For My Hurting Gay Cousin

I’ve been considering writing this post for several days, and I have been hesitant. As a straight person, I haven’t known the experience of how hard it is to be LGBT in society today. I don’t know what that pain feels like, and the last thing I want to do is write from an uninformed position and possibly cause others more unnecessary pain. But in light of all the recent gay teen suicides, the It Gets Better campaign, and the fight to end Don’t Ask Don’t tell, I’ve been thinking a lot about my first cousin, and I felt the need to share some of his story as well as the love I have for him. His name will not be said as I want to respect his individual privacy.

My cousin was the first gay person I ever knew, and the only gay family member I have, that I know of. I’m not as close to him as I would like to be for several reasons, he is about seven years older than me and we didn’t exactly grow up together. We come from a very conservative family in the south, and he never felt as if he actually fit in that, and I believe he has a fear of getting to know me because he is afraid I might judge him. And as supportive and caring I feel towards him, I understand why. He from a young age was what a lot of our family would call “weird.” He wanted to play with barbies as a kid, he wanted to play dress up, play with his mother’s makeup, and he wasn’t the least bit interested in what he was “supposed to be interested in.”  Still, it was generally seen as a phase that he would grow out of. But by his teenage years, he never had girlfriends and people were then willing to question his sexual orientation.

This time between the suspicion and his coming out, undoubtedly was hard for him. I was about 12 years old when I began to see how uncomfortable he was in his own skin, how very cautious he was, trying to find some balance between who he was and who a lot of his family, including his parents wanted him to be: a stereotypical masculine man. He never seemed to feel relaxed, to be able to put his guard down for even a moment. It was obvious to me, and surely it must have been to others too. But my family didn’t really know how to let go of their homophobia, even though they loved him. I ached for him, and I can’t imagine what he must have been feeling.

When he came out, it wasn’t as dramatic as I would have expected, largely because he was suspected enough already. I think things got a little easier for him then, and he started to act more like himself.  He wore women’s shirts and jeans at family gatherings, surely it must have been scary to do, but in the end I think he felt better just to be himself, no pretending anymore. Our family seemed to have adopted a policy of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell themselves, they knew but it was never spoken of, and it left an apprehensive elephant in the room. The homophobia was still there, but it was ignored. Maybe some of my family thought and still think their homophobia isn’t a problem, because they still see the LGBT as the ones with the problem and that is a roadblock for my cousin and his relationships with them. He has gotten to the point where he hardly ever visits a lot of our otherwise very close extended family, and I don’t blame him.

His mother over time, has made a lot of progress in accepting him and realizing his sexual orientation is like hers: not a choice, and just one part of who he is as a person, seeing how gay people don’t actually live a life that revolves around their sexuality. Their relationship gets better and better, and she now has met guys he’s dated in the past. The “other”  that is essential to homophobia has been taken away for her. Sadly, it’s not like this for everyone in the family, as he remains part of their “other” as he does for most people in our community. He struggles with depression and his father still has a long way to go, as much as he realizes the pain caused by homophobia, he’s still uncomfortable with his son being gay.

The rejection that must be felt from his family, from much of our community, and the difficulties he has finding good friends who are accepting is still, even with the progress made, a heavy weight to carry. Even though he is no longer a gay youth, I worry for his mental and emotional health, I worry for his lack of happiness. I worry for the times he will be called the f word by grown up bullies, for his unfulfilled need of support. Where is his equality? Where is his justice? When can he be treated consistently with respect in our society? I’m pissed and I’m sad and I’m anxious, yet I know I really have no idea what it must feel like for him. I love him, and I feel powerless to stop this mess. But I write this now so I can say this: he deserves equality, respect, and acceptance, and so does every LGBT person out there.