Suicide awareness

Many nights, I found myself crying in bed.  I prayed that my mom would hear my sobs, come to my bed and hug me to sleep. But no, I found myself all alone – in my thoughts. There was no way, I could accept being a fagot, a cocksucker. After years of running away from these tormenting words, they were creeping up on me.

Accepting my queer identity was no easy task. I tried to brush it away, pray that God would make me normal. I felt so dirty.

I was bullied – pushed into the girl’s bathrooms, they would spit on my food, I was even kicked while I was on the floor. But the most embarrassing moment was in 5^th grade. We were beginning our comprehensive sexual education, and were separated by genders. As the girls were lining up to leave the room, this boy (Salvador is his name) shouted “Luis, don’t you belong in line with the girls?” Everyone laughed. Everyone but me.  I had never been humiliated in front of everyone, usually the bullying was more intimate – just me and my aggressor(s). Now, even my so-called friends laughed.  I felt my face burning. I starred at the wall, praying for the day to just end.

But, to my surprise – something happened. Someone saw, someone listened. The teacher (Mr. Franco) stopped the class, and in front of everyone asked Sal why he said that to me. Of course, Sal had no excuse. Mr. Franco humiliated Sal and warned him that one day I would be his boss. Although I do not agree with the teacher’s methods of punishment, when Mr Franco spoke up I felt like I was worth something. Mr. Franco saw my potential and knew that I was worth more than that embarrassment.

Thinking about this day just brings so many tears. Something that happened over 12 years ago still scares me. It still makes me weak.  I never told my parents about this, or anything else. I covered it all up by getting good grades, and having them not worry about me. 

Nothing changed in middle school. I felt like middle school would be a new beginning for me. My middle school years were some of the most difficult. I was in 6^th grade when we moved to our new house (meaning my parents had less spare money), I was in 7^th grade when my grandfather died, when my mom had her first cancer surgery. Sometime in middle school, my father also lost his job and we were living off food stamps and unemployment.

I was being bussed to a school where no one knew who I was, or knew of my previous bullying. It didn’t take long for that bullying to continue. From my peers, both male and female, calling me a fag, to spreading rumors about me and my supposed boyfriend (who is now a famous Model), to having my life threatened.

I remember my parents bought me this backpack from the swapmeet in 7^th grade. I was grateful for this backpack, and although I wanted a Jansport – I knew we couldn’t afford it. The following day, at school, I was made fun of for wearing a “fag backpack.” How aweful could we be to each other that I got made fun of for having a backpack that had some light shade of blue. This supposed effeminate backpack made me a fucking fag. I hated that backpack since then. I was fucking poor, my family on fucking welfare, and here these classmates of mine making fun of me for the color of a backpack?

I get so upset now. Angry because I let them get to me, angry because I purposely fucked that backup so I could get a new one, angry because I hated my life.

And I did the same – ran away from these problems, ignored them, got good grades, was valedictorian and pretended I was free of problems.

Until it all crashed on me. My confusion was getting to me. My desires were getting in the way. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was going crazy. I knew what this would mean for my family – shame, disappointment, regret. I promised I would not tell them until I was on my own. But I couldn’t keep it any longer. 

I choked. I failed. I tried taking my life away. I was afraid of cutting myself, so I chose overdosing. I was rushed to the hospital, after my mom heard me vomiting in the bathroom. I was back at home, still feeling dirty and now also stupid.

I now thank the Creator for making me afraid. To those who lost hope, did not loose it in cowardice, but in strength.  I pray that your spirits have found the peace and serenity, we yearn for.

 This is my suicide story. I can relate.

My younger brother was in suicide watch for two months while in high school. During my second year of college, while I was in San Diego, my brother had to be hospitalized. There had been many threats, some attempts, and finally the psychologist had no other option – he was a threat to himself. I had never seen my mother so defeated, and my father so depressed. Seeing him in that awful ward.

See – I was able to hide my scars. He poked too hard, his marks remain alive, even though he wishes he wasn’t. 

I am here to listen, if you ever need me to.