The Letter

Over the course of my nearly three years at Grinnell, I've gotten a lot of angry letters from my parents. Letters are the sign that something is Wrong. Capital double-u, Wrong.

Today was the absolute worst.

At first it was funny. I try to find ignorance funny because it takes away from the hurt that it's supposed to cause. But then I read a few more times and the bad grammar and incomprehensible subjects faded away to leave a greasy, grimy trail of ignorance and fear.

I never really "came out" to my parents. I let little things slip in and out of conversation over Spring break while I was home with them. The week before when I had my first girl break-up and I cried for twelve hours straight, I had called my dad at 2 or 3 in the morning because I was so lonely. After talking to me for a few minutes, he realized that I was getting over the break-up of a relationship with a woman and just kind of dropped the conversation.

My parents aren't by any means religious, something that they cite in their letter as a possible reason for why I am the way I am. My mother has several lesbian friends, whom she finds flakey and a little ridiculous, but nothing indicates that their personality has anything to do with their sexual preference. My father has never made comments to me or anyone else concerning a fear of homosexuality.

On the other hand, this is not completely out of the blue. My mother, upon learning my first year that I wanted to go on birth control, told me that no man would ever love me if I weren't a virgin and guys in college would think I was easy. Her words, not mine. That's why I didn't want to come out to my parents. I thought we were getting along pretty well over Spring break. I helped my mom in the kitchen and she bought me jelly beans for doing the grocery shopping. Frankly, I don't see my relationship with my parents as having hit "rock bottom" as she says it has.

I'm a good little gay girl, and I sent my parents the book Straight Parents, Gay Children and e-mailed them saying that I got the letter and I didn't want them to contact me until they have both read the book and talked to a family counselor. I feel horrendously guilty.

I keep telling people I'm ok, but I'm really, really not at all. I have a long and shitty history of my parents just not getting it. A few weeks ago while I was at home, my mother brought up how lesbian and gay couples shouldn't have children because the children will just suffer at the hands of bullies. At the time, I thought I talked about the issue calmly with her, arguing that change doesn't happen because people are comfortable all the time and that a lot of lesbian and gay families think about where they live in relation to how well-established support for their children is. She interpreted my having an opinion as somehow insulting to her obviously well-researched conclusions. I will never be successful or smart or skinny or good enough for my parents. Last year, I was diagnosed with a fairly severe mental illness which I have been, for the most part, taking care of in the past year completely by myself. Other than a few doctor's visits that went on my family's insurance, I paid for my medications and used the county mental health services available, despite my parents threatening to take me out of school and keep me at home since I couldn't deal with the "real world".

My life is far from horrible. I live in a warm dorm room. I have wonderful friends that give me love and support when I need it. I go to a good school and I do something that I really love on the side. I'm not an alcoholic or a drug addict. I don't have a child that I didn't intend to have and I'm not in jail. I don't live in a country where I am considered sexual property. I'm not starving or homeless. But this sucks. I guess that for once, I wish my parents would see my point of view before writing something so convoluted and angry at me for something I can't control. I wish that for once they would understand that my life has a lot of stressful elements in it and that having to deal with their bigotry suddenly cranks up the stress on my life. I wish they would understand that they do not exist in a vaccuum and that the things that they say are profoundly hurtful and ignorant.