cauldwell

Why 'Locked in for Autism' is ableist and needs to stop

The charity Cauldwell Children’s has been using this campaign to raise funds since 2015.

A volunteer spends 50 hours inside a small perspex room inside a busy supermarket. Because autism awareness.

If you’re angry because the tired old ‘trapped autistic’ trope is offensive bullshit, then worry not. They have consulted with many NT parents about this (and presumably no actual autistic people, because who would agree to this being a good idea?):

“While autism covers a wide spectrum of symptoms and every autistic person has different experiences, a lot of parents with autistic children have told us that the box could be a metaphor for the way society interacts with autistic people.”

NOPE.

There have also been multiple instances of autistic people leaving comments on the campaign’s FB page, only to have their comments deleted. That’s right; autistic people are being silenced by a charity claiming to support autistic people.

And that’s not all!

The charity also supports ‘alternative’ therapies (they include the details for an MMS quack on their list of practitioners) and provides ABA support. They even appear to support the bogus link between the MMR vaccine and autism by asking about vaccinations on their application forms.

https://www.buzzfeed.com/tomchivers/caudwell-autism

Basically this charity is a total shitshow that appears to have never once consulted a single autistic person about how best to support autistic people.

Please sign this petition asking Tesco to stop hosting this campaign in their stores.

https://www.change.org/p/tesco-stop-hosting-caudwell-children-s-controversial-locked-in-for-autism-campaign?recruiter=7138020&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=share_petition

Spread the word and we can prevent this damaging campaign from happening and change this charity for the better.

Where My Demon Hides - Part 1: Flashbacks

Warnings: None really. This is just part 1 of a few I got planned out. Will lead to hot Demon!Dean smut eventually.

Word Count: 967

Summary: The reader and Dean Winchester were in a relationship but then her world collapsed when Metatron stabbed Dean, subsequently killing him (In Season 9). At least that’s what she thought. Nothing could have prepared the reader for what really happened. 


Pairing: Dean x Reader, Demon!Dean x Reader, Deanmon x Reader

Part 1: Flashbacks

Fanfiction.net | AO3


The wind hustled through my hair as I stood above the grave of Angela Cauldwell. In the dead of night, I was the only soul left in the cemetery, which was of course a good thing. Grave desecration was a crime, aserious disgrace to the dead and also a very usual occurrence in the life of ahunter. It was best done in solitude. I watched the flames engulf her bones.“Rest in peace,” I whispered to no one in particular. I mean it wasn’t likeanyone could hear me. The cemetery was deserted and Angela was already longgone.

The thickening silence was suddenly disrupted with the shrill sound of my ringtone. I had half the mind to ignore it. I’d been doing that a lot lately. All I wanted was to be left to my own devices. I hunted on my own and all I had to deal with was my lonely self. That was just how I had come to like it. This had not always been the case though. There was a time when I had a home – the closest to a home a hunter could come to have in our line of work – in a ‘hole’ somewhere in Kansas. There was a time when I never had to worry about backup because I had the two best hunters on this side of the ocean by my side. There was a time when I never had to be alone because I always woke up to the warmth of a gorgeous green eyed man every single morning. Not anymore.

I willfully broke off that painful train of thought and fished out the phone from my jean pocket. I stared at the name on my screen for a while, debating whether or not to pick up. I didn’t need this. I didn’t need him to remind me over and over. This was like salt in an open wound that I’ve come to think would never heal. It’s been months and I still couldn’t wrap my head around to be okay about any of it.

With a sense of foreboding and resignation, I answered his call. “Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Y/N. You know I never would have called unless I had an alternative,” he told me. I knew he was right. When I left the bunker with him weeping for his dead brother, I had told him to lose my number. Evidently, he hadn’t.

“Yeah, I know, Sam. So why did you call?”

“It’s about Dean.”

My heart felt like it stopped.



 

“Dean! DEAN!” I screamed clutching his worn plaid shirt. His worn, bloodstained plaid shirt. Oh, God! There was so much blood. His blood.

