The Perfect Failure
A short story about a young lesbian girl coming to grips with her own sexuality, and growing up in an unaccepting environment.
The promised girl, the one who would finally bring my parents the joy and happiness that they had always hoped for was finally born. On a cool autumn day, I had arrived in this world. My mother was thought to be infertile, but after many, many years of attempting to conceive me, their efforts came to fruition. They named me Alex, the shortened version of the historical figure, “Alexander The Great”. I don’t believe my parents ever put much thought into my name, but looking back at this birth, I wish they had. Being named after a great historical figure is bound to put some stress on your child, whether it is consciously or not.
My parents treated me well as a young child, but they still bent and twisted me to their whims and desires. I took extracurricular schooling outside of what was required by the state to “get an edge”, or whatever my parents would call it. In my mind I found it wholly unnecessary, and it just added to the overwhelming amount of work that I believed school had already prescribed me. On top of this, I also was forced to take music lessons twice a week, and I came to have nothing but utter disdain for the instrument that I was playing, the piano. Even to this day I can’t even look at a piano without remembering my Father’s harsh practice sessions and hour-long drills until I mastered a song or technique perfectly. I assume they thought that by filling my upbringing with menial tasks that I would be very studious and successful in my future, but I bet they never imagined that they wouldn’t be a part of it.
I began to notice I thought and felt a little differently in my early elementary school years. I made one extremely close friend named Ali and had developed a slight crush on her. I knew this was strange, only because the other girls only ever spoke of crushes on boys or cute teachers. I expressed this one day to my parents only to be met with, “You should focus on your studies, and if you have a crush make sure it is on a cute boy.” I’m not exactly sure what they were thinking when they told me this, but since she was one of my only friends, I can only assume that they thought that I had mistaken our deep friendship for something else. Our friendship never really amounted to much despite this, and she ended up moving away a few years later, this left me distraught for a few weeks, but my studies and extracurriculars didn’t allow me any time to mourn the loss of one of my best friends.
When I was old enough to prescribe a name to these feelings of difference, I was well into my teenage years. My sex education was a joke, and I would never even dare to bring up something like that to my parents. I taught myself wholly through the internet, and at 14 years old I finally figured out that I was probably a Lesbian. I was pretty worried by this, as my family wasn’t explicitly religious, but I’d heard them say some less than savory things about LGBT people on the news or on TV. Same goes for my surrounding community, we lived in a heavily religious area, so many of the people vehemently despised the thought of any one of us being part of that community. From that point on I avoided any and all talks about crushes or boyfriends around my parents or friends. People would bring things up like that from time to time, and even though it pained me I had to gloss over them in fear. This fear mainly came from the news and TV. I saw how people like me were treated, and I didn’t want to believe that I had anything to fear. But I could never push the possibility out of my mind.
To be told that your existence is an abomination, to be told you’ll never be received by the promised lands, and that you’ll be engulfed in fire for all eternity wouldn’t you shun yourself as well? When your existence is a source of contention across the entire planet, how was I meant to fit in? So, I hid and pushed down these thoughts, and hoped they would never see the light of day. That was nothing but a pipe dream of course, and I would eventually slip up a few years later. My mother and father had found text messages that I had sent to a girl I was flirting with at the time. When I arrived home from school that day, I found both my parents sitting at the dinner table, and shortly after that she had shown me a printed-out version of my texts with this girl. At first I was shocked at the absurdity of the situation, but that shock slowly turned into horror, as I realized what these specific text messages insinuated. Before that point I had thought that I could hide this “unclean” side of myself, but sadly I was not diligent enough. In that moment I had no idea how I would respond or even look at my parents in the eyes, but unluckily, my mother broke the silence with words that I will never forget:
“This is just a phase, but if you ever even think of bringing a woman into our home, you will no longer be welcome in this family Do you understand me Alex?” she said, with that same stoic expression that she always held plastered on her face. And my father sat their, as expressionless as ever, and didn’t say a single word.
