A Lesbian’s Depression – Part 1

I am a lesbian.

At least that’s what I think I am.  Not until two years ago did I have a light bulb moment. I realized that I was different.

I used to like men, but not anymore. Before laying your judgement, allow me to explain myself.

I was a battered kid. My mom used to beat me up almost every day, perhaps even from the time I was born. From neglecting my chores to playing with my friends, she always had excuses to beat me up. My dad never stood up for me though. He must’ve believed it was for my own good. You see, my parents are firm believers of Catholic doctrines – they follow every Word to the dot. And after every beating, mom usually makes me kneel down in front of a 5 foot tall statue of Jesus to ask for forgiveness. She said I committed “very terrible” sins against God and therefore I should repent. I can still remember His eyes looking back at me…but was it grief, disgust or mercy registered in them? I wouldn’t really know. But perhaps God never heard my apologies or maybe He couldn’t forgive my sins because the beating still continued throughout my adolescent years. Then I left home to study in U.P.  Diliman.

U.P. became my sanctuary. It opened doors I never knew existed. It taught me about life…about boys, about alcohol, about drugs, about sex and about Philosophy. In other words, all those things my parents told me to avoid, I embraced. With all the freedom I had, I forgot about one severe consequence. I became my alter ego.

The girl from the province no longer existed. She is the life of the party now. The girl you’d tag along to have a good time. The girl who can engage in intellectual debates and stimulate men’s lust all at the same time. She has both the beauty and the brains to increase her advantage.

I played around with various men. I probably had two serious relationships. Each one ended in disaster and unbearable heartache. I got pregnant once….had an abortion the day I found out about the zygote. Yes, it’s just a zygote. A fertilized egg. Not yet a human being. And that’s all there is to it. Anyway, the man who was supposed to be the father is still up to this day, unidentified.

After that, I realized that if my parents only showed a little bit of affection towards me, I wouldn’t have succumbed to the promise of comfort that men and vices represented. I got tired of people’s pretenses. I became indifferent. I became tough. I decided it’s time to move on. And that’s when I met her.

to be continued…

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