Jun 13

Jun 13 [Pride 2021] Feeding My Frankenstein; How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace the Strange

dreadful, Gayly, Gayly dreadful, Gayly Helpful, LGBTQ, Movies, Pride 2021

It’s been said that if you never see yourself outside of yourself, then you just feel invisible.

The first moment I felt seen as a large, gawky introverted kid was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV one Saturday afternoon, watching Frankenstein for the first time. Not only did I find a kindred spirit, I got hooked on scary movies for life. It’s a good thing, too, since they provided a home for one very weird kid.

Fast forward a few years. I saw two movies when I was entirely too young to be watching them: Return of the Living Dead and The Hunger. My hillbilly relatives made fun of how the Bauhaus looked in The Hunger, and how the punks looked in Return of the Living Dead; but I thought they were the baddest, coolest, most beautiful motherfuckers I’d ever seen. I wanted to BE them.

Embracing the “Other” was helpful once I hit a certain age and realized I liked boys and girls.

My reaction the first time I realized this probably looked a lot like that shot of Chief Brody in Jaws when he realizes the shark is at the beach. The world just fell away from underneath me. If that seems overly dramatic, well, things were different 30-something years ago. Being gay in middle-class blue collar Cleveland was about the worst thing. Now I was the monster; a Teenage Frankenstein, if you will. I was one of those “no one can even know” types. Maybe Dracula or The Phantom would be a better comparison; hiding away from the world with my terrible secret.

Being Bi/Pansexual (I use both labels; I am an Old, so Bisexual is the word I would have used to describe myself back then, had I been out) makes me feel like the ultimate outsider; somehow both too queer and not queer enough. I stayed closeted for a long time; partly because I didn’t want anyone to have to lie on my account, but mostly because I knew it doesn’t take much for the villagers to arrive with torches and pitchforks.

I stayed in my closeted little crypt for a long time; no one suspected. Hell, I almost convinced myself I was straight a couple times…not unlike the victim of a vampire or werewolf who denies that they’re changing. I could take the easy way out since I’m Bi (Pan if you’re nasty), and say it was Rocky Horror Picture Show that finally convinced me; that was certainly an influence. But, really…who wouldn’t want a young Tim Curry?

A couple years ago, I finally convinced myself to come out. Denying the way I felt at that point would have been just sheer folly. It took a lot to make that step. It’s not unlike when the protagonists in a horror film walk into the haunted house or finally accept that monsters are real. Once you cross that threshold, there’s no turning back. I wondered if I’d fit in anywhere; bi erasure is a thing, after all, and rainbows aren’t really my thing.

And what I found was a wonderfully accepting queer horror community. A host of fellow gay and spooky people opening the door for me, saying, “hey, we are the weirdos and you can sit with us. Get some snacks, Dragula’s on.” Scary movies had saved my life once again.

Horror was the first place I saw myself outside of myself, and if other people want to judge me as being an outcast or a monster, that’s fine. Monsters have been some of my best friends, so that’s a label I’ll wear happily, and with pride.

Bring it on, villagers. I’m not afraid anymore.