 “He’s gone, Y/N,” Sam uttered solemnly.

 “No!” I yelled, glaring at him. “Don’t you dare say that!”

 I turned back to Dean, wiping away some dried up blood on his cheek. “Wake up, damn it,” I whispered. The tears were streaming down my face. I could feel their wetness on my cheeks, but I didn’t care. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel like I could care about anything in the world. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. He was gone.

 Dean Winchester was dead.

 


 


“Y/N, you there?” Sam’s voice brought me back from the unwanted trip down memory lane. Just the mentioning of his name was enough to trigger the flashbacks.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I reassured him. “What about Dean?”

“I found him.”

“What do you mean you found him?”

“He’s alive, Y/N.”

“Samuel Winchester! Don’t you mess with me,” I yelled, my voice ringing louder in the silence. “I don’t know what kind of cruel game you’re playing but I’m hanging up.”

“Would I ever joke about this?” He asked. He was right. I knew that he wouldn’t but I couldn’t understand for the life of me what he was getting at. I had held Dean’s dead lifeless body in my very hands. I had felt his unmoving chest, and listened to his heart that didn’t make a beat. “He’s not dead. Not exactly,” Sam continued. “He’s a demon, Y/N.”

My grip on the cell phone tightened involuntarily. “Come again?”

“Just come to the bunker ASAP. I’ll explain everything,” he sighed. He sounded so very tired. “I need your help, Y/N. You know I wouldn’t ask if I really didn’t need it.”

I nodded, and then realizing he couldn’t exactly see it through the phone, I said, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”


 

“You need to brace yourself for what you’re about to see,” Sam told me before the entrance to the bunker’s very own dungeon. “It is Dean, but it’s not him.”

I nodded. Sam had explained everything. He told me about how the Mark had brought Dean back to life as a demon. He told me of Crowley’s role in all of it. He told me that there was a chance for us to cure him and maybe, just maybe to bring him back.

“Are you ready?” he asked me. Could you ever be ready for something like this? Could you be ready to see the love of your life, whose death you mourned for months and months, brought back to life as a heartless demon? I didn’t think so.

I nodded anyway. Here’s the thing though. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have ever prepared me for what awaited in the cold dark dungeon.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said with a feral smirk on his beautiful face. It sounded like him but at the same time it didn’t. “Are you here to save me, love?” he hurled the endearment like it was an epithet…and his eyes flashed.

His beautiful green eyes I used to drown in, they weren’t green anymore. They were as black as sin.


Part 2: Bound and Gagged

Part 3: In Control

Part 4: Cat and Mouse

Part 5: Hardest Word

10

Christmas and cold is not my thing, so I took my favourite Vendon family to Sunlit Tides instead! The lucky bunch is the Cauldwell family consisting of fireman/ex biker Jawsie Cauldwell and his three adopted kids which he saved from a house fire 10 years ago. 

I quickly merged the FUCKING STUNNING Sunlit Tides with IP stuff and added a hidden island as well as all the dive lots from Isla Paradiso. I stuffed it with ports too. Serenity Retreat was turned into one of those old Caribbean wooden villas (yes I’ve played too much AC Black Flag haha). The oldest kids were out exploring the world. I seriously love Sunlit Tides!

Jawsie was taken by surprise as he spotted a mermaid in the sauna, hahaha that facial expression is priceless. I love my simmies. 

Last pic is of the resort’s infinity pool with a fully clothed man taking a swim at 5 in the morning. Perfectly normal sims behaviour as per usual. 

Where My Demon Hides (PG-13 version)


Warnings: Language, heartless demon!Dean being callous and mean.

Word Count: 2826


The wind hustled through my hair as I stood above the grave of Angela Cauldwell. In the dead of night, I was the only soul left in the cemetery, which was of course a good thing. Grave desecration was a crime, a serious disgrace to the dead and also a very usual occurrence in the life of a hunter. It was best done in solitude. I watched the flames engulf her bones. “Rest in peace,” I whispered to no one in particular. I mean it wasn’t like anyone could hear me. The cemetery was deserted and Angela was already long gone.

