First of all I don’t really fit the definition of a hippie. I use
The Dirty Hippie as my screen name a lot due to an event that occurred
the summer before I came to college. I was outside in the front yard at
my parents’ house in my bare feet (At this time I was in my bare as much as possible
to be honest) and this truck drove by and the old man inside just
yelled, “Ya dirty hippie,” at me. Well that evening I changed my
twitter account name to The Dirty Hippie and it just kind of stuck. So
there’s that story.
Another thing I get asked about a lot is my story about self-harm, depression, eating disorders, etc. So I’ll tell that next. When I was in middle school I started to really hate myself, partly because I didn’t look like the guys on tv (the disney channel in particular—don’t judge me, disney was and is my one of my favorite things), and also because I was starting to find an attraction to other boys (which I suppose I can cover next). I began to starve myself at school, I either wouldn’t eat much if anything at all, or I would give my food to other people. Now my family has always been the type to all eat together at the dinner table, so starving myself at home was never really an option. Instead I would wait until they were asleep and if I felt like I wouldn’t wake them, or I’d wait and see if they left the house, and I’d go to the bathroom and purge maybe once or twice a week. On top of the hating my image issue, like I said, I hated myself for my developing attraction for the same sex. As a result of this I began “punishing” myself by cutting. I felt like I deserved it. I felt like I was gross and disgraceful to myself and my family. As the year passed the cutting only got more frequent. I began doing it not only as a way to punish myself, but also as a way to let out my anger (not always anger directed towards me), I’d do it under times of depression, and eventually I’d come to start cutting from stress. But the scariest part for me was honestly the fact that I grew a sort of addiction for it. There were nights that I’d cut all the way up (and sometimes around) my forearm for no reason at all—I just liked bleeding, I liked the pain. And it was at this point that I stopped caring if people saw the cuts and scars. Once I started cutting for no reason I stopped wearing long sleeved shirts to cover them up while I was at school, I still didn’t want my family to find out. But I eventually came to the realization that I needed to stop, all of it, the starving and the purging and the cutting, it needed to come to an end. When I was in high school I was still struggling with it, but not near to the extent that I was. At this point Demi Lovato had canceled her tour to check herself into a treatment facility for self-harm and eating disorders. In the months leading up to her doing this I was seeing articles that rumored her problems, but nothing that really had concrete evidence. I had been a Demi fan since “As the Bell Rings” and I fell in love with her even more when Camp Rock came out followed by her first album. When I found out that she had canceled her tour and checked into treatment herself, without the persuasion of family or friends, I saw that I had someone to look up to, someone who was going through the same things I was and was stronger than I was. She gave me the strength I needed to start the long road to recovery. Today I’m still struggling with self-harm, and the frequency that I act upon it is dwindling. I still think about skipping a meal even though my stomach is roaring, or purging after I eat way too much, but now I feel like I can say that’s behind me. And I just want you to know, if you’re someone who has problems like this, you can talk to me, I promise I will be here for you. I really didn’t have a confidant until my freshman year of college. I just had Demi, and let’s be honest, she’s a great role model and someone to look up to for people like us, but she won’t be there to talk us through it if we need her to. I am here to support you, please do not forget that.
Now, the coming out story, right? When I was in the 7th grade I started noticing boys a lot more than I was the girls. That’s how that worked. I didn’t just wake up one morning and say, “hmmm, ya know I’m just not sure about girls. I think I’ll stick with boys from here on out.” Some people think it’s partly to do with the fact I never got “the talk” as a child and out of not knowing what to do with a vagina other than “stick it in” I decided to just stick to what I know. Now I think that’s a load of horse crap, simply because now about 75% of my friends are lesbians all of whom have taught me at least one thing about how to please a woman. Now, I have a general “what to do” sort of guide in my head if I ever so chose to sleep with a woman, I have no actual experience, but let me tell you this—I am STILL NOT INTERESTED. So don’t tell me I’m gay because I never got the talk. Anyway, I hated myself. I grew up in a family that made it clear they didn’t believe homosexuals should be allowed to marry, and that homosexuality was something to laugh at. As a result I grew a deep loathing for myself, and a constant fear of what would happen when they found out. Fast forward to my sophomore year of high school and I come out to my best friend as bi (Not as a way to transition, I legitimately thought I was bisexual). Well later that week I start getting questions from other people at school asking me if it’s true that I’m gay. I start denying it when people ask, and I ask them where they heard it. My best friend had been telling people we went to school with. Long story short, I get angry, she blames it on one of our other friends (who I didn’t even tell), and we go about our lives like it didn’t even happen. The next year I start dating my first boyfriend and begin coming out to people myself when they ask about the two of us. Then one of the middle school kids that was in our marching band finds out and he starts harassing my younger brother about it at school (they both went to the same middle school). The guidance counselors hear about it (I can’t remember why, I think my brother may have threatened to beat the kid to a pulp or something) and they call my parents. My parents ask me about it at dinner that night and I denied that I was gay because I still wasn’t ready for them to know. About a month and a half later I’ve broken up with the guy (such a long relationship, so fulfilling) and I’m talking to his current boyfriend (the guy had messaged me first, I didn’t find out that they were dating for like a week after we had been flirting). Now at this time my mother wanted passwords to my accounts so that she could make sure I wasn’t doing anything inappropriate or unsafe online. She logged into my facebook one night while I’m messaging the guy and she reads our entire conversation…along with conversations I had open with other people as well (some of which were in regards to my sexuality). And that’s how my parents found out. I’m going to stop there, because that’s really the end of it because after being (almost) forced out of the closet one time and then a second time and then finally actually being shoved out of the closet, I just started telling people honestly when they asked. The only time I go back in the closet is when I’m around extended family and I really don’t know if I even want to bother telling them.
