Kicked Out of The Closet

National Coming Out Day just passed, and it's brought up some awful memories. At 15, I was starting to confide in friends on realizing I was gay...but I didn't get to come out. My parents found out I was gay by secretly recording my phone conversations. I found out when my dad started screaming at me that I was a fag that was going to die of AIDS.

The disgust in his eyes as he looked at me - his own child - like I was this repulsive thing only deserving of hatred. My parents sent me to therapy to "fix" me.

I learned to hate myself. The disgust for my sexuality became completely entwined with who I was as a person. There was no separation - I saw myself as wholly grotesque, shameful, something that needed to be hidden away.

This piece represents that trauma. The bifurcation of my being - the person I am and the person I was forced to pretend to be. This trauma didn't just change me - it shattered me. And while I've pieced much of myself back together, some fragments still feel jagged, raw and unresolved.

Today, I've embraced many aspects of being gay. But healing isn't linear. There are still major areas where I struggle, where that old disgust is always present. I've started using rug making as a new medium to explore and process these lingering feelings.

I'm curious to see what comes out of it.