Final Draft of Personal Essay

“A Different Kind of Phase”

By: Jamie Jenkins

“How am I supposed to take you seriously Jam? I mean you’ve been with guys ever since I can remember. You’ve talked about girls in high school and here and there, but you’ve never had anything serious, and after freshman year at William Paterson you were with Joe and then Roe. I hate to say this, but I think it’s all just been a phase. A lot of girls do this, either because they want to stand out and be different, or they’ve just met the wrong guys and assume all guys are bad...”

“Oh my god…” I cut in, mentally exasperated. “Just let it go, I don’t want to talk about it.” I really wanted to scream back to my mother, ‘It’s not a fucking phase!’

We were driving back form the mall, getting Christmas presents for whoever popped in her head. She was so bad at planning and it never crossed her mind to write lists. I brought up to her how I made a profile on Yahoo Personals and how happy I was about it, hopeful that I’d find some females because I couldn’t seem to find any my age at school or in town, one of the main reasons I stayed with Roe for as long as I did. She thought it was all a joke, bringing on that mini lecture, or what I always saw as a lecture, not a conversation. I hated when she got like that; lecturing on thinking she was right, thinking she saw through to some deeper truth, but she had no idea.

We had just left the mall when the other 20 things popped in her mind that she had to do—the drugstore, picking my brother up from CCD, stopping at ShopRite. I just sat there, quiet, letting her mind drift off like it usually did, to where, I never had a clue, and then letting my mind roam as it always did, the main reason why we barely ever communicated.

I pondered about the ‘phase’ lecture I got from her that night; that I’ve gotten from her before, that I’ve gotten from other family members and friends, for quite sometime. I’ve learned to give up on this argument. There was no being right with my family, about anything. Even though I knew I was right half the time, and with this situation, I knew how I felt. There was no getting through to them or anyone else for that matter that thought my ever-changing sexuality was a joke. I hated trying to prove myself to other people. In the past, yes, I was with guys. During that winter, yes, I was with Roe. And who would believe me when I said I was a lesbian, having a boyfriend by my side? Everyone else thought that confusion was a ‘phase,’ but it wasn’t the kind of phase they thought it was. In the end, I realized that the ‘phase’ they thought I was having with females, was really a ‘phase’ with males— my ‘desire’ for males, nothing but a phase; something I could repeat over and over, something it only seemed that I understood.

Growing up, I was always curious what my female friends looked like under their clothes; how their bodies compared to mine, and how it would feel to get close to them, much closer than a casual sleep over. At that age, I just saw it as that awkward curiosity every kid has, similar to ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’, or not understanding where babies come from. But at the same time, I felt different, because my friends never seemed to have the same curiosities as me. I always thought maybe there were too shy to admit to them, but now I realize that my curiosities never aligned with theirs, because they’re straight, and I’m gay, simple as that. After puberty my attraction for females heightened and I could instinctively tell that some of them were like me. It cracks me up how accurate I was; I guess the extreme intuition every psychic that I’ve talked to told me I have is extreme indeed.

Looking back at all those years I’ve spent with men (or should I say boys, god, I was so young), I’ve realized that I always had this intense need to show affection and be shown affection, and to please, (too bad I was never pleased in return). But I kept up the behavior, the promiscuity, anyway; it boosted my self-esteem, knowing that I was pleasing these males, and that other girls were jealous of me since all my boyfriends were older, were driving, and had already gone through puberty.

I never lost that curiosity for females though. Somewhere between the mess of males in my life, there were a few of them, in high school and freshman year in college mostly. For some reason I was just too god damn shy to make anything of it. I hated my body— I was too pale, too scrawny in the wrong areas, too fat in the wrong areas, and didn’t have the perkiest boobs in the world. The females I desired at the time obviously had the same parts as me, and being naked with them, our equal parts together would make me feel like such an ugly duckling. So, I stuck with the males, knowing they didn’t care what I looked like, all they wanted was what laid between my thighs, and I gave it to them, crying silently all the while, feeling like such a coward to have to resort to them to give me the love I so peculiarly craved.

