In middle school, I came out to my friend as gay, and they plainly told me that I wasnโt. I asked why they didnโt believe me, and they said, โbecause I know gay people, and thatโs not you.โ I never spoke on it again, and I began deluding myself. I thought, โItโll be easier if theyโre right.โ
Once I started high school, something changed. In passing, people were calling me various slurs, in various languages. I quit doing theater, even though some friends were sure Iโd become an actor someday, and I generally avoided other extracurriculars. I started wearing less colors, opting for blacks and grays. I hoped this would help me become less of a target.ย
Eventually, however, people started a rumor that I was on track to being a school shooter. One kid was genuinely scared to be around me, and his friends would point me out when I was at parties. I never considered myself a violent person, but this affected my self-perception, and I started to fear that there was something evil within me.
This one time, I was hanging out in a friendโs bedroom. Abruptly, they looked me in the eye and said, โIโm really glad youโre not gay.โ This was especially off-putting knowing that one of our friends was gay, as he was outed during the first week of school. I interpreted their sudden gratitude as, โthanks for not being another inconvenience.โ
I never spoke during graded discussions, I felt that getting an F was better than putting any unwanted attention on myself. Even when I was asked by teachers to try, I was overcome with anxiety and felt like I physically couldnโt open my mouth. โWhatever,โ I thought, โitโll be easier this way.โ
One summer, I messaged a girl in my class who I had never really talked to before. I came out to her, and she was very supportive, saying everything I wanted to hear at the time. We would talk on and off for weeks, then suddenly she became concerned and asked, โwhy me?โ I didnโt have an answer. Looking back, I was just looking for any outlet to pour into. We never really talked again after that.
An adult somehow found out I was talking about these things to other people online. They confronted me in fear for my safety, telling me that sharing these details could put me in danger in Egypt. They offered no alternative for an outlet, and even denied what I โclaimedโ to be my identity. So, I decided to try deluding myself again.
I fabricated a personality for myself that would help me survive the last few years of high school. I thought I was doing a better job at being โnormalโ. One person even commented that I was seeming like more of a man. I couldnโt always keep up this act, though. Friends would note that I would randomly get moody and avoidant.
One guy I didnโt talk to much would always smile my way when we passed each other. I figured that might be a good sign for my progress socially. Later on, I learned he was doing this sympathetically, as he could tell that I was hurting inside. โStill, this must be easierโฆโ
At the end of a week-long school trip, someone took a picture of all of us as we head back to Cairo. A nearby teacher commented on how I never smiled. I awkwardly shrugged in response. I myself hadnโt connected the dots yet, I just assumed I was broken.
This Christmas Eve, as I was sitting in a mall, I put on a song I used to listen to during that school trip. It immediately brought that memory out of the archives of my mind, where Iโve suppressed much of that era of my life. All of these other memories followed, and I started crying in public, something I had miraculously managed not to do during high school. This outburst of emotion may have worried a few strangers, but I knew it was overdue. It proved I could actually express my emotions again, something I was frequently discouraged of doing as a kid. Afterwards, I realized something. At some point over the last 6 years, an era of self-discovery and reclamation, I started smiling again. It wasnโt one big moment that โfixedโ me, it just happened over time, and I hadnโt acknowledged it yet.
โFinally,โ I thought, โit got easier.โ