If there had been a picture of my face at the exact moment that these words were uttered, you would have thought I had been stabbed. And to be frank, it felt that way as well. Like my heart and soul had just been shattered and crushed under the weight of their words. The pain I felt then was like no other, and I would have rather taken a slap to the face than ever hear those words come out of my mother’s mouth. All my fears compounded in one statement. Everything that I wished to avoid Wasn’t I your perfect daughter? The one who stayed up day and night to slave away so I can be the best? The one who was always at your beck and call? So why, god why, was that the breaking point? Just because I happened to li
The unfairness of it all had utterly broken me, and I with the last essence of my being uttered, “I understand mother.” Just like always, I hid the pain away, and hoped it would never see the light of day. The rest of that week was a blur, thankfully I wasn’t on break during this time, because then I wouldn’t have school to distract myself with. A few months after this, a girl that had recently moved into town had asked me out on a date. I was utterly shocked by this, as the only things I was known for at that point in school was being the top of the class and a loner. I had friends, but nothing really stood out about me, and what was even more confusing is how she had figured out I liked girls in the first place. “You just give off those vibes ya know?” I in fact did not know, but maybe that is because I had been sheltered for so long. Despite my better judgment, I thought it might be a change of pace to actually pursue a relationship with this girl.
Over the course of the next half a year, we silently dated. Her parents knew that she was a lesbian, and I was able to be free and out in her house. So in that sense her parents and her were the first people I ever came out to. Of course I had this relationship from my parents, and pretended like she was just a best friend. Thinking back on my relationship with her, I’m not sure if I regretted it, but I do know that the events that led to our breakup changed my life forever. 7 Months into our relationship, in my 3rd year of highschool, someone somehow caught a picture of us sharing a kiss in the back of her car in the school parking lot. We thought we were safe, but someone had found out our little secret. The panic that went through both of our minds was immeasurable. If these pictures got out, what would my parents do? Would they really kick me onto the streets?
Sadly, this question would be answered when I got home that fateful day. As soon as I stepped through the door I was confronted with a picture, at first I tried to deny, yet the red bandana around my neck was undeniable proof that the girl in the picture was in fact me. My mind raced, and my mother and father collectively screamed at me. “How could you betray us like this? DIdn’t you listen to us at all? How dare you call us our daughter!” My mouther continued to shout out cruel words into my face, until finally she said, “Don’t you dare show your face around here ever again!” I was shoved out of the door by my own flesh and blood, by my own mother. The only thing I could feel and hear was the blood pounding in my head.
I remember walking the streets for what felt like days. Those days passed like a blur. My girlfriend at the time was too far from the school to reach in any short amount of time. All I had was the clothes on my back during those freezing stormy days. I had nothing to eat or drink, and it seemed as though my parents wanted me to atone for my actions. I happened upon an overhang at a nearby park, and slept there for a few days. I had no idea what I was to do, I had never imagined a scenario like this, and the only thing I thought of was if I would ever be let back home. On the third day I caught an extreme fever, most likely from the freezing temperatures, along with irregular sleeping patterns and lack of food or drink. I slowly made my way towards the center of town, but somewhere along the way I collapsed, I don’t recall if I had made it back or not. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed.
The doctors were the parents of some of the kids at the local high school so they knew me by name, and called up my parents. They apparently rushed to the hospital, and once they saw the state I was in they broke down. When I came to my mother was sitting at my bedside. For the first time, it looked like her eyes actually glistened, and tears began to form. The only words that she knew to say at that point was “I’m Sorry.” She then sobbed at my waist side and begged me to come back home. I obliged, but at that point, there was no recovery for our relationship. Once I was released from the hospital my parents tried to treat me decently, but I became cold and detached from them. My girlfriend also came to visit me during that time, to tell me that her father was being restationed in another country. This mixture of events did naught but cement the terrible feelings welling up inside me.
I knew what I had to do at that point, college would be my final escape, so that I could finally try and live truthfully. I wanted to try and live an authentic life, I knew I had to escape this environment. There was no way for me to ever forgive or forget what my parents had done to me. I finished up the last years of my high school life, a cold detached husk by the end of it. Everything up until this point, being kicked out, being hospitalized, all of this led to my breaking point. And led me where I am today. I’m thankful that my parents never had any children besides me, and now that they’re at that age, they probably will never be able to. I probably wouldn’t have been able to leave them behind in an environment where they could potentially end up exactly like me, in a half-loved state with half-caring parents.
My studies had dropped considerably during those times, and I tried my best just to keep on living. As soon as I finished up with high school, I packed what little I had and moved across the country. I kept my goodbyes short, as I found that left me the greatest closure. Once I had moved I struggled to find who I was and what I was looking for. But all I wanted was to be myself. I was lucky to have found community and friends at college that I can call my own. Despite the fiasco that happened in my hometown I was able to find companionship, and was even content with how I was living . Being in this new accepting environment has done wonders for my worldview. My mother eventually tried to come and apologize to me, but I just ignored her calls and messages. It’s better for the both of us now that I’m finally away. There’s not much I would have to say to her or my father if I ever say them again. But the one thing I would ever say to my parents if I ever saw them again is “Thank you for helping raise the perfect failure.”
