it out in the photo, I won a green plastic ring with a red Santa on it, and I became convinced it was cursed. In 1996, I was admitted to hospital with suspected meningitis. I wrote all about it, gave it a fictional twist, and called it “Bad Luck”. I ended up writing five more stories, all involving Tony AKA Me! In celebration of the thirteenth episode of the podcast, recorded on Friday the 13th, I am sharing with you the first three stories, fresh from the recesses of tomsbrain (they’ll be twenty-years-old, this year). Listen now…