Why I'm Not an Idiot

Now

Most of the confidence I had that let me push away the Bad Side has faded. For a while, the Bad Side was so quiet it was as if it wasn't even there, and it made me feel strong. It was as if The Bad Side was gone for good, and I was only made up of the newer, stronger Good Side wearing platinum armor, bearing steel swords threatening to slice any bad thought to bits. That started eight months ago, as soon as I kissed Matt. I was ready for anything, fresh out of a battle of self-discovery. I was overcome with a sense of power after that battle. I knew I was gay, and that was good enough for me.

Eventually, though, the realization that this was only one of many battles to come in a war sunk in. My family was still homophobic. I was still too scared to some out. I didn't know what to do. The Bad Side got louder and louder, reminding me of these things. I knew it had moved back in, now with swords and shields of its own, and it wasn't backing down any time soon. It would fight to the death.

Nice job, fag. Now what?

The funny thing, though, was that unlike back in December, The Good Side didn't quiet down. It fought back, toughed through the gory quarrels with the Bad Side. Everything in my head became louder, clearer, and more painful. It became easier to tune out the real world and get lost in thoughts for hours. This still happens to me today.

Sometimes I wish the Good Side would just give up.

Not that I agree with the Bad Side. I'll never join that side no matter what. But everything would just be quieter and more peaceful without it fighting back. It would just be easier that way.

Maybe I should just give in.

Or maybe I should just stop trying to take the easy way out.

*****

The sleepover with Chris is this weekend.

Saturday.

Today is Thursday.

This is not okay.

Of course, though, when Chris tells me all happy and enthusiastic, I smile. I grin as wide as I can, hoping he won't see how I really feels. It's a miracle he doesn't.

I love Chris.

I don't think I've ever been closer to anyone, with the acceptation of Graham. And maybe Matt. I'm worried that telling him will change everything. From what I see, he's made no move to change his views on gay rights, and he has no intention to. Maybe telling him will change that. Or maybe it will just make him hate me.

Once I get up to my room, I call Matt.

He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, Dorito," he says with a fake Spanish accent on 'Dorito'. "Wassup?" 

Matt and I aren't dating anymore, but then again, we never really were. He was a kind of boy toy for a few months. We'd sneak out to the rock at night and make out or just walk through the forest, but we never made the dating official. We decided that it would be too complicated to have a closeted relationship, and we didn't want to ruin our friendship. We're twelve, anyway. Eventually, we stopped kissing. We still hang out with and without Graham, though, and we still call each other pet names, just for fun. They're pretty stupid, and they've kind of become our nicknames.

"Hey muffin top," I shoot back. No, he's not fat. I'm referring to his hat when I say that. "Can you meet me at the park in fifteen? No time to explain."

"Sure. See you there." A click from the other end signals that he has hung up.

I live in a house, but before it used to just be a really small apartment building. I guess it's a big house. It doesn't seem like it with all the siblings, but it's pretty good. I live on the third floor, and my room has a fire escape right outside of it from when it was an apartment. When we first moved here when I was six, my parents told me to never use it unless there was a real fire. I guess it's a little dangerous, but a little after I turned nine, I started to use it. I got pretty good at climbing and descending on it, and I eventually got over my fear of heights. I taught Graham how to use it, too. He comes in this way instead of using the front door sometimes.