By

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I was sixteen when it all went down. When everything that I had ever come to know about my family and the world changed. How kind they were. How gentle. And most importantly, how accepting.

I had just gotten home from school, and we were about to head over to my grandparents house when it all started. My older brother, whose eighteenth birthday we were about to be celebrating, starting ragging on me and asking when I was finally going to bring home a boyfriend for him to harass about taking care of his little sister.

We lived in Romania at the time, a country not exactly known for being accepting of gay people. So they had just assumed I had never met anyone who caught my eye yet. The were very strict Roman Catholics as well, the thought of me ever liking girls could not cross their mind.

Normally the teasing would be fine. But he decided to take it farther than he ever had before. My cousins and uncles joined in. Soon enough almost every time we were getting together I had someone badgering me about bringing home a nice boy soon.

By the time I was seventeen we were moving to the United States. My parents decided they wanted a better place to live, there were more opportunities in America is what they decided. So we packed up and we moved. Leaving all my friends behind.

We started at an American high school. Me as a Junior and my brother at the community college. That was when I met her. Up until then I had just acknowledged that I liked girls, not boys. But she made my heart stop and my breathing speed up when I saw her.

It was a couple of months later when we began experimenting with each other. This went on for quite awhile. But soon we both decided we needed something serious. And we became serious.

In the summer before my senior year we were supposed to have the house to ourselves. My parents were away visiting my family in Romania and by brother would not be back from his college until the next day. So imagine my surprise when he walked into the living room and saw me and my girlfriend kissing rather intimately.

Words can't describe the pain I felt when I heard his words. Saw the disgusted look on his face. He yelled and I don't want to think about what happened after. She ended up running out crying. And me, I was forced to stay there with my enraged brother. Spitting out insults and constantly telling me that this was not right. That I was sick person who obviously needed serve guidance.

Now, this is not meant to project bad onto all Christians. Or more specifically Roman Catholics. I have met my fair share of them that openly support and show kindness to gay couples.

But my parents had a similar reaction. And as one can imagine, a person can only take so much before they break.

The thing about insults is, even though at the start you know they are wrong, without anyone reassuring you of that, you begin to believe every thing that has been said. Soon enough I started to think I was worthless, poisoned and sick. Demented even. And I turned to self harm to punish myself for the disease they said I had.

This continued on until I went off to college. Scars piled up, self esteem went down. Realistically I am surprised I didn't break sooner than I did. But I guess the one or two real friends I had contributed to that.

It was the middle of my first semester in college when I finally hit rock bottom. I was alone, and I was tired. The park was so nice in the middle of October. I felt guilty for thinking the girl in my business math class was attractive. So I took the blade to my wrist and carved a large word.

Written in large, capital letters was the word 'disgusting' vertically along my left forearm. I don't know when I passed out. But I do know that went I woke up a stranger was sitting beside my bed.

A girl I had never met before. She was around five feet and seven inches tall. Her brown hair was curled into wavy locks and pulled back into a loose ponytail. Small stray hairs framed her pale face with a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown, they looked like melted chocolate.

Her first words to me were. "You're too fucking beautiful to carve yourself up like this. And I am going to show you."

The doctors released me into her custody two days later. And I fought her every single step of the way. I didn't want to be alive. I didn't want to breath. I didn't want to be this vile creature.

Around five months after I began staying with her I finally acknowledged the facts. She was kind, she was gentle, she was accepting. And two months after that, when I had finally began to love myself again. I realised that she was gay herself.

I'm not going to lie and say it was all flying horses carting rainbows and all that jazz. But it was easier.

I still had relapses. There would still be days when I couldn't find it in myself to get out of bed. There are still days when I have that ever present urge to cut myself. Still days when I feel like I'm worthless. But even when I'm at my lowest points, though we aren't lovers anymore, and our paths took us in different directions I still call her.

I am not currently seeing anyone. But she lives with her now wife of six months and their beautiful two year old boy. I go and visit often, little baby Kaden is practically my life. And I'm better now. I'm happy. And as I'm writing this, I'm preparing to go on a date with that same girl from my business math class.

So for those of you that have been pushed around, shamed, abused in any way or scared of your sexual orientation, don't be. I promise you everything will get better. I am Lesbian and proud of it. Even though I prefer girls everyone is attractive. I love all people. I will never treat anyone the way I was treated. Everyone deserves respect, and the right to love who they love no matter their gender.

Don't be ashamed of who you are. It's gonna get better, and I'll be there to talk if you ever need it.