Forays into Philippa’s dark mind. She apologise ten thousands times.
-My best friend, she turns to me and she says, “Does this mean you’re going to have to tell your parents that you are gay?”
-“Yes, yes it does.”
-And she doesn’t check if that OK. She shrugs her shoulders and says, “Well good, good for you.”
-Thanks very much, FRIEND OF MINE WHO WILL REMAIN NAMELESS
It’s made me consider whether or not I even know how to be gay or what this means? Or if I’m ready to accept this identity. I don’t really have my license yet. Can I drive my own sexuality? Probably not. Did I just reduce myself down to a sum of my parts? Yes. Am I comparing my sexual preference to the functionality of a machine or engine? Maybe. Is this ok? No, no I don’t think so. But we must move on and forget that this has already crossed the line into offensive. I’m sorry. I’ve suddenly fallen out of the closet and I’m offending everyone, mostly myself.
Why is this?
Because
I
hate
myself.
And what does this mean?
I
feel
physically
sick
most
of
time.
And how should you feel?
I don’t know. Why don’t you read four hundred Google Search pages and see if you can find the answer there?
This weekend, I vomited over my new suit and tie. (You know, keeping it all formal for the ladies.) And boy, did that make me feel better. There is an incredible release in vomiting all over yourself. Visualising all that bad stuff and knowing you’re cleansed for now.
ENDS
PHILIPPA MANNION 