Mom still hates Teh Gay and wants me to "reconsider" and "not pigeonhole [my]self." (Only she is allowed to do that, apparently.)

She now blames and hates my college and doesn't really like Maureen much either. I have come to the conclusion that my love for something is inversely proportional for her love for it.

She pulled out the "maybe [I] just haven't met the right man yet" line. I have to wonder how many men I would have to meet before she would concede that there isn't a right one. She also did the whole "you'll trust those... women on the Internet over your own parents?" routine. I thought about asking her why she trusts what James Dobson or some other straight man says about my sexual orientation over what I say about it.

At that point, though, I'd sort of stopped responding. She doesn't want answers; to her, they're rhetorical questions. I'm not supposed to actually disagree with the implicit sentiments.

The whole conversation started when she asked how I was doing on the meds and asked me if I thought I was happier, and I tried to explain that it was really being in the closet that does me in mentally. Mom didn't like my characterization of it that way, preferring the idea that Teh Gay was responsible for my depression instead of her reaction to it, and it kind of went downhill from there.

Also, she asked me to get rid of the LEZ shirt. I didn't respond, and currently, I have not thrown it out. Frankly, it's a freaking t-shirt, and I've worn in public maybe three times; mostly I sleep in it because it's a comfortable shirt. She's taken it to symbolize my entire "rebellion," and tossing it would be implicitly conceding that there is something shameful about what it represents.

Mom wishes I could go to the ex-gay-proponent dude I talked to on the phone. I can only thank God he lives in a different state, and that she doesn't find one of those Exodus boot camps, one of which is located in our state.


I still hate taking medication. Lexapro is having just about the same effect Zoloft did, minus the weird heart palpitations. In particular, it makes me nauseous while I'm driving, which is bad. If I have to try one more SSRI I'm going to actually go nuts.


I miss having a real journal and website. One of these days I may set up a (better-protected, with better pseudonyms, unlinked to my site) journal somewhere.

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thus saith Liadan at 12:27 AM


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