The thickening silence was suddenly disrupted with the shrill sound of my ringtone. I had half the mind to ignore it. I’d been doing that a lot lately. All I wanted was to be left to my own devices. I hunted on my own and all I had to deal with was my lonely self. That was just how I had come to like it. This had not always been the case though. There was a time when I had a home – the closest to a home a hunter could come to have in our line of work – in a ‘hole’ somewhere in Kansas. There was a time when I never had to worry about backup because I had the two best hunters on this side of the ocean by my side. There was a time when I never had to be alone because I always woke up to the warmth of a gorgeous green eyed man every single morning. Not anymore.

I willfully broke off that painful train of thought and fished out the phone from my jean pocket. I stared at the name on my screen for a while, debating whether or not to pick up. I didn’t need this. I didn’t need him to remind me over and over. This was like salt in an open wound that I’ve come to think would never heal. It’s been months and I still couldn’t wrap my head around to be okay about any of it.

With a sense of foreboding and resignation, I answered his call. “Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Y/N. You know I never would have called unless I had an alternative,” he told me. I knew he was right. When I left the bunker with him weeping for his dead brother, I had told him to lose my number. Evidently, he hadn’t.

“Yeah, I know, Sam. So why did you call?”

“It’s about Dean.”

My heart felt like it stopped.

* * *

 

[Flashback]

 

“Dean! DEAN!” I screamed clutching his worn plaid shirt. His worn, bloodstained plaid shirt. Oh, God! There was so much blood. His blood.

 

“He’s gone, Y/N,” Sam uttered solemnly.

 

“No!” I yelled, glaring at him. “Don’t you dare say that!”

 

I turned back to Dean, wiping away some dried up blood on his cheek. “Wake up, damn it,” I whispered. The tears were streaming down my face. I could feel their wetness on my cheeks, but I didn’t care. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel like I could care about anything in the world. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. He was gone.

 

Dean Winchester was dead.

 

[End of Flashback]

 

* * *

 

“Y/N, you there?” Sam’s voice brought me back from the unwanted trip down memory lane. Just the mentioning of his name was enough to trigger the flashbacks.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I reassured him. “What about Dean?”

“I found him.”

“What do you mean you found him?”

“He’s alive, Y/N.”

“Samuel Winchester! Don’t you mess with me,” I yelled, my voice ringing louder in the silence. “I don’t know what kind of cruel game you’re playing but I’m hanging up.”

“Would I ever joke about this?” He asked. He was right. I knew that he wouldn’t but I couldn’t understand for the life of me what he was getting at. I had held Dean’s dead lifeless body in my very hands. I had felt his unmoving chest, and listened to his heart that didn’t make a beat. “He’s not dead. Not exactly,” Sam continued. “He’s a demon, Y/N.”

My grip on the cell phone tightened involuntarily. “Come again?”

“Just come to the bunker ASAP. I’ll explain everything,” he sighed. He sounded so very tired. “I need your help, Y/N. You know I wouldn’t ask if I really didn’t need it.”

I nodded, and then realizing he couldn’t exactly see it through the phone, I said, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

* * *

“You need to brace yourself for what you’re about to see,” Sam told me before the entrance to the bunker’s very own dungeon. “It is Dean, but it’s not him.”

I nodded. Sam had explained everything. He told me about how the Mark had brought Dean back to life as a demon. He told me of Crowley’s role in all of it. He told me that there was a chance for us to cure him and maybe, just maybe to bring him back.

“Are you ready?” he asked me. Could you ever be ready for something like this? Could you be ready to see the love of your life, whose death you mourned for months and months, brought back to life as a heartless demon? I didn’t think so.

I nodded anyway. Here’s the thing though. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have ever prepared me for what awaited in the cold dark dungeon.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said with a feral smirk on his beautiful face. It sounded like him but at the same time it didn’t. “Are you here to save me, love?” he hurled the endearment like it was an epithet…and his eyes flashed.

His beautiful green eyes I used to drown in, they weren’t green anymore. They were as black as sin.