The older and older I got, the more and more I craved the same sex, the more self-conscious I became, and so I continued with my phase, my phase with males. As an adult, there was Joe, and then there was Roe…

I was with Roe that winter, almost two years into our relationship. Before he met me I was an all out lesbian, about the fifth time I’ve tried to end my ‘phase’ with males. He knew I was gay when he met me, but after the first night of us hanging out (staying up all night long, talking up a storm in my bedroom), well I kind of fell for him, and he already had a crush on me. At first things were decent in our relationship, and I was even trying to get myself to believe my desire for women was just a phase, but then the dreams I had in past relationships with guys crept op on me again; I dreamt about women every night. Whenever we made love I envisioned a woman, and I hated sex with him, not him in particular, but I dreaded that scary thing that hung between his thighs. I would even cry sometimes during sex, knowing I didn’t want it, I didn’t like it. I wanted a woman. I craved what was between her thighs, what existed in her mind, so feverishly it seemed like a dream that would never turn into a reality.

“You knew I was like this all along. I tried Roe, I tried; I thought you could turn me around, but it’s not going to work. I can’t ignore this and I can’t lie to myself anymore, or lie to you. I’m not content, I can’t live like this.”

His tan, hairy face looked tormented. I felt horrible, knowing how hard this loss would be after losing his mother. I felt what he felt, an open wound in the soul, where everything seemed to be sucked from. He was not one to beg though, and anytime he felt awkward he would turn silent and refuse to express himself. I just hugged him though, held on for dear life, knowing after giving him time I wanted him in my life as a best friend, forever.

I had to end, permanently, this ‘phase’ with men. I just couldn’t do it any longer, to Roe or anyone else, pretend that I was into them, romantically and sexually knowing deep down inside, so deeply and strongly, that I was meant to spend my life with a woman, not a man. For two years I tried so hard to convince myself that I could be with him, and that I could just see females on the side. I knew deep down inside though, that I would be miserable staying with him, that I would be ignoring my true desires and probably fall completely into this deep puddle of depression I was already wading my feet in.

I remember every time I saw a lesbian while I was with him (mostly at my mom and sister’s softball games); it gave me this intense longing inside that is still almost indescribable. I don’t know…it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor, begging for them to pick it up and give me the strength to follow them into their fold of society, putting all anxiety behind. I couldn’t turn it off. It kept me up all night and kept me drifting further and further from Roe, until that night, February 2, 2007 to be exact, when I finally broke it off with him, no longer being able to be so weak by not standing up for who I truly was and what I truly wanted.

The break up killed him, which killed me, but I had to do it, otherwise it would only hurt him even more if I dragged it out any longer. He envisioned a life for us, and it shattered his dreams. I lost him as a boyfriend, I lost the future we had planned, but I didn’t lose him altogether. I had to give him time after the relationship to adjust before being able to maintain a friendship. He was so awkward when we were together. His awkwardness made me feel awkward, and his sadness made me feel guilty about being so elated and just…free. He’s gotten better these days though, and I consider him my best friend.

Shortly after that night I made a MySpace account and made so many friends (mostly lesbians) in the next few months. I started going to L-Bar every weekend and the Colosseum which are right down the highway from my house, and Circuit in Asbury Park.

Between then and now, I’ve had two girlfriends. I totally though I was in love with those two girls, but I think I was more in love with the idea that I had a girlfriend, not a boyfriend; that I was doing what felt right, and followed my heart; that when having sex, I didn’t have to envision anything, but only open my eyes, and a female was there; and, that I was less self-conscious of body. But, those two weren’t meant for me. Now, I’m just trying to be patient, waiting for that right one. I can picture her so clearly, and when I see her I’ll know who she is.

These days I constantly remind myself of the past as to not take my current life for granted. I remember the days when my closet door was closed and I was inside; I remember the days when my closet door was open and I peaked outside; I remember the days when my closet door swung back and forth; and now I can’t thank god enough for giving me the courage to shut that closet door forever, and stand outside of it, proud, ending that god damn ‘phase’ with men forever.