Another thing I get asked about a lot is my story about self-harm, depression, eating disorders, etc. So I’ll tell that next. When I was in middle school I started to really hate myself, partly because I didn’t look like the guys on tv (the disney channel in particular—don’t judge me, disney was and is my one of my favorite things), and also because I was starting to find an attraction to other boys (which I suppose I can cover next). I began to starve myself at school, I either wouldn’t eat much if anything at all, or I would give my food to other people. Now my family has always been the type to all eat together at the dinner table, so starving myself at home was never really an option. Instead I would wait until they were asleep and if I felt like I wouldn’t wake them, or I’d wait and see if they left the house, and I’d go to the bathroom and purge maybe once or twice a week. On top of the hating my image issue, like I said, I hated myself for my developing attraction for the same sex. As a result of this I began “punishing” myself by cutting. I felt like I deserved it. I felt like I was gross and disgraceful to myself and my family. As the year passed the cutting only got more frequent. I began doing it not only as a way to punish myself, but also as a way to let out my anger (not always anger directed towards me), I’d do it under times of depression, and eventually I’d come to start cutting from stress. But the scariest part for me was honestly the fact that I grew a sort of addiction for it. There were nights that I’d cut all the way up (and sometimes around) my forearm for no reason at all—I just liked bleeding, I liked the pain. And it was at this point that I stopped caring if people saw the cuts and scars. Once I started cutting for no reason I stopped wearing long sleeved shirts to cover them up while I was at school, I still didn’t want my family to find out. But I eventually came to the realization that I needed to stop, all of it, the starving and the purging and the cutting, it needed to come to an end. When I was in high school I was still struggling with it, but not near to the extent that I was. At this point Demi Lovato had canceled her tour to check herself into a treatment facility for self-harm and eating disorders. In the months leading up to her doing this I was seeing articles that rumored her problems, but nothing that really had concrete evidence. I had been a Demi fan since “As the Bell Rings” and I fell in love with her even more when Camp Rock came out followed by her first album. When I found out that she had canceled her tour and checked into treatment herself, without the persuasion of family or friends, I saw that I had someone to look up to, someone who was going through the same things I was and was stronger than I was. She gave me the strength I needed to start the long road to recovery. Today I’m still struggling with self-harm, and the frequency that I act upon it is dwindling. I still think about skipping a meal even though my stomach is roaring, or purging after I eat way too much, but now I feel like I can say that’s behind me. And I just want you to know, if you’re someone who has problems like this, you can talk to me, I promise I will be here for you. I really didn’t have a confidant until my freshman year of college. I just had Demi, and let’s be honest, she’s a great role model and someone to look up to for people like us, but she won’t be there to talk us through it if we need her to. I am here to support you, please do not forget that.
Now, the coming out story, right? When I was in the 7th grade I started noticing boys a lot more than I was the girls. That’s how that worked. I didn’t just wake up one morning and say, “hmmm, ya know I’m just not sure about girls. I think I’ll stick with boys from here on out.” Some people think it’s partly to do with the fact I never got “the talk” as a child and out of not knowing what to do with a vagina other than “stick it in” I decided to just stick to what I know. Now I think that’s a load of horse crap, simply because now about 75% of my friends are lesbians all of whom have taught me at least one thing about how to please a woman. Now, I have a general “what to do” sort of guide in my head if I ever so chose to sleep with a woman, I have no actual experience, but let me tell you this—I am STILL NOT INTERESTED. So don’t tell me I’m gay because I never got the talk. Anyway, I hated myself. I grew up in a family that made it clear they didn’t believe homosexuals should be allowed to marry, and that homosexuality was something to laugh at. As a result I grew a deep loathing for myself, and a constant fear of what would happen when they found out. Fast forward to my sophomore year of high school and I come out to my best friend as bi (Not as a way to transition, I legitimately thought I was bisexual). Well later that week I start getting questions from other people at school asking me if it’s true that I’m gay. I start denying it when people ask, and I ask them where they heard it. My best friend had been telling people we went to school with. Long story short, I get angry, she blames it on one of our other friends (who I didn’t even tell), and we go about our lives like it didn’t even happen. The next year I start dating my first boyfriend and begin coming out to people myself when they ask about the two of us. Then one of the middle school kids that was in our marching band finds out and he starts harassing my younger brother about it at school (they both went to the same middle school). The guidance counselors hear about it (I can’t remember why, I think my brother may have threatened to beat the kid to a pulp or something) and they call my parents. My parents ask me about it at dinner that night and I denied that I was gay because I still wasn’t ready for them to know. About a month and a half later I’ve broken up with the guy (such a long relationship, so fulfilling) and I’m talking to his current boyfriend (the guy had messaged me first, I didn’t find out that they were dating for like a week after we had been flirting). Now at this time my mother wanted passwords to my accounts so that she could make sure I wasn’t doing anything inappropriate or unsafe online. She logged into my facebook one night while I’m messaging the guy and she reads our entire conversation…along with conversations I had open with other people as well (some of which were in regards to my sexuality). And that’s how my parents found out. I’m going to stop there, because that’s really the end of it because after being (almost) forced out of the closet one time and then a second time and then finally actually being shoved out of the closet, I just started telling people honestly when they asked. The only time I go back in the closet is when I’m around extended family and I really don’t know if I even want to bother telling them.
