Over the past few months, as pandemic-related restrictions have tentatively eased, I have been confronted by the question: “so, what have you been up to?”, “how have you been spending your days?”. The aforementioned shame begins to creep back in when I think of the many, many hours I’ve spent oversleeping, overeating, or over-indulging on digital distractions (who knew TikTok was so fun?). I tend to reply somewhat euphemistically: “I’m enjoying some time off before my PhD begins”; “I’m doing a bit of part-time work to earn some money”; or the age-old friend, “not much!”.

But, as I interrogate this exchange further, I am beginning to think that it isn’t entirely fair. I want to disassociate myself — however gradually — from the social narrative that ties self-worth to productivity. Since March, I’ve almost filled one whole journal with written entries, each a testament to the reflection and growth I’ve made space for. Since March, I’ve helped re-decorate my apartment, which is slowly becoming a true home for me and my boyfriend. Since March, I’ve rediscovered the joy of exercise and movement. Since March, I’ve taken serious steps towards naming, acknowledging, and addressing my various forms of mental ill health. Since March, I’ve have got tattoos, and, in so doing, taken greater ownership over my body and the ways I choose to express myself in and through it. In many ways, these past months have been a profound time of transformation, and I want to make room to celebrate that, too.

I have anxiety, depression, and — assessment pending —ADHD/ADD. Words have power, and naming these experiences represents a big step towards managing them. I have also been learning that progress is far from linear. Last week, after receiving a very exciting job offer (my first, ever), I was elated. I felt as if my low mood was banished forever. Today, however, I really struggled to get out of bed.

I’m increasingly seeing life as experienced between multiple, contradicting intersections. Though making progress and finding moments of happiness and beauty in my life, I’m also struggling and relapsing into unhealthy habits. Through it all, I’m working to be kinder to myself.

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Hi. I am writing to you on a coach from London to Oxford, on my way back from a day volunteering with UKLGIG. I helped facilitate and participated in a men’s support group in which we had to write and read out a short letter. For the asylum seekers who attended, this was addressed to a younger LGBTQ+ person in their home country. For me, I wrote to my former self. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to reflect that hard on who I was and who I am now. I ended up with a brief note reflecting more of my own confusion than the sorts of messages that I wanted or would have wanted to convey. This is my second attempt.

There are many things I want to tell you. I think back to memorable moments during my boyhood that defined my sense of self — whether at that instant or after years of quiet percolation in the back of my mind. My aunt — who, as you know, represents a stark contrast from the conservatism of the rest of the family — figures quite heavily. Remember when, during a rainy half-term daytrip to Stonehenge, we dressed up in old-fashioned fancy dress? When you got nervous that others would laugh at you, she told you not to care about what other people think. It gets in the way of fun. Well, I can tell you, that message has — however much I have tended to resist it — remained important to this day.

I came out to Mum and Dad as bisexual on Christmas eve, 2015. Mo was sat beside me. I didn’t want to tell them that I’d fallen in love with Nick. I loved him too much to let their struggle to understand reflect back in anger at him. At that moment, like many times in your life already, I found strength in my own conviction; in the knowledge that no one — not even my parents — can tell me who or what I am.

It probably terrifies you to read this. Over your life, you’ve found many ways to describe the feeling of ostracism; of being teased for being ‘gay’, a ‘sissy’, for being interested in poetry, in art, for being more sensitive than other boys. Even in sixth form, as your social and personal identity became defined by your close proximity to TWBAD — a close friendship group comprised of, as Nathan once said on the eve of our post-Epsom Interrail trip, “fucking benders” — and as you more publicly identified with your burgeoning and stigmatised passion for poetry and the arts, the notion that you might also be queer was one that you strenuously resisted. Perhaps more pertinently, you have fought these narratives most aggressively within yourself. You shame yourself for the desires you are yet to put a name to, and cling firmly to the idea that, one day, things will be easier.

Things will be easier, but not in the ways that you think. You have a series of wildly romantic and formative years ahead of you. You continue to cherish beautiful moments in life, but you no longer agonize as much over how others might judge them. You will forgive yourself for so much, not least your sexuality. You might not want to accept it now. You might not understand it now. That’s ok. Continue to believe in yourself, in your passion for life and the things that give it meaning. As that guides you, you will find yourself in moments that ease you, that contribute to and reinforce your knowledge of who you are and who you will become.

I’m hesitant to talk of your life now as being ‘bad’. It’s not. I am extremely grateful for my childhood. You have lived and will continue to live a wonderful and very privileged life, filled with special memories with family and friends — many of whom are still around! This letter is not to invalidate or complicate that, but to encourage you to keep on living, and to say that you will — however inconceivable it is now — become more comfortable in and with yourself.

One thing I’ve learnt is that life is remarkably complex. Many things — not least emotions — exist within a constant suspension between two equally valid and yet contradictory ends. You can feel anger and frustration to those who have caused you pain, but there is room for love and forgiveness. As I’ve learned more and more about the many hardships that others face, most of which are very different to mine, I am set on emotions of anger and resistance. I’m currently of the view that, whilst there is of course a place for these emotions, they aren’t always the most productive. You have and will continue to experience oppression for who you are, and others experience this in different and more severe ways. Despite that, and as hard as it can be to find room for it, remember how much kindness has helped you in your life. Looking back now, in October 2019, I can attribute most of the important and constitutive moments in my life to other people’s kindness and generosity. This will become more evident as you get older. Knowing this will empower you to change the hearts and lives of those around you, however slowly or insignificantly it might seem.

There’s lots still to say, but I won’t keep you. Know that you are loved, and that you are valid. I am proud of you, of all of you. Keep learning and loving life.

With love from your future self.

Brian

Originally posted in October 2019