I AM ME, MY DEPRESSION IS WORSENING BY THE MINUTE AND I NEED PEOPLE TO TALK TO. PLEZ NO CRAP ABOUT SEX OR ANYTHING, I JUST WANT FRIENDS. IM NICE, JUST LET ME WARM UP TO YOU!so, my name is austin, most of you probably think im REALLY weird, but you still love me. if you've wondered where i was, i was in the hospital for suicidal thoughts/attempts and depression. i recently came out to everyone, so if you were wondering yes, i am gay. i dont like people being idiots, i find it really unattractive. my str8 girlfriend is cristina, we've been thru so much together and i cherish the fact we were able to get thru all our issues. love ya cris! deena is my bffl cuz shes always been there for me, i love her so much! shes always listened and helped me thru my toughest of times. my best guy friend is austin "smelder" cuz he just makes me laugh and was one of the only guys not to freak when i came out. jacquie, tessa, and allison are my lovers 2 da maxx. im completely obsessed with all of tessa and jacquie's sexy pants. im stalking this kid named brandon, he lives in chicago. yes, i am moving back to michigan this summer, bummer. i will totally throw a HUGE partAY at my place once i move and EVERYONE (except haters) are welcome. no, im not dating anyone right now and dont plan on dating anyone in the near future. i dont trust school love relationships all too much. look for my name in an upcoming chicken soup book, im more than likely in one!!! so, yea, feel free to ask me questions, i enjoy answering them, just dont make them stupid. remember the essentials, LIVE, LOVE, and LAUGH with all your might. :)
This story i sent to Chicken Soup for the Soul, ENJOY!!!!
"It all happened so fast its hard to remember all the details. But what I do know is the time after my spring break was a time I will truly never forget. I was an average 13-year-old, sure I might have enjoyed hugs a little more than other people, but I was the average American teen for the most part. You see, throughout my entire life, everyone- including family, had questioned my sexuality. People often thought my mannerisms and girly disposition was a sign I was gay. I had denied it my entire life, but despite how hard I tried, no one seemed to believe me, even myself. I knew for years that I was gay, or at least bisexual. I never seemed to get it, the whole gay verses straight thing, to me love was love, and what was below the waist mattered, but wasnt to determine who you could love. Ive always found myself equally attracted to men and women, but considering todays society, I could never express my true feelings. The weekend we returned from vacation my mom had a talk with me about sexuality, she said if I was gay, then shed accept me, and if I wasnt, thatd be fine too. She made it sure to tell me that I would not be bi though. I asked her why and she told me that bisexuals are immoral people with no standards. We fought for hours, but ultimately, her mind didnt change. I went to bed crying that night. How could I tell her I was bi when she felt this strongly against the whole thing? When I returned to school Monday, I had a chat with my social worker, and told her what I was feeling. She asked if I was truly this way and whether or not I was just doing it to stand out. I told her flat out that that was who I was, and it wasnt going to change. She recommended not telling my parents about it, not yet. I told her I would wait. That night, I went to my mom and asked if we could talk about bisexuality again, because I didnt get her perspective. She began ranting again and I fought back defending bisexuals. I stopped her mid-sentence and asked, Do you consider bi people immoral? She just stared at me for a moment and said, Yes, I do. I began to cry and looked at the floor. I turned to her and responded with, Mom, consider me immoral. We fought all night long, and I ended it all with a simple I HATE YOU! I was grounded, lost my door (my mom kicked it down when I ran and locked myself inside my room), and then my mom did something she never had done before, she slapped me. I was pissed at her. How could she not accept me? I was her son. I ran in my room, grabbed my new bottle of Prozac, and chugged it. After it was empty I threw the bottle down, picked up a knife, and slashed at my wrist. I fell asleep, or better yet, passed out. The next morning I woke up feeling sick, but went to school. Again, I talked to my social worker, but this time about the fight. As I was getting up to leave I turned around. Something inside me blurted out, I took a bottle of Prozac.She stared at me, stunned. You know I have to call your parents now, right? I just nodded and began to cry. She got the nurse to check on me, and called my parents. I sat and waited for my parents to come. Instead of my mom, my friends mom, Barb, came and got me. I went to her house and just sat there, still waiting for my parents. By the time my dad arrived, I was crying, but I thought everything would be ok; Barb had comforted me and made me feel a lot better. But when my dad drove away from Barbs place, he didnt go home; he went to the emergency room. I dont remember the E.R., I just remember being naked, tied down to a bed and sobbing more and harder than ever before. All I remember was hearing the nurse tell me that I would have to be hospitalized for at least 72 hours. An hour later, an ambulance came and transferred me to Saint Margaret Mercy Hospital where I lived for the next few days. No freedom, no fun, just pure, intense treatment. I met some cool kids in the Adolescent Psych Unit, like Steve and Jon, but it wasnt cool being there. I missed my best friends birthday party, and couldnt talk to anyone but my parents. A few days in the doctor had told me that I would be going home soon, and I got excited. But one afternoon, my parents came over and we had a talk with my therapist at the hospital. Then they said something that pierced my heart, I wasnt being sent home, I was being transferred to Childrens Memorial Hospital in Chicago, which was over an hour away from home. I begged not to go, but they wouldnt listen to me. An ambulance was there almost immediately, and I was transferred within two hours of them telling me. When I got to Childrens it was completely different. But I fit in right away. I met some cool people, but they all left a few days in. Then I met someone who really helped me, a kid, just fifteen years old, named Brandon. Brandon looked like your general teen, but he was so much more. Even though he may not get it right now, he really changed me. You see, Brandon had also attempted suicide, but not by pills, by trying to bleed to death. He had a huge gouge in his left arm, and half the time when he tried to move it, it started to bleed again. Over the next week Brandon and I got closer. We talked in group therapy and one on one, and just somehow, knowing someone had closely-related problems to me, made me feel so much better. I had pretty much felt alone until I met him, but as soon as we started to talk, I felt like I had someone to confide in, at least until I was discharged. When we found out Brandon was going home in a few days, I passed him a note with my number on it, even though its against the rules to do so. Later he gave me his. That Wednesday Brandon left, and again I felt alone. But then I found out I would be leaving the next day. Thursday came all too slowly, but I was finally, after two weeks of being hospitalized, going home. When they called me out of the group I began to shake, this was it. I walked upstairs and my mom was waiting with my bags all packed. The car ride home was awful, I hadnt been in a car for weeks, and now I was in one for two hours, so, I took a nap. That night I paced through my room. I looked around; they had changed my room, a lot. I found the note with Brandons phone number on it. Should I call? He had told me that he isnt always a good person, so how could I trust that he gave me the right number, or even if he would talk to me. I ended up calling, and to my relief, he answered. We ended up talking for an hour; he said he was so happy to hear from me, I was happy too. If it werent for Brandon, I never would have had the strength to pick myself back up. Because sometimes, when youre so low it seems like youll never get to the top again, all you need is a hand to help you. Even if its just a person you can feel comfortable talking to, it'll really help you in the long run. Brandon didnt question my past like everyone else, he just listened and made me laugh, which was exactly what I needed, someone to vent to, not someone to ask me a million and two questions or someone to tell me Im wrong with my thinking, just someone to vent to.
Brandon and I still talk today, and it really helps me cope with my issues. Whenever Im down, two minutes of talking to him just makes me laugh, and even if just for a minute,
Im happy."
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