Hell yeah I’ve been pissed on. It was so hot!
Yer and loved every drip of his piss.mmm
Every time I nut.
Reblog if you like uncut and veiny
Hey guys! So, just to let you know from the start, this is a rant that I had in the back of my head for a while and I wanted to write it down to let out some steam. It would mean the world to me if…
Hey guys! So, just to let you know from the start, this is a rant that I had in the back of my head for a while and I wanted to write it down to let out some steam. It would mean the world to me if you took the time to read it. Warning: general complaining about life.
So…sexuality. It’s currently one of the biggest issues of this world. Everyone is debating whether or not it’s a choice or a matter of circumstance and surroundings or simply genetics.
*Coughs to draw attention*
Okay, let me tell you something. It’s not a choice.
Listen, I knew I was bisexual by the time I was thirteen. Which, okay, blew my mind. I later realised that I had a preference for guys, but I just kept going, thinking it was nothing.
It’s kind of strange when you think about it. The moment you acknowledge sexuality it changes your perspective forever.
But then come the hardships.
I came to realise that maybe there was more to it when my peers called me the equivalent of a ‘faggot’ or any related slurs, like they knew something and I was the last one to get it on the big joke that was apparently me.
When you realise that you’re different than the rest, everything changes. You become more self aware. Every comment feels like a direct insult and direct insults start to feel like personal attacks.
Which really messes up the mind of a thirteen year old.
I realised that I was different than the rest. I denied it for years almost, thinking it will go away.
As you can guess, it didn’t. I then made it my life’s mission to never tell anyone.
That also failed. Starting to see a pattern here?
I told some friends in my high school and they didn’t seem to care that much. Some suspected, others just had the
sudden realisation that everything made sense somehow. I didn’t tell everyone, but rumors were already circulating
the school. I didn’t care. Still don’t.
And when I thought it was all over, I fell for my best friend. Who was a straight guy.
So imagine me, fourteen at that time, chubby and small, with bad acnee and awkwardness leaking through, crushing
on one of the most handsome, funny and awesomest guy in my class. Sounds like a generic romantic comedy, but the ending
is generally not a happy one.
So, I spent the next two years falling more in love with him, at which point I came to terms and conditions with the harsh facts of
being attracted to guys.
There was no way we could be together in any circumstance. Ever. Even if by some miracle he was attracted to the same
gender, it would not matter. He had a thousand better options to choose from.
I became depressed. I’ve spent more nights than I care to admit, crying, thinking about how much I wanted to be with him.
Or how much I wanted it to stop, to be normal for once in my life. Or to be someone else. Or to die.
My parents sometimes asked how I was doing. Which decidely prompted another realisation.
I could never tell them.
Now, this is not one of those situations where you could say “They might surprise you!”, because, hello, I know my parents.
They are not by any means hateful people. They are the most loving and nurturing parents I have ever met.
But they don’t know the true me.And based upon the odd homosexual remark, they would not be thrilled to have a 70% gay kid.
How could I face my mother’s look changing from the loving smile to the disappointed look she had sometimes when I did something really bad?
That she might dismiss me and tell me that I was being an idiot? That she would no longer call me her son?
And my father, angry that this wasn’t what I was supposed to do? And older relatives cutting ties because of me?
My little sister, crying, because she didn’t understand why were our parents angry?
Millions of different scenarios, none of them good. They learned that any sexual orientation other than straight is not right. The communist occupation of my country made sure of that. Luckily, I managed to avoid that by being born several years after the revolution.
And that also meant that the better part of the population would skin me to death if they knew. You could hear about them sometimes. People speaking violently against those like me and too few voices trying to support the LGBT community.
Which meant that there would be no place for me here.
Thoughts about suicide occurred. Nights with the knife in hand suddenly started to be a regular thing. Crying took too much energy.
I was alone, because no one I have met could understand how I felt. I sometimes thought this was a grand master prank,
that everybody in the world was straight and I was the only one altered and they all just wanted to torture me for being different.
So, after everything, constantly checking your every word and how you say it, always being scared of being judged by others, left alone like a freak, tensing up at every joke directed your way, breaking down because they all think you are going to hell, or breaking down because you think no one will ever want you or want to associate with you,
DO YOU STILL THINK IT’S A FUCKING CHOICE?
Because, frankly, I would never choose to be this way if I knew what it was all about.
Something changed down the road. It started the day I met Lucy, my best friend.
She was like me. No, scratch that, she was the female version of me.
But that was exactly it. Suddenly, I wasn’t alone anymore. There was someone else who could understand everything without
I owe her more than I can ever say. Which may have triggered a fiercely protective part of me directed at her,
but that’s not important. She’s been through shit. She survived. She is my best friend and I would never trade her for anything, because she inadvertently brought something else with her.
She brought hope. Just enough for it to grow.
And you know what’s going to happen? I am going to leave this place. I may not have much money, but I am more than prepared for a lifetime of bank debt to escape this hell hole.
I am going to enroll in South Wales University in Cardiff, major in creative writing, finally finish my book, publish it, and, most of all, be happy.
Because you know what? I deserve it. I really do.
And all of you who went through something similar or just had a shitty life deserve it too.
So go ahead. Plan your interviews with Ellen, write the speeches you are going to say when you are rich and famous, rehearse in front of your mirror your greetings to your favorite celebrity for when you meet them!
Maybe it will happen. Maybe it won’t. But you are going to be happy. We are going to be happy.
Because you know what? It gets better.
It WILL get better.
And we will figure this fucking shit out.