Everyone remembers getting called names when they were a kid. Some names were meant to hurt, others were not but did anyway. Some were lighthearted and some were mean-spirited. I've probably been called every name under the sun.
Growing up as a little boy who refused to cut his hair, I was always a subject of fascination for the other kids. I had weird mannerisms too, at least weird for a boy my age in the minds of others. I played with dolls and action figures alike. I was sensitive. They called me plenty of names; every name you can imagine an adolescent boy on the playground leveling at another, I was the recipient of at one time or another. I hated it, I hated every minute of it, and I remember how upset I would get, even though I knew it was coming. Still though, for years, I kept my hair long.
I wouldn't get a proper short haircut until I was 13. The peak pressure of middle school had finally taken its toll on me and I gave in. I cut my hair, I tried to act more like what I thought a "man" should act like. I knew in my heart that I was different but, I thought, maybe that was a problem with me? Maybe that could change? Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could position myself firmly into normality that I would just be like everyone else. Regardless, the names kept on coming.
It took me years to figure it all out again. It didn't matter what I did to appease my peers, I would still be the object of some peculiar fascination because every bit I fought against myself and my nature, the more uncanny the outcome would be, and the further I would alienate myself from my feelings. So little by little, I stopped appeasing. I began to grow my hair back out. I started dressing outrageously flamboyant in skinny patterned pants and pointy shoes. I stopped fearing what people thought about me and focused on what made me feel comfortable. The names got worse, the homophobic remarks both pointed ands casual were coming harder and faster than ever. The nasty comments people made seemed to get more and more laser accurate to pinpoint my insecurities. With that came the paranoia, 'do people know I'm gay?', 'how can they know I'm sensitive about that?' etc. Everything seemed go be escalating, but one thing stood out even amidst all the ridicule: I actually felt better about myself, for the first time in my life. I came to wear the names I got as a badge of pride, a testament to my will.
It would still be years later, well after high-school ended that I would formally come out as pansexual. Self discovery and self confidence is a lifelong journey, one I'm sure that I'll never complete. But as cliche as the advice sounds, being yourself is truly the ultimate form of happiness. The names may still come, but you will be you, on your own terms, and no one can take that away from you. Names are just names after all, and they are a dime-a-dozen, but there will always be only one, authentic, you.
This is a little out of character for me, writing like this about myself, maybe it'll be helpful to someone, maybe it won't. Maybe it's corny, maybe its not insightful, but thank you for reading all the same.
