On Sept. 23 protestors arrived on my cornfield-encompased campus, DePauw University in rural Indiana. They spewed hate speech aimed at the small LGBTQ community. The following is an opinion piece I wrote in our school newspaper after the tramatic events of the day.
I have three simple words that are utterly terrifying to share with all of you … I am gay.
I have waited years to say this, first to myself, then to my friends and some family, and then to you, and everyone else in between. On Sept. 23, I left my apartment in baggy jeans, Calvin Klein boxers and I was on the phone speaking to a special lady friend of mine. To say the least, the whole scene was quite gay.
Then the protesters arrived and again, like so many days before, I was reminded that I was hated, disgusting and far from normal.
For most of that protest, I stood silently in shock, watching attackers batter the spirit of my campus. In those frightening moments, it dawned on me that perhaps my most important weapon is visibility. I am writing this piece to become more visible. I am a senior, and my time here is drawing to a close.
For weeks prior to this day, I had been doing the work that I felt I needed to do before I left this campus. I set out to make this campus a little more queer. I met with the Office of LGBTQ Life to plan and seek advice; I lead a project to ensure gender-neutral bathrooms on campus for the trans community; I created an LGBTQ PSA through student council; and I searched for books to read to the local community children about families with 'two mommies.' Frankly, I was quite proud of myself. However, after the events of Sept. 23, I left those massacred streets feeling ashamed. How could I do this work, how could I claim I wanted to make this campus more queer and accepting, without ever truly shouting the words, "I am gay. I am a lesbian"?
I had been doing my work in hiding. I was too scared to come to the LGBTQ meetings. I declined the invitation to speak at the Coming Out Monologues, and I agonized over how a special friend and I should interact in public.
Many peers over the summer came to 'find out' about my sexuality. This has been a blessing and a curse. To those who have supported me—thank you, I appreciate it. But I am not going to high five you for continuing to treat me with dignity.
To my freshman self—you are not alone here. You will feel alone here some days, but rest assured, you are not.
To the freshmen—I hope that my coming out as a senior will help you come out sooner. I want to save you from years of sadness and sneaking. It is so terribly exhausting to live as someone else.
To those of you who asked for threesomes, to the couples who made bets to see which one of you could hookup with me first, to the people who made my life and sexuality one big joke, and to those of you who made me feel worthless—despite my laughs, what you said has hurt me. You are the reason we stay in the closet, why we work in silence.
For the rest of you—we are here. We are in the hallways when you tell your roommate not to wear that outfit because she will 'look like a dyke.' We are here when you assume all the students in your class are straight, when you forget about us.
If I could erase the pain from the past two years, I would. While my experiences may have made me stronger, my strength is not a consolation prize. I have been afraid for too much of my college experience, and I have spent too much time employing survival tactics.
This piece is a declaration of identity, a refusal to hide any longer and a call for awareness in this community. I don't expect to see gay men grinding on each other in a fraternity; I'll save that for my weekends in Boystown. I challenge you all, after hearing my story, to try thinking a little more queerly.
Viti is a Senior at DePauw University studying Conflict and Gender, a proud Lane Tech Alum and from Edgewater in Chicago. She was an intern with Windy City Times this summer.