* * *

“So what’s the plan again?” I asked Sam as I watched him fill a syringe of the blood he had gotten blessed through a priest. I wasn’t the only one watching him either. Demon Dean watched too. He seemed nonchalant on the outside, but I knew Dean. He was observing Sam’s actions intently like a hawk.

“Sam here has it in his mind to cure me,” he said smiling that feral smile of his I was already beginning to hate. Then his eyes honed in on Sam. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be cured?”

Sam went right on ignoring him like he had since the moment we stepped into the dungeon. He looked so tired and defeated except for that determined gleam in his eyes that spoke of how he’d do everything that needed to be done to save his big brother. He took the syringe and punctured the needle into right where the Mark of Cain lay on Dean’s arm. As he fed the blood to the system, I could almost see the veins pop and bubble under Dean’s skin. His subsequent scream was purely guttural and it echoed against the cold walls of the dungeon.

“I know you think you’re curing me,” Dean gasped out. “For all we know, you could be killing me.”

Funny how that was the exact same thought in my head. The process seemed to be hurting Dean way more than it could be curing him. Was this supposed to be this hard, this torturous? Then again we were curing his soul from its demonic blackness. I don’t think anything about that was ever meant to be easy. Frankly, at this point, I didn’t know what to think! The man I loved and mourned the death of was sitting before me alive and kicking. There should be no logical explanation for that. The righteous man who dedicated his whole life to fight evil was now the very thing he hunted. There was no plausible explanation for that either. The man who had promised me his love for however long the hunter’s version of eternity lasted now watched me as if he couldn’t give a damn about me. So yes, I didn’t know what to think right now about anything.

“Please, Dean,” I pleaded. “Let Sam do what he is doing. Let him cure you. I need you to come back.” I stared into his eyes that were for this moment the very green I remembered. “Come back to me.”

He stared at me, unblinking. I was almost starting to think that maybe, just maybe I was getting through to him. Maybe I could reach into some part of his humanity even if I had to delve to the very depth of his blackened soul. Yet just when I thought I was making some kind of progress, he launched at me growling. The anti-demonic cuffs held him in place but I jumped back with a horrified gasp just the same. I’m sure the fear that was now consuming me was reflected evidently in my eyes. He laughed, and perhaps involuntarily his eyes turned black once more. He laughed with pure evil joy. He enjoyed my fear, I realized. He enjoyed being the reason for it.

Tears pooled in my eyes. “This isn’t you, Dean,” my voice broke, and they spilled over to trail down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away with the back of my palm. “This monster isn’t you,” I insisted.

“Oh, it’s me alright,” he smirked at me. “I’m going to get out of this little contraption of yours and when I do, I will show just how much of me is in here, sweetheart,” he said with a sensual gleam in his eyes. I didn’t know whether to be aroused or disgusted. It was my Dean, but it wasn’t him. It shamed me to admit it but I couldn’t lie to myself. Demon or not, Dean’s word did spark a fire in me. I chose to blame it on the months and months of celibacy I punished myself with after his ‘death.’ Then again, I could never resist Dean Winchester…even if I was supposed to be repulsed by him right now.

I felt Sam gently lay a hand on my shoulder. Dean watched that move with what seemed like a possessive gleam in his eyes, or perhaps that was just my wishful thinking. Maybe I desperately wanted to believe that Dean still felt something when it came to me. What a pitiful creature I was…

I followed Sam out of the dungeon. It took everything in me to not turn back or to fall down and weep when I heard Dean say to my back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’d do you right like all the whores I did on my way here.” Sam locked the door, shutting him and his hateful laughter in.

I involuntarily wrapped my arms around myself. “Are you okay, Y/N?” Sam asked leaning in. I nodded despite how my body was shaking with shock. He reached out and hugged me, his tall body easily enveloping my short tiny one. He always did know when I was lying. “Listen,” he said in the most comforting voice I’d ever heard him use. “It’s all going to be over soon. We’ll cure him and he’d be back.”

