Being Like Me Hasn't Always Been "Trendy"

I'm about four years old here, riding the swings at the local amusement park.

Hi, I'm Rachel, and I identify somewhere on the spectrum of being gay. I have experienced depression, anxiety, and PTSD, all of which I have treated with talk therapy and medication for a large portion of my young adult years. I also had severe separation anxiety and sensory processing issues as a child, and have always been introverted. I prefer the company of books to people.

It was a big deal for me to do things alone as a kid, and now it's a big thing for me to go to the bank without sweating for the duration of the experience. I'm not the best in social situations in general, and I have really struggled with accepting the fact that my mental health will always be something I need to keep a close eye on.

However, at some point in my late middle/early high school years, mental health struggles and being an LGBTQ-identifying person became trendy "character traits" in my generation. How many times have you seen someone on TV capitalize on their sexuality or deep struggles without considering how that affects the stigma surrounding these topics? How often have you heard older adults say, "That's just for attention" or "it's just a phase" regarding a young person coming out or admitting they have ADD or ADHD that hinders them from achieving to their fullest potential? Why did we allow ourselves to perpetuate these stereotypes and degrade those with genuine struggles?

Being gay was never a choice for me, and neither was my depression. I discovered these parts of myself at two very different stages in life.

The first depressive episodes I ever experienced occurred before I even started elementary school. I remember sitting in my grandmother's house (because babysitting was much more cost effective than daycare for my single mom) and feeling this empty, gaping pit in my stomach. It would come and go in waves, some lasting a couple hours and other periods lasting days at a time. When I was anxious, I would beg my exhausted mom to take me anywhere as long as I could feel full and distracted for a little while (and I still do this with Target). I had no idea what this feeling was, but it was uncomfortable and terrifying.

Kindergarten started, and I was automatically labeled the "problem child". I sobbed uncontrollably when my mom left me, I would cling to the classroom aide's arm and cover my ears while other kids screamed and played with one another. I felt broken because I had a fraction of the social skills required and every noise was too loud for me. I was always itchy in my uniform and despised math. My depression took a back seat, and my anxiety came full speed ahead.

I learned after a few months how to cope. I made two close friends, I learned to communicate effectively with adults trained to help me (though they weren't really sure how to, from my recollection), and muddled through kindergarten with those coping mechanisms.

For most of elementary school, I was popular yet quiet, smart, inquisitive, and a straight A student. Then there was middle school.

Middle school was the stomping grounds for depression in my peers, and it nearly killed some of us.

Middle school was scary. I went to a small middle and high school that encapsulated the personalities of thousands in a student body of a measly 600. I was overwhelmed and way too introverted for my own good. I made friends, all of us strange and immature in our own ways, but we all struggled with depression and anxiety. We were twelve years old! By seventh grade, I had talked down a friend from a suicide attempt, had made my first B average in a math class the year previous (a massive disappointment for me), was confused and scared of my sexuality, and had to tell my more mature friend that no, her relationship with an older boy was NOT healthy or safe. I was thrown into situations I was too afraid to ask my mom or another adult about, and it felt like I was breaking under the pressure.

I didn't necessarily realize I was even a little gay until I was in eighth grade and wondered why I was more interested in upperclassmen girls (though I was still boy crazy at this time) than their male counterparts. I also encountered a lot of out-and-proud high schoolers, who I secretly idolized.

At the end of my ninth grade year, I met my soon-to-be best friend/toxic friend/endless crush. She was everything I wanted to be and to be around: confident in her body and sexuality, extroverted, the center of attention, and on the LGBT spectrum, and proud of all of the above. She was the first person I came out to, mostly because we were very codependent and I'd had a raging crush on her for several months at that point.

Then I came out to my mom, not by choice, and it was one of the scariest things I have ever done. There is nothing worse than having to tell your parent something that they don't understand, agree with, or want to really know or accept. She asked if it was maybe just a phase, so I explained it was actually the opposite. She said it wasn't what she had wanted for me, and I didn't understand how to process that. I cried in my bed all night, and sometimes I still regress to the same behavior.

She didn't really understand, and I didn't know how to explain. I felt like I had let my mom down just by being myself.

I deal with a lot of internalized homophobia based on my religious upbringing. I'm not really a huge fan of church, but I respect my girlfriend's religious practices and take heed of my mom's "let go and let God" advice. Thankfully, she has grown much more accepting in the past three years than I thought possible. I am so grateful for her support and the support of other LGBTQ-affirming people of faith.

There is a sticky in-between for religious LGBT people: we are loved by the LGBT community, but held at arm's length for our religious beliefs. The church sometimes accepts us, but overall, we are never treated the same as our straight counterparts. Unfortunately, I still get lumped in with "trendy" LGBT people because I came out as a teen, I am open about it on social media, and I like saying I'm gay. I was tired of being scared. There is not much I can do about those stereotypes, and I am learning to accept that.

Being gay was normal at my middle-high school, since straight people were actually the minority at my performing arts school. Sometimes you would encounter a gay boy wearing makeup and watch his classmates laugh behind his back. Other times, you would meet a trans girl and her friends who genuinely understood and unconditionally supported her. It was a mixed bag, but the rest of the world had taught me that being gay was the "alternative lifestyle" and it wasn't for a feminine girl like myself. In some ways, high school was a haven. Sometimes I felt like I was the most normal person at my school, even during my senior year when I became the red-headed stepchild of my friend group and isolated myself due to my depression and first real breakup. I had younger gay and straight kids who looked up to me for being out and open with them, and it meant and means more than my friend group falling apart ever could. I found out who really loved me when I was at my lowest.

My depression and sexuality have some overlap, but not because they are "cool" or "interesting". They never have been- they have just always been part of who I am. So what if I have the "trendy" depressive episodes and a "different" relationship status? So what if I took Zoloft for almost two years? This is the person I am, and I reject being "trendy". Instead, I choose to be real.

Myself, my girlfriend, Jo, and our five kids after their production of Hairspray. This is a support system we created and uphold regardless of distance, and I am so grateful.