Conquering Queerness - Sam Dell
My relationship with my queerness and, to an extent, the queer community is a complicated one. I have often felt this sense that I am being pulled in two different directions, one pulling me to the dark underbellies of gay society, and the other, towards the grey mundanities of heteronormativity. I have often felt out of place, hence this constant tug of war within me. In straight spaces I feel ‘too queer’ and in queer spaces, I feel ‘too straight’. I grew up around straight people, I had straight friends and no queer role models. I became a chameleon, effortlessly shifting into the person people expected me to be. However, on the inside, I felt like a distant planet aimlessly orbiting around a Straight Sun.
I never had a space to express my queer identity. I have two distinct memories that shaped my rejection of myself. Firstly, I remember I was dancing around the house as a young child and my mum telling me to stop ‘prancing like a girl’. A throwaway comment from my mum shaped my entire mindset as a young person. From that moment on I realised, instinctively, that I was different and that anything other than a stereotypical expression of masculinity was not permitted and thus, like an actor, I played my part. I remember giving myself bruises and scratches on my legs to make it appear as if I was playing football at school when in actuality, I was reading in the toilets. I remember having to constantly check myself, to make sure I was not sitting ‘too gay’ or walking ‘too gay’ or speaking ‘too gay’. My life was the epitome of a facade, day in and day out, I contorted myself into a tiny box of expectations and I meandered. I felt like I was floating alone at sea. The second memory consisted of my father visibly gagging at two men kissing on Eastenders. I feel like an explanation for this one is redundant, it’s pretty self-explanatory why I felt so displaced.
I had no idea who I was or even what I was. There was no education at school about ‘the queer identity’ apart from a PSHE statistic that “10% of men are gay”. That was always a fun topic of conversation, boys in my year trying to figure out who the 10% are, funnily enough, I stayed quiet for those. There were no characters on television or movies that I could relate to and even the mention of a gay character made me so uncomfortable that I turned a blind eye and focused on something else.
I felt so constricted and so lost until I met my first love. My life then proceeded to explode. These feelings I had repressed about myself and who I am attracted to erupted out of me. I became a volcano of emotion, tumultuous and reckless, but for the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to live. I felt what my straight friends felt, I experienced what they experienced and I loved it, I relished having something for myself. Even when it all fell apart, as most first loves do, I never once regretted it. He saved my life and for that, I can never repay him.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t instantly become a beacon of queerness, I am still not there now. I still have to unlearn many years of internalised homophobia and now I’m learning what sort of person I want to become. Some days I am pulled towards queerness and some days I am pulled away. For the first time in my life, though, I wouldn’t choose to be straight. As queer people we often don’t get the opportunity and space to cultivate who we are from a young age. We live in a society that is not built for us and never will be. We learn who we are later, and after years of pretending, I have finally started living for myself. Today, as a 21-year-old queer man who loves reading and fashion and music and HATES football, I resign from my role, I am retiring indefinitely as an actor, it is far too exhausting.
The most worrying things in my life are my dissertation and the existential threat of the future, but if I can ‘conquer queerness’ I can conquer anything. Except for the dating scene. For that, there should be a warning sign.
Written by Sam Dell
