Sometimes, extreme acts of bravery trigger chain reactions.
Some time ago, we shared Rosa’s story.
Her words have been heard, her story has been the first dominoes tile Bossy hopes to become.
Another young man told us our story, about the rape he had to go through – and more.
Here it is.
Mine’s one of those stories so long, they don’t seem to have an end. My friends and family know about it, but it is not enough for me: I keep feeling alone, invisible and scared when I have to watch my back while I’m walking down the street. I keep feeling angry, because nobody knows, everybody ignores stories like mine could even exist, although everyone should.
I wondered what I should do then. Is hope really gone for good? Then I thought I might not be able to speak up (out of fear, mostly), but I’ve always been good at writing. Is there gonna be space on Bossy for a different testimony like mine? That’s how I came up with this long letter.
First off, I need you to know that I’m gay. I won’t say my family and friends accepted me, because there’s nothing to accept: it did not make any difference to them. The coming out process was long and difficult, but when the time came I was surrounded by loving and caring people. I realized from the start that I was different from the gay guys you see around: I don’t like to take care too much care of my appearance, I don’t like feminine jewelry or purses, my voice is not high-pitched. I dislike discos and I watch a lot of movies, I read manga and fantasy books, I play a lot of video games and I listen to rock music… Lady Gaga is the gayest thing I can appreciate.
I used to live in the Ligurian hinterland, where it was practically impossible to meet with other guys like me – so when I moved away for uni, at 19 years old, I never had a boyfriend, but only a few short flirts and different unrequited interests (for straight boys, of course!). I was ready and enthusiast to have a new love life, along with the new studies. I was overwhelmed with emotion, so full of expectation – everything looked marvelous. I was so excited.
My hopes began to crumble when I signed up for the city’s LGBT association. It really wasn’t what I was expecting. It looked to me like they were only perpetuating stereotypes like frivolousness and promiscuity and gay guys were just showing off their femininity. I thought I would find more open minds, a place where homosexuals presented themselves as normal people, with strong love and family values. The tendency of the association was instead creating a micro-society prohibited to heterosexuals, with orgies and uninhibited entertainments.
I tried to keep a straight face, but the others realized my sense of denial, and began to denigrate me. For the first time in my life, I felt discriminated for mt sexual orientation. I was gay, but not gay enough. I was the gay who hangs out with straight people.
Things seemed to changed when I first saw him and heard his laughter. He was different: he didn’t care about filling the stereotypes, he just wanted to be himself. Or that’s what he wanted to show. I gathered some courage and asked him out. At the beginning he was a bit reluctant (as he would confess me later) but he said yes. Our first date was magical: we both found out we came from the same close minded realities and we never had another relationship before. We liked each other a lot, and by the second date, we already were a thing. The enthusiasm and joy I felt in those first thirty minutes were immediately toned down when he said he loved me. How can he love me if he doesn’t know me at all?, I thought. And if he doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him, how can we be already ‘together’? In the following days I couldn’t silence those doubts, but at least I managed to not listen to them, blaming the anxiety that comes with the first period of a relationship. After all it was something new for both of us – it was normal we had different ways of handling the rush of new emotions. I decided to tell him that I loved him too, even if I perfectly knew it wasn’t true – I thought that since he had said ‘I love you’ first, I could allow myself to turn back into a teenager a little bit. I still regret today having lied to him, because it wasn’t fair, but also because I cleared the path that led him to hurt me. Let it be clear thought that I cared a lot for him back then, and I was sure I could indeed have fallen in love with him one day.
