Home?

Today I came (to what most people would call) home. I choose not to call it home as home should be a place where you can freely and happily be yourself. I grew up in a small northern remote community where homophobia, actually its more like divers-o-phobia (a phobia to everything non WASP) is the norm.

I know of too many incidents in this community where people have been physically, emotionally, and/or verbally assaulted due to their race, gender identity, or sexual orientation (perceived or actual). For myself, I had to deal with it for about 10 years, always knowing I'm different and always having that painfully made well aware to myself and everyone else. This is why where I grew up is not my home.

I struggle when people ask where my home is. Sometimes I just refer to the place I grew up in as my home as that is what most people consider it to be, it makes things easier. But really, I don't actually feel like I have a home. I have a small apartment in a semi-large city with my stuff in it, that's the closest thing to home I have.

Hate has made me feel this way. Hate has taken away something most everyone takes for granted, something which I struggle to put into words, I think its beyond the meanings of the word "home." When I die, there is no where I want to be buried. When I feel lonely, I have no where I wish I could go for comfort. When I miss my family, I don't miss "home." By the way, this lack of having a true "home" has almost nothing to do with my family. We love each other and me being gay just took a little time to adjust to.

Too many times I have left this town with a tire just as deflated as my sense of self and pride. I am, however, thankful the warranty on my tires cover acts of homophobia, it comes in handy. I only come here because I love my family and friends. It is truly a love/hate relationship.

I would love nothing more than to have somewhere to sincerely call home.