"You should have killed yourself, queer."

When I was 7 years old, I had asked my mom if I was queer. Of course I don't remember asking this, but she told me about it when I was 16, the night I came out to my parents. She had asked me where I had heard this, shock and fear in her voice.
"The kids in the school yard," I said
"Do you know what queer means?" she asked.
"Not really, I just like playing with the girls at recess," I responded.

When a caterpillar has reached it's full growth potential it creates a cocoon known as the pupa where inside it begins the transformation to a butterfly. One of the most beautiful and delicate creatures I believe to be on this earth. It was as if I was doing the opposite. I was this beautiful soul inching my way deeper and deeper inside myself, growing scared and hating the world and myself. I hated the world for not allowing me to just be myself and I hated myself for caring what the world would think of me.

When I was 12, I began to start fully realizing that my affection for other boys was much greater than it well should have been, but who was I to turn to with questions? My older brother? He'd probably call me a freak and tell my parents there was something wrong with me. My only male friend, Eddie? That would probably lead to me having no male friends. I went to Catholic school...could I turn to a priest? Ha! We used to have a priest come and talk to us in class and he would allow us to ask him anoymous questions by writing them down on a piece of paper and putting them in a hat. One question someone had asked was if masterbation was a sin and he replied, yes. Well that just made me want to jerk off more. At the time I had a thing for Gavin Rossdale from the band Bush. I thought he was so hot. I would pull it every night listening to Glycerine....fact is I had no one to go to but the TV and the only guy I knew on television that was a homosexual was Pedro Zamora from MTV's the Real World and well he passed away from the AIDS virus. So at 12, being young and naive, I assumed that if I was a homosexual I too would end up with the AIDS virus. It was that point on that I decided I just couldn't be gay. I'd do whatever it took to shut out any feelings I had towards other boys. This was reinforced by a male school teacher I had in 7th grade who asked us if we would ever eat food cooked from someone with the HIV virus. I remember it like it was yesterday. In what context this had come up I do not know...health class? I can't remember. I do remember him telling us he wouldn't and I thinking that was absurd, but I was a gay 13 year old with no guts to stick up for what I knew to be right. This may be why I am so opinionated now.

To say I was a scared and lonely child is an understatement. One of my favorite movies as a kid was an American Tail. I used to sing "Somewhere Out There" out my 8th story apartment building window in NY and envision another boy my age going through the pain I was. We would find eachother some day and live happily ever after. My God wow I lived in a fantasy world!

In 8th grade, I thought, "Ok Craig you survived the name calling and the every so often push and shove..not such a big deal. No one ever really followed you home to "fuck you up" even though they threatened too." "The next 4 years in an all boys Catholic HS...that is gonna suck."...and did it ever.

The first day of my freshman year..it poured. It was a gray and dismal day, almost as if the weather felt my angst. I walked to my locker soaking wet attempting to not draw attention, which was an epic fail when I slipped falling flat on my back spilling books, pencils, and pens just about everywhere. Nice going! I ignored the laughter at that moment, but I wouldn't be able to ignore the events that happened for the next four years of my life.

I used to sit at the front of the public bus I would take home from school with my discman on full blast trying to drown out the guys calling me names from the back. Sarah Mclachlan's Solace was my album of choice. I grew to love the song "Into the Fire." Into the fire/I'm reunited/Into the fire/I am the spark/Into the night/I yearn for comfort. This was an everyday occurence. I dreaded the bus. I hated even more that it was a public bus because random people who sat on that bus every day and would just listen to this scared shy boy being picked on and no one ever came to my aid. The one time I attempted to sit in the back I won't forget...

There was one empty seat in the back and this guy Jaoquin had his feet on it. I looked at him and he ignored me. He was lounged out reading a magazine. "Can I sit down," I asked. My heart couldn't have been beating any faster. "I don't want a faggot sitting next to me," he said. I had for the past 10 years put up with the name calling, the shoving, being spit on, gum in my hair, vandalized lockers, stolen belongings...I finally saw red and all of my fear turned to rage. I smacked that magazine from his hands and the moments after were all a blur. I had my first all out fist fight and although I was scared shitless I had found a new sense of pride in myself. As the rumours around school grew regarding our fight so did the rumours of me being jumped by a group of guys one day soon after.

I stood in my bathroom with a sharp kitchen knife curious to feel the knife cutting away at my flesh. How much would it hurt? Maybe it would be quick. I had placed the knife to my arm and made a small incision. OUCH! HOLY FUCK! What the hell am I doing! I wasn't sure if I was afraid of dying or just a sissy to the pain. I wanted too much out of life and I had survived 10 years of this crap, what were two more years? That was of course hoping College would be much different. I wanted to be loved by someone, I wanted to have sex, I wanted to get married, I needed to take care of my mom who had Multiple Sclerosis...my dad had left my mom for her best friend and my brother was away in Boston. Who would care for her? I wanted to be whoever the fuck I was supposed to be, I wanted to be ALIVE. I had taken that knife to school the next day just in case the rumours were true. I needed to defend myself.

It was homeroom and this guy Joe, another guy who found pleasure in my misery, was throwing spit balls at me and whispering the word faggot just loud enough for others to hear but quiet enough for our teacher to not. I turned around and told him to shut the fuck up. Well that our teacher did hear. Her name was Ms. Vaz. She was probably the age I am now and who I felt I could confide in, because she seemed pretty cool and she wasn't a religous affiliate. She was pretty and strict, but sweet and endearing at the same time. She pulled me aside before I tried to run to my first class...."What's going on?," she asked with sincere eyes. It was the first time anyone had asked me if something was wrong. I looked at her..my eyes swelling up and just said I was tired and really just wanted to end it all. She told me to head to my first period and by my second class I was called to the Dean of Students office. He had my backpack and my knife. "OH MY GOD...This is it," I thought. I just broke down sobbing uncontrollably. My parents were called in and I was forced to explain it all to them. Why had I brought a knife to school? Did I want to end my life? What was this all about? Am I gay? I luckily wasn't expelled due to my being a good kid with a clean school record. I was forced to see a psychologist that day and be evaluated before going back to school though.

I don't remember the ride to the hospital but I do vaguely remember being asked to spell earth backwards by some psych intern or something. What the fuck would have happened if I couldn't?! I was scared to death sitting there with my parents, tears in their eyes, as they watched their youngest son being checked out for clinical depression. To no one's suprise it was determined that I was fit to go back to school and so I did. Now everyone knew...not that I was gay, but that I COULD be. But I still swore to everyone I wasn't. Oddly enough I think that maybe had I just come out in school I wouldn't have been bullied anymore. It's as if they were trying to push me to my breaking point, but I would not bend. I just wanted to make it through High School so I could breakaway from this god awful prison that was my life and be free. I did come out shortly after that to my parents and friends, but remained a secret to others.

In gym class I had found out it was rumoured I had slit my wrists in the men's bathroom and was escorted out of school, put in an ambulance and sent to the hospital. The sick part is I thought well good maybe now people would feel sorry for me. Maybe even leave me alone. Nope. A classmate of mine, Frank, said in gym class "You should have killed yourself, queer."