Browsing: Here’s My Story

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By Diana Souhami
My need for self-expression began as a struggle with otherness, my confusion and inarticulacy about being lesbian. I was born in 1940. I grew up without words to express what I felt and with no one to tell them to, even if I could have found such words. I had no role models, no books to read.

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By Marcus Talberg
The summer I turned 13, I’d almost managed to accept that I’m gay. At the time I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about it. There were no role models that I could relate to, and it was back in the early 2000s, long before social media. The idea of meeting people over the internet was still very new.

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By Isabel Grey
Even my earliest memories are those of not recognizing my reflection in the mirror. I expected to see long hair. What I saw looking back was a feminine child with soft features and white eyebrows, crying hard as a barber shaped and trimmed my sandy hair into a short bowl cut.

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Margie Candler
[I] saw a small piece of paper folded up many times. I pulled it out, unfolded it, and saw these words: “Dear Mom and Dad: I love you very much. I hope you will not find this note until I am at least 18 and out of the house, but I am gay. This is not your fault. I am still your son. I love you, Paul.”

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By Stephen House
I’m a fortunate man to have experienced the life and love I have and the amazing journey I’ve been on. Coming out is a part of that. It was the right thing to do for me and for her; of that I’m sure.

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By Opa Hysea Wise
It’s been decades since I came out as a queer, mixed-race brown woman. And still the last bastions of feeling like an “other” nip at my heels. Perhaps, it is my shaved head and my brown skin that covers the faint remnant of a muscular build from years of weight training that gives people pause.

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By Brian Gleason
Steven was five feet nine inches tall and about one hundred forty pounds, just having crossed into his thirties when I met him at the Gauntlet Bar back in 1980s Los Angeles. He smacked my ass when I leaned in for a pool shot, which I missed, but I made the crossing glance to see his trickster smile…

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by Isabella de Carrington
It is July 2016, and I am heading off to a ball. “Sparkle Ball” is part of a transgender festival called Sparkle Weekend, where trans people gather to celebrate our transness…

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