National Coming Out Day and just simply coming out in general isn’t truly about being gay. Or trans, or queer, or bi, or anything related to sexuality or gender.
Coming out is choosing, despite the risks and pain and anxiety, to tell the world who you are, the ways you do not (and will never) meet social expectations, and accepting yourself.
Coming out is choosing life over depression. Reality over anxiety. Authenticity over faking it to fit in. That is what today is about. True courage. We all have different closets over our lifetimes, and by far some of the worst closets to live in are ones that LGBTQ+ people often find themselves in, but no matter the closets you find yourself in over your life you have the power and the choice to come out.
I really don’t want to downplay how important coming out is for LGBTQ+ people. How we have to do it all the time, every day, because we’re all assumed straight and cis until proven otherwise. How tragic and horrible so many of our coming outs are. How horrible mine was.
Today I am dealing with the rarely-spoken-of wounds from days. Coming out as having suffered from psychological abuse my entire childhood. Having been brainwashed by well-intentioned parents (raising me in an ultra conservative religion, that most of my extended and all of my immediate family are still apart of).
It’s really hard to find an LGBTQ+ person, in 2019, who doesn’t have some form of trauma or another. We barely are starting to get LGB stories in media, there are like an actual handful of trans actors that are getting roles in TV/movies now. We’re at the infancy of acceptance and acknowledgement of LGBTQ+ people existing, we aren’t ready to talk about the trauma yet. Earlier this week, on October 8th, the Supreme Court heard arguments in two cases on whether gay and transgender people are covered by federal discrimination laws. These are HUGE cases that will impact the next century of LGBTQ+ rights in the United States. Their decision will effect millions. After coming out, being LGBTQ+ is really, really hard.
I don’t hide it anymore. There is no value in that. I care about healing, and about helping others to heal – and that’s about it. I talk openly and honestly about my depression, anxiety and the Complex PTSD that is behind them. I haven’t been so good at talking about the psychological abuse behind them because I’m still working on understand it all. It’s weird having non-traditional abuse. While you find yourself with the same symptoms as “traditionally” abused people you also find yourself holding no explanation for the symptoms. It is easy to believe that you are just lazy, or a failure, or don’t measure up because that is what you’ve spent your life hearing.
Coming to terms with my mental health has been understanding why I check out from life sometimes. Why I close myself off, why simple socialization can be the most exhausting and overwhelming thing and why I have to close myself off emotionally during these experiences. Why I feel depressed and anxious for days after socializing. Why I can’t “keep up a house” the way I was raised to. It’s accepting that simply talking to my landlord can trigger a day long anxiety attack when I have nothing to be afraid of. It is restructuring my entire life so that when my C-PTSD flares up (for lack of a better term) I can focus on it, deal with it, and then come back to every day life.
Focusing on my mental health has mostly been stopping, and noticing. Paying attention when I feel something that I have learned is abnormal or extreme in the human experience. That’s what is really the hardest part – trying to separate out what I’ve experienced my entire life, what is “normal” to me, from what is “normal” to the average person, because there is HUGE gap there. That gap is C-PTSD and let me tell you, people do NOT understand it. Apparently in the recent Joker movie there is a line that says something like “The worst part about having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don’t”, unfortunately he doesn’t exactly seem to be doing much introspection here so I’m taking this line out of context, but out of context – I couldn’t identify more.
I was raised in a world where queer didn’t exist. Where trans didn’t exist. Where reality didn’t exist. Life was a black and white set of rules that you have to abide by. If you didn’t, it was your own fault. It was by your choice. Your failure. Your decision. And it was a choice of sin. A choice of hell.
When you are not a straight, cisgender M or F in a world that only has straight and cisgender M and F’s, you don’t even grow up knowing what its like to exist. You think everyone is just like you. Knowing you’re just another girl, that someday you’ll have to grow up and marry a man and be a wife and give birth to children, but you also think that everyone else is better at being a girl than you. Somehow they are better at being okay with it all. They’re better at conforming.
So you try harder. You make sure you’re well behaved. You get good grades, follow all the rules, don’t complain, and try harder. You just BE the person they tell you that you are, the only person you are allowed to be in that world. Because you were born with a vagina. You’re an F, not an M.
And you do not develop your sense of self. You do not develop your personality, a shred of identity, nothing. You do not exist. All that you are is the person they want/allow/tell you to be. You don’t know you can be anything else. That option has never been on your horizon.
You are on a stage, in character, 24/7. There are no wings. There is no backstage, and the entire world is watching.
The human brain is simply not built to withstand this kind of situation. The adult brain can’t handle it, so it is no wonder that a childhood of exclusively this leads straight to an adulthood of mental illness.
Complex PTSD, or C-PTSD, is different from PTSD because it isn’t tied to a one-time incident – a car crash, or a traumatic patrol during deployment. It’s born of repeated, inescapable childhood trauma. The child’s brain has to wire itself to protect the child (instead of developing normally), which means the adult brain ends up being different from the “average” adult brain. Not only that, but there is still the initial trauma that hasn’t been dealt with and the body’s memories of the trauma, leading to anxiety attacks triggered from seemingly non-threatening situations.
For me, instead of developing a sense of self, I lived in complete disassociation. I had no connection with my personality. With my sexuality. With my gender, with myself.
What developed instead of a sense of self was hyper-awareness. An enhanced ability to read people, to sense their emotions and personalities. What they approved, and more importantly – didn’t approve of. I could stay on their best side and make sure everyone around me loved me by becoming the person I had to for each of them. People pleasing to the extreme. At the peril of my mental health – but I wasn’t raised to believe in mental health anyway so that didn’t matter. And when I simply “couldn’t” do things because of my mental health there was shame and guilt that would cause me to simply spiral into deeper depression.
One of the hardest things so far has been simply accepting that I have C-PTSD, when I wasn’t raised believing in mental health or psychological trauma, at all. How could I have all the symptoms when I wasn’t repeatedly sexually abused, or physically beaten as a child? Because psychological really trauma exists and I lived through a childhood consisting purely of it.
Because my loving, well-intentioned, Bible-thumping Christian parents abused me. That is how.
They abused me.
I can’t even explain how hard it is for me to accept that. Or even simply believe it, even though I know full well I have C-PTSD. And where it came from.
Love can be toxic. Poisonous. Abusive. The best intentions can be dangerous and harmful. At the end of the day love and the best intentions that are rooted in ignorance have been the most damaging weapons I’ve faced and been hurt by.
This Coming Out Day post? This post is about the part of being LGBTQ+ that we don’t talk about. The part that many LGBTQ+ people haven’t faced yet. The part that I’ve only managed to dip my big toe into, so far. This is where I am today and what I’m working through right now. This is where my community will be, during and after the closet, for decades to come, and this is a place we NEED to talk about being in.