I pulled back just enough to look up to his face. There were deep set shadows beneath his eyes. He looked pale and tired, himself. I felt a deep sadness about what this boy had to go through in the past few months, alone and hunting down a demon brother that didn’t want to be found. “Who are you really trying to convince, Sam? Me or yourself?” I asked managing to smile just a bit.

Instead of replying, he smiled and let me go. “I need to go pick up some more blood. I won’t be long. Will you be alright staying here for a bit?”

I nodded my agreement. “Yeah. I’ll be alright.”

He picked up the keys to the Impala from its usual place, and walked out. Then he turned around to face me once more. “I know you think some part of him is still in there, Y/N, but there isn’t. Not exactly. Please don’t go in there. It is not him. Not anymore. Promise me you’ll stay in your room,” he said.

I didn’t think I could survive being alone with Dean in the dungeon even if I wanted to, and trust me, I did not want to. I didn’t need his heartless, careless words cutting me to shreds. I really didn’t need that right now. “I promise,” I told Sam without a hesitation and with that, he was gone.

I walked into my room of the bunker and closed the door behind me. It wasn’t just my room though. I traced my hand across one of the daggers hung up on the pristine walls. This was the room I shared with Dean when I was still here and he was still alive. Our own little sanctuary from the rest of the world.

I lied down on the bed, and silently smiled to myself, feeling the mattress with my palm. “Memory foam. It remembers me,” I giggled to myself, repeating Dean’s words when he first brought this mattress into the bunker. He had been so excited that day and I remembered feeling both sad and happy for him at the same time. This was the first place he had called ‘home’ in practically forever. This was the first place we’d made love.

I closed my eyes with a groan. Clearly my physical and emotional exhaustion was catching up to me. Just laying my head down on the familiar pillow, surrounded by Dean’s familiar scent was enough to knock me out.

I hadn’t been sleeping that long when I heard the door to the room open with a soft thud. Dean was probably coming back home from a hunt. I smiled, not even bothering to open my eyes. “Come to bed, Dean,” I whispered. In my sleepy state, enveloped by the familiar feel of my surroundings I didn’t really remember where I was for I was stuck in between a place of memory and reality.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I heard him say.

A part of me knew that something was not right. That part of me jolted me awake with a gasp to find Dean standing in the middle of the room, just a few steps away from the bed. I took in his maroon shirt and over-grown hair. How was he even here? I looked at his wrists to find he had somehow broken off the anti-demonic cuffs and all other bindings that kept him in place in the dungeon.

As if he read my mind, he said, “You can blame Sam for that. The more the cure worked, less effective your little contraption was.” I pressed myself against the headboard. “So Sam actually left little Y/N alone with the demon. How careless of him,” Dean continued.

“Oh! He didn’t leave, Dean,” I lied. “He’s probably right behind you with the demon knife.”

He laughed in my face. “Points for effort, but you always were a terrible liar, Y/N.” He stepped closer, running a hand through his tousled hair messing it up even more. It should be illegal for someone to look this attractive.

His eyes glinted green and the playful smirk that always played on his lips was so familiar to me. He looked so much like how he used to be with me before everything went wrong that I forgot to be afraid of him. I forgot that this was not my Dean. I forgot that he was a demon. I stepped towards him defiantly. “What do you want?” I glared.

“Who? Me?” He glanced at me casually. “Oh I told you, sweetheart,” he continued bridging the gap between us. His eyes dropped to the top of my chest, and the smirk became even more evident. “I’m going to show you how much of me is still here.” It was a promise. It was a threat.

Then his hand caught my face and his head dipped to capture my lips in a hot, grueling kiss of both pain and pleasure.

The distinct sound of the front door closing made him pull away and look up attentively. The mask of nonchalance was back on. I couldn’t read him anymore. “Sammy’s home,” he said walking towards the door.

That look in his eyes terrified me. “What are you going to do?” I asked my eyes widening with dread.

He turned around with his hand on the knob. “I’m finally going to cut his hair.” He opened the door, facing away from me. “What do you think, Y/N?” he asked turning around to face me once more as he stood just outside the room, with the door halfway closed. “I’m going hunt him down and kill him.”

