Reckoning with my truth during tumultuous times

There is something liberating about telling strangers about my problems. I know my problems are my own, but maybe there is a singular person out there who can relate, and perhaps telling the world those problems can stop them from feeling alone as I once did. For me to tell you what I feel, I must tell you about a few others.

There was a British man named Alan Turing. He created one of the first computers and broke the German Enigma code during World War 2. According to some sources he shortened the war by up to two years and saved countless lives, but the British government later prosecuted him for his sexuality. He died a few years later in his home, in a Cinderella moment. A half-eaten apple lay by his side, and it is still uncertain whether his death was accidental poisoning or an intentional suicide.

There was an American kid named Matthew Shepard who lived not too far from here. He was generally described by his friends and family as a kind person with a big heart.  He was lured by two men, driven to a rural field, beaten, tortured, and left to die on a barbed wire fence purely because of who he was attracted to. Still, as he was being memorialized by friends and family, the Westboro Baptist Church carried homophobic signs, and chanted that Matthew would go to hell.

When I moved to Chadron I believed I was straight. Unbeknownst to me, I was about to undergo a reckoning of who I was and who I could love romantically. At the time I was in a relationship with a girl I still respect and admire, but sometimes temptation would get the better of me, and I guiltily would have to beg for forgiveness for my mistakes. On top of that, I was beginning to recognize that some members of the community were less accepting than others of what I was becoming.

In November last year, I was talking to my girlfriend over the phone when my dorm neighbors banged on the wall threatening, “Shut the f*** up f**!”

Worse things were shouted that night.

For a long while I sat silent in my locked dorm room afraid to go to the bathroom, to go seek help. I switched which side of the room I slept on, and for weeks I felt I was in the wrong. I was not public about how I loved, so how could these neighbors know?

Eventually I gained the courage to move. I do not know what became of my neighbors, but I still saw them in the hallways, and I still saw them on their way to classes. I still feel terrible for breaking up with my girlfriend. She meant a lot to me, but the way we cared for each other conflicted and led us both in a downward spiral emotionally.

Today I have a boyfriend that I love very much, and though we are just beginning our journey, there are still fears on campus which cause us to hide. We only hold hands at night. We never talk publicly about our relationship. We always are careful with who we let into our lives.

Chadron is not the perfect place to be in a homosexual relationship, and no place is, but I am no longer afraid to tell the world because the hate and criticism is fear. Fear of change. Fear of the abnormal. Fear of the feelings within oneself.

I am by no means the worst case scenario, but I firmly believe that nobody should be hated for who they love. There is nothing worse than that. So much of history’s greatest tragedies stemmed from such sentiment.

Our current world is a place of uncertainty for those who do not fit into a standard mold, and the actions of leaders as well as communities have heightened an emboldening of those who have underlying hate. Those of us who are different can either lie in the emotional trap of silence, or we can tolerate the hate and be ourselves, even if it is for only a brief moment.