I'm lying in our bed with nothing but a pen and paper in my hands. The television screen is black and all I hear is his gentle breathing against the pillowcase.

How did I get here?

How did he find me?

Pen to paper, I write.

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I drank too much again.

It was the names. Faggot. Pussy. Prude. I couldn't keep a girlfriend.

I had to drown it out. Swallow it down.

I woke up feeling disconnected. Light-headed, cheeks burning, stomach weak. My vision blurred and the room spun; I saw streaks of movement from people staggering by.

I lay still, feeling his fingers lightly graze my cheek, down the side of my neck.

He found me. He saved me. From the hell of not knowing who I was.

Those other words weren't me. Yeah, I couldn't keep a girlfriend.

I'm gay.

"Gay."

A name I can be proud of.