The door slammed shut as I stared in disbelief at his feral teeth-baring smile.


Find the smutty version here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

This is my friends coming out letter :) it's is beautiful.

“I’ve always been able to write. Stories…poems…whatever. It began at a very young age for me. As far back as I can remember, in 2004, I wrote a story about knights, wizards and dragons. My teacher was Mrs (names blanked out) and my best-friends at the time were- (etc) If you remember we played hand-ball together religiously or ‘round-the-school-tag’ everyday, rain or shine. You will also remember, they were boys. I grew up with them. I never played with girls because they were odious to me but I digress. My laptop is filled with stories. Hundreds of them. They were all easy to write and easy to flesh out. One of my talents is to flesh out a story more complicated and detailed then a network of ant tunnels in a matter of seconds to a few minutes. It is a talent I am proud of, one I utilise almost daily. However, there is one more story I want to tell you.

It is a story that I failed to flesh out in seconds. I’ve thought about this story for almost seven years. At the end of this year, it would have been the eighth year. It’s one story that is dreaded by people like me. This is my story and although you may not like it, wish it wasn’t true or think it was a figment or your imagination or a practical joke. It’s not. It’s true, it is real and it is my story. At the age of 20, I’m to old to be playing jokes. It will take you a few minutes for you to read this but read this with the knowledge that it took me years to piece together what I wanted to say, scrutinize it and finally, now, to put it into words. Not just black words on white paper. They are words that will show you my feelings, let you into my mind. They are my voice.

During my first year of college in 2007, I sat in a tutor class with girls my age. We all wore the same uniform but that was the extent of our similarity. Each of us had different identities, little quirks, ideas about what we liked, who we liked, what we liked. We all were anxious to be accepted for who we were and what we stood for. Not all of us would get that acceptance. Many would suffer for their brave decisions to show who they were. Others would not. Such is the life of college and the road through puberty. I stayed in the background, protected by my iron will and skin. I always knew, through out college that your social decisions in your first year would define you for the next 5 years, what your social rank was within your year group and my instinct told me to keep myself under wraps. So I did. I’ve never been one to show much emotion. Short of anger, annoyance and laughter, you never saw much else. I don’t speak about myself because I have learnt the hard way that, in general, not to or else it blows up in your face. That is how to survive college. You stay silent.

I always knew I was different from the girls around me. It wasn’t the way they wore their hair or the way the laughed or the difference in eye colour. Their difference to me was that they all had boyfriends or wanted one. I didn’t. I never showed any interest because that’s just it. I wasn’t interested in a boyfriend at all. I struggled to comprehend what it meant to like a boy…I thought about it for a long time. I used to think I was Asexual. Hell, even some of my friends made jokes about me being Asexual. I grinned and laughed along. It was pretend because that is what you do to survive college. All my life, until my point of realisation, I had known one word: heterosexual. Now I knew another one. Asexual. I went through college, my friends got boyfriends, broke up with them and they all cried on my shoulder about it. I said I could sympathize and I would I could of. But it was a lie because the truth was that I never liked guys more then friends. I was confused by why I didn’t like guys. I should of…at least that’s what society prescribed for me before I was born. That is all I knew. Heterosexuality. The alternative didn’t exist to me because I didn’t know there was one. It was kept shut away. Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy and girl marries boy. I know now and have known for a long time that I like girls. I am gay.

One day, I don’t remember when, but one day I stumbled upon a word that helped me understand Homosexuality. Gay. Lesbian. Once I learnt of it I began to apply it to my life, analysing it against my feelings whenever I talked to a girl, whenever I thought about a girl. I paid attention to my reactions and thoughts. Everywhere where I went I would look at a guy from an attraction point of view. I still do. There was nothing. Yes, I can identify the initial confusion as they were good looking in an aesthetic sense. But I wasn’t attracted to them. I didn’t feel that. I never have. But back then I didn’t know. I was scared and oppressed by the displeasure and the judging I would face. So I moved into a denial phase. I dated -. I liked him because I liked the idea of being in a relationship and while he was a nice, polite young man. I was not attracted to his personality, his looks, anything about him in a way more then friendship. For -, it was the same. He thought he liked me because he was attracted to me. Although he does see me as a nice young woman, he is not attracted to me. He was simply attracted to the idea of being in a relationship with someone, sharing affection.

