It wasn’t so much the events during the dream (okay, so maybe that was part of it) as the feelings they incited that made it such an eye-opener for me.  At that point, I began to panic.  I had never had a problem with gays or lesbians, but there had always been a layer of uncomfort whenever I was in a situation that related to any and all things homosexual.  I supposed it could be my religion’s views of homosexuality being a sin — a surely damning characteristic that supposedly could be helped if one loved God enough to try — but I can’t deny that it was in part also due to my confusion on my own sexuality.  I had spent a two years, by that point, trying to ignore my feelings.  Two years spent hating myself, hating my feelings, and hating my inablity to "decide" who I was going to be. Two years spent occasionally breaking down and crying, because I couldn’t face who I might be and because I wouldn’t be able to face my parents if I ended up being ‘that way.’ And now,…now I had to come to terms with the fact that I was most likely not straight.  The first thing I did was tell my mom, and even though it was probably the hardest thing I had ever done,  I was so grateful that she didn’t hate me for it.  As expected, she didn’t understand, and was shocked, but she also didn’t ignore what I told her.

The second semester of my sophomore year, there was a girl in one of my classes who was at the very least, one of the most interesting people I had ever seen.  Compared to the popular definition of attractive, she was in every way ugly.  In my terms of attractive, she was in every way ever possible, the most beautiful people in existance.  This time, however, I didn’t try to ignore my feelings towards her, but instead I let them grow.  I let them flourish, and eventually I had grown a most likely unhealthy obsession with her.  I didn’t stalk her or call her house just to hear her voice and then hang up, but I wasn’t able to think about anything or anybody else.  I think I remember trying to talk to her once, but she, for the most part, ignored me.  I recall entertaining the hope that maybe she was just as nervous around me as I was around her, but my hopes later on were diminished when I realized that she really didn’t care about me or my feelings for her.  By the time another boring summer vacation reared its head, I had given up on ever being in a relationship with her, but I had also allowed myself to change who I was and how I felt about myself. 

Over the summer, I cut my hair.  It wasn’t a boy’s haircut, but it could easily have been mistaken for one. I changed my style to a less dull and more creative fashion, and I became closer friend with people who I didn’t really talk much to before.  I guess my choices when it came to new friends made sense eventually, because a couple of them came out to me shortly after.

And I also got a job, which is how I got into this whole mess in the first place.