Hi, I'm Calm Frenzy. I'm new to the forum. I came here intending to read some stories and maybe learn something. Then, as I was reading through various stickies, I found this: I've always felt guilty for thinking about suicide because I feel like my life is good enough. I feel like I'm complaining about little things that don't matter to anyone else. Of course, I've always known the above statement was true, on an intellectual level, but living it is quite different. So when I saw that, I knew this was a place I could talk and share. There's not much of a tl:dr for this, so just soldier through. My thoughts can be lengthy and digressive. Good luck, you'll need it. First, a little background information. I live in a small town in the Midwest. I'm 17 and will be a senior in high school this fall. I live with my mom and dad. About six months ago my older brother moved out to live with his girlfriend. I have a cat that I adore. Her name is Baby Girl. My interests include religion, philosophy, computers, math, movies, human rights, psychology, music, writing, reading, playing flash games, and other things, I'm sure. I am white, male, gay, agnostic/questioning/searching, INTJ (Myers-Briggs Type Indicator), overweight, blonde, quite for lack of friendly ears, smart (so I've been told), neurotic, fun or boring depending on who you ask, depressed much of the time, content enough the rest of the time, and a Libra. That last one was a joke, heh. I wasn't always depressed to the point of suicidal thoughts, but I feel that I've just been accumulating bad thoughts and feelings over the years that it's all coming to the breaking point. So I'll just dive right in. I recognize that many of my issues stem from the fact that I'm gay and my journey through that, but I refuse to accept that that's were ALL of it comes from. I'll just start with my gayness. When I went through puberty I knew I was interested in men. I was never confused about that aspect. It felt perfectly fine and I didn't question it. I never felt the need to tell anyone because I didn't think there was anything to tell. Then in 7th grade I discovered the meaning of the word "gay." Thinking back, it's probably more accurate to say that before then I had never attached the label "gay" to myself. Regardless, in 7th grade I had this sudden realization that I was gay and that meant I was different. Allow me to digress for a moment. I was never a "macho" boy. That's not to say I was feminine. I just never liked sports, fart jokes, getting into trouble, acting tough, and other "macho" stuff. I was sensitive, smart, and usually more mature than the other guys. Back to the 7th grade. That year, my parents made me play football. They said I had to try it once and if I didn't like it, that's ok. "If you don't try, you'll never know" kind of thing. I grumbled, but I understood their thinking. In my mind they were just trying to make me into "one of the boys," but I couldn't refute their logic. So I played football. I was trying to understand my sexuality and the macho-tough-guy environment of football didn't help things. Often the locker room and practice were filled with heterosexual showboating and homophobia. I tried to deny my homosexuality and become "one of the guys." I stopped hanging out with my friends and starting hanging out with the football guys. On the outside I was doing well. I was a decent player and even earned a reputation when I pummeled a big 8th grader in practice. I was fitting in. But on the inside I hated it. I hated football, my talents were more intellectual than physical. I hated most of the guys, they were typical jocks. I hated not being able to deal with my sexuality. I wanted to quit football but my parents said I had to stick it out. So I did. When it was over I said "thank God" and swore I'd never play again. My new "friends" were disappointed that I didn't play the next year, but I didn't really care about them. I went back to my real friends and they acted like I never left. It was great. I guess the point of this part is that 7th grade is the year the shit really hit the fan. I was depressed because I couldn't figure things out. I had a lot of resentment towards my parents for making me endure football. Still, I was never depressed to the point of thoughts of suicide. That came later. After football season ended in 7th grade I got away from that "macho" atmosphere. But I still was in the same mindset. It went so far that I developed a crush on by best (girl) friend. She was my best friend then, my best friend now, and I love her more than anyone in the world. But I could never deny that I liked men and not woman. As I thought about my "crush" on her I realized I had no sexual or romantic feelings for her. I realized I didn't want to date her or marry her one day, I just wanted to be her friend forever. I decided it was more of an infatuation than a crush. Though all of these feelings were confusing, I now understand it was an important stepping stone on my way to understanding myself. It was a step forward because if I couldn't be in love with the most beautiful, wonderful, smartest, kindest girl in the world, I knew I couldn't be in love with any girl. Story break: Sorry if this is all unnecessary and boring. I'm partly venting and partly leading up to my ultimate (recent) feelings of suicide. I told you my thoughts can be lengthy. Right, so 8th grade comes around. No football, so I get away from that environment and those people. I start to explore and understand my sexuality a little more. Of course, at this time my thoughts don't get much more elaborate than "Oh. My. God! I'm gay. I can't believe it! I'm gay. I'm going to be gay for the rest of my life! Oh. My. God!" Being able to THINK the words "I'm gay." was my accomplishment that year. 9th grade. I developed my first REAL crush. The bassist in band. I played trumpet and I stood right next to him. We were friends, but not close. During band we would exchange glances and smiles. His eyes made me forget time and his smile reminded me of everything that is perfect in the universe. It sounds silly, but I knew he liked me as much as I liked him. I say it sounds silly because he was straight. He dated girls. And besides