I remember the feeling I got when we started dating. It was relief because I was sure this must have meant I wasn’t and I was happy because I became convinced that all that pain I went through was just paranoia. It wasn’t true because then if it was true, I’d have to go through the horror of coming out every time I met someone. Through all of those years, you didn’t know what went through my head. I have become adept and hiding my feelings. Over all those years, I would go to bed but you never knew what I lay in bed thinking about. Get into bed. Sleep. A simple process – one that didn’t apply to me. I’ve lost count of the nights that I lay awake, lying in uncertainty and living with it. Allow me to describe, as best I can, what it was like for me. I know I couldn’t do it justice because you can’t replicate someone else’s feelings and put them inside you and feel them yourself to that extend.

I would look in the mirror and I couldn’t even look myself in the eyes. I was ashamed. I actually hated myself. I hated myself for feeling the way I did when I saw a girl- another person who I was attracted to. I didn’t want to be gay and I never asked for it. It just happened. You may describe it as a trend or see it as the product of my sexual assault as a child. You may describe it as that I was influenced by my friends and what I saw in media or what I heard. I respect your views because they are your opinions and what you believe. I am a reasonable person and whilst I may not like or agree with your views, I will respect them because they are you own. A product of your own thinking, moralistic and analytical processes. I am not gay because I was sexually assaulted. I am not gay because it seemingly became popular. I am not gay because I heard my friend talk about it some years ago and thought that sounded cool and I want to be gay. I didn’t chose for the thousands of sleepless nights where I had an iron grip over my heart because I struggled to accept myself. I was different therefore I was wrong. I was a freak. I didn’t ask for the weight over my chest, making it difficult to physically breathe. You could describe it as an ache. A painful, excruciating ache that was subdued at night when I finally fell asleep after crying myself into a slumber. But the next morning, when I woke up and looked in the mirror. I hated what I saw. A gay girl. A lesbian. I hated the blood in my veins. I hated who I was and my ideals because that had to have made me gay. And the ache returned. I trembled under the stress of a social pressure to be part of a heterosexual world. I was angry. Pure white hot, rage that clouded my vision and painted it red. I was angry at myself, angry at everyone because I was put in a position I never asked for and at my age at the time, you’re meant to go to school, get an education but no one ever tells you about this. I was so cooped up. I wanted to scream all the time. I wanted to scream till my throat bled. I wanted to smash every window and get any outlet that I could. But I didn’t. I held it in and it drained me of energy. I felt weak.

You might say you know what it is like to have a fear of being rejected by society for who you are. You are straight. You never had to go through what I go through and the memories I have of it. You can’t make a comparison and brush it off. You cannot understand the kind of worry and stress and darkness upon my mind as I went through everyday life. All the while my dark thoughts, hate and anger was triggered by seeing a happy boyfriend with his girl. Going to church I felt disgusting. I felt like concrete stepping into a place where I wasn’t accepted. So I resisted. Eventually, you stopped having me go and then the only left was to worry about your opinion and acceptance of me.

