Nobody Asks to Fight in this Battle

I hate feeling like this. Every time I am reminded of the hurdles I face coming out to the world, I fall into a state of despondency.

Yesterday I visited the home of one of my cousins. He committed suicide in 2002, or so we believe, based on the evidence available to us. I was just 13 then, and had never met him before (he visited the house for dinner years earlier, but I cannot remember). At the time, allegations loomed that he was gay. A drop dead gorgeous young man (I dug through albums to find pictures of him), it is believed that he was often beaten by his male lover- I’ll leave the evaluation of why such abuses often continue unabated in gay relationships, when societies are still hostile towards gay men. For whatever reasons, he stayed in the abusive relationship, until he took his life. He was found hanging from a rope in his home; his naked body swinging gently, suspended from a wooden post in his bedroom.

He was just 25 years old. I imagined what it would have been like to visit the house with him there… acknowledging our common plight in a hostile world that hates us, and conversing about our varied experiences as gay Jamaicans. This, however, was not to be. Each time my father described him as a “batiman” my heart sunk, and a feeling of wretchedness welled up inside me. I'm not sure how long it will take for me to be comfortable using that word to describe myself.

This feeling hasn’t left me. I feel as though I am unarmed for the battle I must soon fight. I’m prepared to lose people along the way, but that does not make the unfortunate reality any less painful.

I’m going to rest my weary soul. My gumption has temporarily evaporated.