his soulful glances and intoxicating smiles, nothing ever happened between us. To this day I swear he loved me, but that didn't really matter. Because I was too scared to say anything and he never did either. In 9th grade I came to grips with my sexuality more than ever before. I had experienced my first REAL crush and there was no doubt in my mind. I was gay. From the beginning of 9th grade to the end of 10th grade I was deeply in love with the bassist. And it was excruciatingly painful. Painful because I couldn't tell him. Painful because I could never get close to him. Painful because I KNEW he liked me too. Painful because I felt I had no one to talk to. Painful because from the second I woke up in the morning to the second I fell asleep, and occasionally in my dreams, I thought about him. It was also the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. I was in love and that made me happy, pure and simple. Thinking about it now still makes my heart flutter. I'm no longer in love with him, and we've grown apart as friends, but he's still a very great guy. So, my crush on the bassist really made me realize I could live with this gay thing. Liking him made me feel wonderful, so it can't be that bad. But I wasn't worried about myself coping with it. I was worried about how other people would react. The town I live in is Christian. Like most of the Midwest. Like most of America. I realized "Christian" didn't automatically mean "gay basher," but there is an outspoken portion of Christians that have strong, negative feelings about homosexuality and I couldn't be too careful. So I started preparing for the worst case. Each day I told myself that if all my friends leave me when I tell them I'm gay, that's ok because that means they were never really my friends. That no matter what happens the human spirit will endure. All those cliche things. I thought about being gay bashed and my parents kicking me out and all the other horrible things they do to queers in Hicktown, America. I thought about every worst case scenario so that when it happened I'd be prepared. But it didn't prepare me for anything. It just turned my heart into stone. It distanced me from my friends and family. It made me depressed. Eventually all those thoughts stopped being "preparations" and started being "I know this is what's going to happen to me if I come out." I was very depressed and very alone. I had convinced myself that I couldn't talk to anyone or my world would end. Of course, the closet isn't much of a world at all. Story break: So far I've talked about 5th grade (beginning of puberty) to the end of 9th grade (still in love with the bassist. will be until end of 10th grade). Thanks for sticking with it. Let me digress a bit and tell you about my friends. (Names have been changed for privacy.) My best friend since preschool has been Kathy. She's the girl I had the "crush" on. I love her so much. She's the most amazing girl I know. She was always friends with Patty. I liked Patty but we didn't hang out until junior high. She's weird and quirky in the best way. They're both friends with Maddy. Maddy came to our school in 3rd grade. She's a little annoying and bratty, but she's all right. My best guy friend is Mark. We were always friendly, but we became best friends in 4th grade. He's probably the only one in the world who really gets my humor and personality. And, besides Kathy, he's my only intellectual equal (note I don't TRY to come off as arrogant, but more often than not that's the only way I know how to say things). Finally, our group is complete with Jack. Jack came to our school in 6th grade. We didn't immediately become friends, but in junior high Jack, Mark, and I were the three amigos. We were the best of friends. And with the three girls, the six of us became a strong group. To me, they were my gang. My best buds. We all had other friends, and people came and went from the group, but the six of us always stuck together. We were always labeled as the smart kids, the music kids (we all were talented musicians), or the good kids. And although none of us were jocks, our school was small enough that the smart kids became just as popular as the athletes. We were the "in" crowd. I'll admit life was good on the outside. I had friends and people considered me the smartest person in my class, so I was popular. I didn't have a lot to complain about. Except this gay thing. Even though I felt good about myself as a person, there was still this secret. There was this secret that killed me inside. There was still this barrier between me and my friends. There was this fear that I'd lose it all if anyone found out I was gay. See, everyone I knew was a "good Christian" and I feared that. I assumed that they'd hate me because I was gay. So I hid it and didn't even try to talk to them about it. This is were Jason comes into the story. Jason came to my school in the 8th grade. He was everything I didn't like. He was immature. He swore. He was a typical teenage idiot. I didn't talk to him. He hung out with the jocks and I stayed with my friends and we didn't bother each other. Then in 9th grade Jason started hanging out with Mark. I thought that was weird because I know Mark wouldn't hang with a loser. So I started to get to know Jason. Jason turned out to be what my life was missing. We became fast friends. I found out he was actually pretty smart. He was DEFINITELY immature, but he was also sensitive. And he swore! I never swore around my friends because I knew they didn't like it, but I sure thought the words. Jason didn't care. I could swear around him. I could be immature. I could stop being the goody two shoes everyone thought I was and be myself around him. I'm not ashamed to admit that by 10th grade I felt closer to Jason than to any of my other friends, even though I had only known Jason for less than two years. (10th grade) Jason was the first person I told I was gay. We were hanging out one day and he said something about church on Sunday. (Sidenote: My family stopped going to church when I was in elementary. I never really believed in all that, but my mom did. My dad never went to church with us.) So I asked if he really believed in all that Christian stuff. He