Would my parents accept me? The big question. I did not have the strength to ask you out right because I knew that would be in implication in itself. So I watched and observed. I know that it did not fit in your religion and I have no problem accepting that. It is what you believe. I’m not going to bash that. I have no right to. I am not that kind of person. I knew I had to infer from your conduct as to your attitude about homosexuality. Late 2013, the subject of gay marriage was discussed on TV. I sat there and gritted my teeth and felt invisible knives stab me in the heart, twisting and it felt like it was killing me when you started making your views known. It was wrong. Unnatural. That it was filthy. You raised your voices at the TV. Would that be how they approached their own daughter? That I was filth? I shut down on that decision to tell you ever since. So I turned to my closest friend. You cannot imagine the relief I felt when they accepted me. Often saying so? It doesn’t change the fact that I’m hungry and you should go get me some pizza.
It didn’t matter that the person I wanted to love and care for would be a woman not a man. To them all that mattered was that I could love someone. That was all. It didn’t need to be complicated because it wasn’t. It wasn’t a relaxation of morals. It just didn’t care to them because at the end of the day I had two eyes, two arms, two legs, two hands and 10 fingers and 10 toes. Did it really matter who I wanted to be with? It wasn’t any of their business as I was told and even if it was they didn’t care because it was me. All they cared about was that I was happy with whoever it was. That relief gave me so much joy. But it still didn’t solve the question. You can ask me if I had ever lived in fear and I have. A fear that I would be cast aside as filth. Would my parents who gave birth to me- my own flesh and blood. Would the accept me? On the basis of your conduct. No. You wouldn’t. But as I have learnt in law it is faulty to assume things. I am 20 years old now. What I’ve been working towards has been the product of amount of pain that would flatten any man or woman. I no longer hate myself. I accept myself. Part of this was having people around me who didn’t care that I was gay. It didn’t even feature. I am happy with myself. I will always be happy about myself. Because I know how rare it is to find someone you love who loves you back. You may ask me, how can I love another woman. It’s beautiful to me. It has nothing to do with biology its only love. Love is not biology. While it is expressed physically, in itself, it is not in a physical form. Love is an idea and it can be applied to every situation. It cannot be wrong to me because for me, it is right.

I want to know. Will you be like the college kids who hated because I was different? I believe my family to be people of sense, logic and understanding. Educated people. Good people who have never committed a crime, and work hard. They pay their taxes and respect their fellow man and love their country. They are proud people who do right by other people. They do not break the law or encroach on other people’s rights. While we do not see eye-to-eye most of the time and a lot of the time we argue. I am flesh and blood, I have emotions and a desire to be cared for. I desire to love and I want to be accepted. Is it too much to ask for my own family to accept me? I don’t know but I guess I’ll find out.

Being gay was thrust upon me. I could sink with it, deny who I am and hate myself forever or I could accept it, and embrace it. I was born to be happy. Does it really matter that I like woman? I am a loyal person. I love my friends and I love my country. I am patriotic, I work hard and I have a desire to serve my country in anyway I can. I want to love someone and I want to be happy knowing that my family respect me for it. I am no drug dealer, I am no alcoholic. I respect my fellow men and woman and although I have no job, I will pay my taxes because you know IRD scare me shitless. I have never killed anyone nor committed a crime. While I am not perfect, I am still me. Does it matter if I happen to be me with a lot of gay on the side? I may be too proud. Be too blunt and I may have a temper worse then fire. But that is me. I am a person.

You have two decisions before you. You can read this and reject this. That is your choice. If you do I do not hold any ill feeling towards you. I will not hate you. You are your own people like I am.

Or.

You can read this and accept me who I am, that I will not change. You can stand tall and proud next to me at my graduation or when I am admitted to High Court of New Zealand as a Barrister/Solicitor. You can look at my achievements and what I have made out of my life and be glad to know me, be glad I was your daughter and be glad I didn’t turn out as a bad child. You can tell people, when they ask who your daughter is, you can show them a picture of me in the paper and say. This is my daughter. My beautiful, redheaded, blue-eyed daughter. My daughter with a law degree who serves her country and earns an honest living. My daughter who has a heartbeat of her own and her own personality. My daughter who came from a broken, fragmented country and made a life for herself in New Zealand as a young, confident woman with a beautiful wife and kids. My daughter who stands up for people and defends their rights. My daughter who is capable of loving someone and protecting them.
My daughter who is gay should not be something you should ashamed of. I have been through enough shame to last several life times. My daughter who is gay should be a statement of pride that reflects you standing apart from the rest of the sheep. Standing up for your fellow citizen.
Your daughter.
Me.
I am your daughter and I always will be.”