Esteffan_Rye_Rosero Posted September 15, 2012 Whether I'm allowed to speak my feelings out here freely or not, I want to know. But my entire life...from when I was able to understand what I was feeling, which was around the age of 11-12, I felt different. Different than how my brothers were. Different than my family. Even to this day, I could not establish a connection with my parents, or my family for that matter. My parents are catholic, my mother being the enforcer of the family religion. But when I was growing up, even when I started discovering my differences, I still followed my family to church. But it never meant anything for me, anything useful. I went to church until the age of 15, where I renounced my religion and left the church forever. But I may get to the reasons why I left the church of god, maybe. But when I was going to church, my family unaware of what I was, my brothers made gay jokes, using insults that were gay related. My two older brothers were about the same age and grade in high school at the time. Sophomore and junior, both in the athletics program. Well known, and popular with the "in-crowd". Their lives seemingly flawless and perfect. Not once did my parents ever get angry for their choices and actions in life or school. My parents loved them more than they ever loved me. Years later, around the age of 14, when my parents found out my sexuality through my second oldest brother, who learned through his last year of high school with me as a freshman in the same school, all that changed. Not for the better. My mother's first response was "Why are you choosing this lifestyle? Why do you want be a homosexual? What about all the things we taught you while we went to church every Sunday?". Along with her reaction, she was angry, her eyes didn't have any sadness, just anger. I knew how to tell her emotions and her eyes while I grew up. I could feel it, deep down, I could feel she was furious at me. My father was upset at the least, but he's very hidden about his feelings, my mother was the more to show her emotions uncontrollably. She always showed her true feelings, she never sugar coated anything. Which was often why I could never talk to her about anything deeply personal, not even after she found out my secret. Well, in the end of the conversation, it ended abruptly, with my father trying to hold my mother back from trying to hit me. The conversation lasted afternoon after school, it ended past 10 at night, and when my mother was restrained by my father from trying to hit me, I was shocked. I couldn't believe my mother would want to assault me like that. As my father removed my mother from the living room, he looked at me with disgust, and told me it was best if I leave. I looked at him, my brothers didn't look at me in the eye as I got up from the couch and headed for the front door. It was two days before my birthday no less, so it was winter cold in Connecticut. I left the house that night and I didn't return for more than 3/4 of a year. I only came back because the authorities told me I had to. While I left home during that time, I didn't have anywhere to go, I didn't have relatives in my state. I just kept wandering but I rather not go into detail about the first time of my travels into the world without anyone I knew around. It's a past that bore the first of many scars to come. Needless to say, my parents were not happy about me coming back. Everything changed. My mother and father never talked to me normally anymore as they did in the past. My mother has a hint of anger and resentment whenever she talks to me. She told me days after I came back the first time, that she will never accept me. My father told me I was his embarrassment to the eyes of his side of the family. Never once before had he felt an embarrassment before me, one of his own sons. He told me this several times throughout my life till now. He was never known to lie or exaggerate. To hear him say that, along with everything else, I felt fully disconnected from my own family. I felt like all ties with them were irreversibly severed without repair. The rest of my high school life was the same. I kept to myself. Went to school, came home, did my homework, ate dinner in silence of my room and repeated the same thing the next day until the day I graduated high school. My own parents did not even attend my graduation. I went alone. Borrowing a ride from a teacher I knew. When I became of legal age of 18, after a few months after I graduated, I decided to take my chances out in the world, knowing my continuing stay at my own home was no longer an option. For years it was not a place of zen, in actuality, it was the opposite. For years after that night when my parents found out and everything changed, I never spoke of this to anyone, never confided in anyone. I kept it all to myself. I didn't try to dwell on my past, but it was a bunch of reoccurring memories in my life that kept coming back no matter what. Even when I go out in public, such as the mall, or just anywhere, whenever I saw a family, whether it was young kids, or teenagers or adults with their parents. I couldn't help having those memories of my family plague my mind. How much I knew they hated me. Not once did they contact me when I left those years ago. I wondered if it was my fault that I didn't contact them first. Was I supposed to? Even now, after all those years, amongst all of that and things I haven't told any of you, I never found anyone to try to get close to. No relationships or crush. And when I found myself looking at other guys, whether gay or not, I turned away, I still feel like I hated myself. Over the things I like. But I know its not something I could change. But regardless, I still had hate for myself. What does this mean? Why do I hate myself and yet accept I cannot change something I know is a part of me? When you cannot feel like you're worth anyone's time or worth of interest, or when you feel like you're not worth anyone's love?