said, "I don't know. Sort of, but not really." With that simple answer I knew he was the person I could tell. I still didn't know HOW though. I wasn't going to blurt it out. Later that day he asked me if I had a crush on anyone. I said yes, but I still didn't tell him because I was nervous. He wouldn't let it go. So after I made him promise he wouldn't tell anyone I told him "Kurt" (the bassist). The first thing he said was "I can't believe my best friends is gay." When he said that I knew everything was going to be ok because he called me his best friend. We talked and he was absolutely fine with it. I was worried that he would act different around me. I've always had this fear that straight guys wouldn't want to be my friend if they knew I was gay. But he didn't act differently. He was amazing about it. Then, a couple weeks later he convinced me to come out to Kathy. I did, and she was fine with it too. I was so shocked because I was telling people and my world wasn't falling apart. You might think that these positive reactions would make me happy, but they actually had the opposite effect. I was determined to be unhappy. To me, their positive reactions were a slap in the face. Since the 7th grade I had told myself no one would understand me. Each day I told myself you are alone, everyone will hate you when they find out, and no one likes you. So each day I lied. I put on a "straight" face and pretended nothing was wrong. The only way I was able to lie all those years is because I had convinced myself lying and hiding were the only ways to protect myself from the world's hatred. And finally when I came out I wasn't vindicated. I was proven wrong. I had lied to myself and others all those years for nothing. My friends didn't hate me. They loved me, no matter what. So I thought about the years of pain I put myself through. All because I thought I was protecting myself. I thought about my loneliness and how I was the only one to blame for it. I was the one distancing myself from my friends and family. NOT THEM. I spent all my time worrying about what OTHERS would think and when it came time they didn't care at all. I was in a silent hell for years and it was all my fault. The guilt ate me up. I was to blame. Not the world. The world did me no wrong. I had ruined my own life voluntarily. A note: Jason moved away suddenly about six months after I came out to him. His dad and step-mom broke up and he had to move out of state. He texted me the day he left saying, "I'm not going to be at school next year. I'm moving back to my mom's house." It takes a lot to make me cry, but that did it. At this point I was very conflicted. I was thrilled to be out to a couple people, but there was this tremendous guilt for assuming people would hate me for being honest. I thought that since I came out to these two people I could come out to other people. But there was this little paranoid voice in my head saying "Jason and Kathy are your best friends, that's why they reacted so well. Everyone else will hate you." So I kept quiet. I fell back into the rut. I was so much happier, but in the back of my mind I still told myself that no one understands me and that everyone would hate me if they knew. I KNEW that Jason and Kathy didn't hate me, but I STILL was afraid of people's reactions. It was the fall of 2008 when I came out to Jason and Kathy. Over the next few months I grew happier. In the spring of 2009 I came out to my parents and brother. I came out because of the Carrie Prejean Miss America controversy. At the time it was all over the news. I sort of thought, "If she can say what she thinks, surely I can say what I think." So I told my family. They, too, reacted well. They were surprised, but they assured me they loved me. There were no tears shed, there was no anger. It was as perfect as it could have been. Still, not having a single negative reaction reminded me of what I had spent years worrying about. I was depressed again. But it quickly passed and I focused on now. I focused on the fact that I was happy NOW. "Who cares that I used to obsess over what people might think of me? I'm happy now. I'll just be happy." I was happy for a while, but I slipped back into depression. Even though Jason, Kathy, and my family knew, I never talked to them about it. I still felt alone. Jason and I joked about it some of the time. He was comfortable enough to joke about it and I knew he didn't have a problem, he was just being funny. Kathy and I, even though we were close, never talked about it after I told her. My family never talked about it. I'm not sure if they were uncomfortable with it or just didn't think I wanted to talk. So I was lonely. I didn't have anyone to talk to, yet again. I was still disconnected from my friends and family. I remember thinking, when I came out to Jason, that EVERYTHING would change. But it really didn't. I woke up the next day, just like every other day, and went to school. I walked through the halls just like I had done every other day. No one treated me any different. Of course, they didn't know, but for some reason I thought everything would be different. I guess that really got to me. I thought coming out would be the answer to my loneliness. But it wasn't. I still felt like Jason didn't understand me. After all, he couldn't possibly know what it means to be gay. I was glad he didn't hate me for being gay, but he still couldn't understand. In the summer of 2009 I came out to a close friend of mine, Christina. We were good friends, so I trusted her. She also had a reputation of being a skank, so I knew she could relate to being lonely and not feeling liked. She was great about it. Sharing that were her made us closer and she shared some of her secrets. Our good friendship developed into a great one. The summer of 2009 was also when I fell in love for the second time. By the beginning of 2009 my feelings for Kurt the bassist had pretty much subsided. We weren't really friends anymore. We didn't have any classes together and we never really talked. I still liked him, but more like an old friend. My feelings weren't "crushing" me anymore. Just a few months later, during the summer, I realized I was in love with my best friend, Jack.