I’ve known I was gay since I was young. In elementary school I mentioned a crush on a close friend and my very catholic grandmother told me it was just a phase that little girl’s go through, that I would "get over it." So I spent the majority of my childhood attempting to deny my feelings for every cute girl I saw. I dove headfirst into about 20 straight relationships–the longest of which lasted just over a year, the shortest 5 days. In every one of these I knew something was missing (or maybe it was that there was something there that shouldn’t be).
When I made a MySpace my freshman year of high school, I would secretly add lesbians and flirt with them all day long, then go out for dinner with my boyfriend. After a horrific break-up with the person I am proud to say was my last boyfriend, I decided to actually meet one of these MySpace girls. Her name was Kaila, my red-headed water-polo-playing Spice-Girl-singing absolutely-gorgeous Kaila. A week of our secret love went by when I decided it was time to introduce her to my mom.
At this point I am 19, I have known I was gay for about 15 years and have been keeping a secret of it for just as long. My stomach was in knots as I started to explain to my mom. "Mom, this is my friend Kaila. We’re going out on a date tonight." Annoying dramatic pause. "She’s my girlfriend." I was pretty sure I was going to faint. Then she just smiled and told us to have fun. When I asked her about her reaction a few months later her exact words were: "Honey, I knew you were gay before you could walk." Thanks Mom!
