Ya know, I always thought of myself as straight my entire life. Not once have I had a “gay experience” as they called it on some of the online forums. Nothing major that jumped out at me that said, “Hey you’re gay as fuck!”. However, the more I reflected and looked back at the memories that I repressed for years, it all started to make sense and that’s what scared me the most.

It was making way too much sense, but what do you expect? I grew up a strict Catholic home and went to a private Catholic all girls schools. When I went to church, I heard the stories. I stopped talking to several childhood friends because they got shipped off to Jesus camp with a half-hearted wave and a disapproving nod from the church. I would be knocking at Satan’s front door if I even thought about another girl; so, I repressed it all.

My wondering gaze in the locker room, finding myself befriending the pretty girls just so I could admire them without anyone noticing, the times when I would kiss a boy and find myself dreaming of a girl version of him or one of my friends, sleepovers that turned into experiments that would end with the girls saying “ew” while I found myself yearning for more. I was blinded; blindfolded by my faith, my family and the church. I repressed it all and turned it into burning hate which then turned to angry red cuts on my ankles.

I guess I didn’t want my core identity to be shaken, I didn’t want to face the crumbling walls that I build up my entire life. The walls my family build up my entire life, but I knew I couldn’t run anymore.

I realized I couldn’t keep running the minute I step off the plane in California, I knew the minute I met my two best friends and started our band that running was no longer an option. I knew I was fucked when I stared into her beautiful blue eyes. I was far away from my home in New York and the chains that held me for so long seemed to loosen their hold. I found freedom in the physical form of a guitar.

I always played instruments since I was a child but only classical, I only got to pick up the guitar in freshman year of high-school after years of begging. Even then I only learned a few songs, approved by my father of course. What my father didn’t know was the fact throughout high school, I created my own form teenage rebellion.

In the dead of night, when I was sure the entire house went to bed; I would search the internet and go to sites such as Bandcamp and YouTube for a rougher sound. Metal stole my heart, who knew songs about drowning in blood could have me dreaming about romance? With Metal came looking up more things and I stumbled across Goth and punk culture. It resonated with me; but I knew under my father’s gaze I would never be able to explore and experiment. So, that’s why I chose Musicians Institute in California.

It felt like my father and I were fighting my entire Junior year about my decision. Finally, after I showed how serious and determined I was, did he finally backdown. My mom also had a hand in his decision to leave me be, after all he didn’t want to lose another child. So, I found myself creating a time clock in my head. Ticking down to the moment I would go off to college and finally become the person I could truly be. I wanted to rip off the mask and destroy it; college was the perfect stage, especially in California.

And this when the show begins.