Things were looking pretty great when, after two weeks, we slept together for the first time. While we were kissing and hugging on his bed, he took his pants off in front of me. «I can’t wait anymore», he said. «No, baby, not tonight», I answered. It’s not like I didn’t want to have sex with him, but I was too uneasy, too anxious, and I simply wanted things to go a bit slower, with more calm. But he didn’t let me. «I’m sorry, love, I just can’t resist anymore», he said. He took off my trousers and did what he wanted with me. I was trembling with fear, paralyzed on the bed. I was not feeling at ease with the situation, but I could not understand why. I couldn’t even find the strength to react. I wasn’t even able to understand what was happening. The only thing I remember is that, at one point, he violently took my legs and said, «Come on, sweetheart, spread your legs a little more». I was shivering and he, the one who loved me, did not even realize it. I forced myself to take part in that cruel game, telling myself it was what I liked and what I wanted, hoping it was going to stop soon. But something broke, that night. We fell asleep naked, and he threw his arms around me. I felt trapped in a cage. I lost my virginity with a rape. For a while, I kept living in a lie. I needed to trick myself. I could not admit I had failed on all fronts. I began telling myself he was the right person for me, and that our sex life wasn’t that bad. I came back after Christmas. It was only then that I revealed him the truth: I was not in love with him. He got mad at me, and I tried to console him. Exactly, I consoled my rapist. I told him I was not sure I wanted to break up with him and that I was confused. This should have been a wake up call for him, because what I meant was: if you really love me, you should fight for me and for our love. His answer was, «Stop pouring salt on the wound, you piece of shit». And that’s when I realized I had to leave him. I did not tell him immediately why I wanted to leave him, because I did not want him to feel guilty. I told him I was the one to blame for what was happening, because I had not been able to understand my feelings for him. Like an idiot, I said nothing about the rape, I did not hold it against him. One day, I felt the urge to pour out my emotions, so I decided to write him. I told him to stop spreading false rumors about me, also because he did not know the real reason why I chose to break up with him. A furious argument followed, and I finally had the chance to throw everything in his face. What he said then sounded more or less like, «I don’t understand how you can say that I’ve raped you. I did it for you, I did it to help you with your intimacy issues. In fact, it has been way more easier after that, you were more relaxed». These were the exact words which led me to hate him. That night he told me, «I’m sorry, love, I can’t resist anymore». Was there any form of love in those words? After him, I didn’t want to hear anything about relationships and men. I was afraid of relationships and, above all, I was afraid of having sex. I even went to therapy to get over the trauma. How could you say I was more relaxed? How? How could you say you helped me with my intimacy problems? How could you say that, when you are the one to blame for them? «I have no regrets». This was his last text.
I hated him and I still hate him with all my heart. With my therapist, parents and friends’s blessing, I decided to leave that place. They all told me I couldn’t feel good in such a segregated environment. I wrote him again in June.
I wanted to confront him, to meet him face to face, just to tell him how much I despised him and say goodbye, this time for good. After a while, when I had already set my heart at rest, he answered me and we arranged a date.
Everything went wrong since the beginning, that day. I promised myself I would not have let him kiss me, but I let him give me a kiss on the cheek. We concluded by saying that our relationship problems stemmed from a poor communication.
But I was not satisfied with the verdict, it did not give me justice. Anyways, I was too shocked to say anything else. «I am glad I have something good to remember about us. I will always appreciate you as a person and I will always care for you» –these were my last words.
«Thank you, Pietro. It will be the same for me as well», he responded.
I have never been more furious with myself. I still don’t know why I had to say those words. Maybe because I was feeling a sense of solitude? Was being with him better than being alone? Was I still afraid of him? How was it possible to remember in a good way such a terrible relationship? How could I appreciate, as a person, someone who had raped me?
If only I could turn back the wheels of time I would tell him something extremely different, «Asking you for a date was a terrible mistake. It is actually the worst mistake I have ever made. I hope you’ll find someone who’ll treat you as bad as you treated me.»
It has been more than one year since we broke up, and I still hate him. I am still looking for someone who could restore my faith in love. But what I see is nothing but superficiality in all the men I meet. They all have the same distorted view of love. I even met people who asked me to have sex even if they were in a relationship with someone else. That’s disgusting. Being gay sucks.
Why such stories are nowhere to be found on social media, for example (Facebook, YouTube and all the others)?. Everybody is talking about homophobic episodes, but why does no one speak up against the discrimination within the LGBT community itself? Those charnel houses and that frivolousness have absolutely nothing to do with those who are fighting for our rights.
Why no one tells anything about those gay guys who are or have been discriminated by other gay guys, like me? Among all the stories about victims of violence, why can’t my story be part of them?
Why do I have to stand aside, crying over what happened and wondering about gay love (if that’s what gay love is, is it worth it, I wonder)? I want to speak up.
My voice is my only weapon. Therefore I shall use it! I want to speak up for those who feel lonely, invisible and misunderstood.
Dear Bossy, here you have it, my story in your hands. Bossy’s aim is to speak up for the voiceless, isn’t it? Would you like to include my voice as well? Would you like to include, in your project, the voice of those who have been discriminated where discrimination should be fought?
Please help us.
Pietro
