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I spent years growing up being told what my sexuality was.

Remember that I was out of the closet at the age of sixteen. My parents knew I was gay; I'd had to tell them.

Deep down, my mom had long suspected I was gay... Much of her anger and hurt came from her sense of betrayal that she was the last to be told.

I define my sexuality in terms of the people that I love.

My friends and the people who are close to me know what I am. And that is enough.

I became quite a diva, and intolerant, and people knew when I was not pleased. Some people were afraid of me, and other people just kind of blew me off. But I wasn't making any friends. I only had one person who remained my friend, and he was my boyfriend for a while. Even though I told him I was gay, he was like, 'That's alright.'

Finding out that I was gay when I was older was a shock and a disappointment.

It wasn't a secret that I was gay. I'd come out to my parents during my junior year of high school, on the day that I also wrecked the family car.

I didn't know any gay people in my childhood.