Letter to a parent. Wish you could be next to me


LGBT persons wrote letters to their families.

Hello. I’m Lilit. My friends call me Lyush. For a long time, I had the feeling Lilit isn’t my name.

Mom, do you remember, you’ve told me one story about my name, and let’s face it, the tale impressed me a lot. Do you remember, the grandma, whom I’ve never seen, you’re always saying that I look like her, decided aunt’s and your names if she’d have two daughters. But when my aunt was born, my grandpa was so happy, celebrated it with friends and drank so much, he gave the wrong name to my aunt. When you were born, my grandma and grandpa had one name which they could use, and the second name remained unused until I was born and you’ve given me that name – Lilit – your name. My colleagues…they will say “huh, your Mom has given you’re her own scenario and you picked it up, blah-blah-blah, blah-blah-blah. But I don’t want to listen to them, let psychologists analyze their clients. I want to return to us, I want to return to me and you. The story impressed me and has a symbolic mark for me, some kind of connection, that you’re the closest person, whom I love and respect so much, I need you to be happy, I want to share with you the feelings inside of me, and to hear yours. Now I hear yours, I’m with you when you need it when I can… I agree that I don’t always succeed… but regardless of everything else I can’t share my own, and that scares me. I’m afraid to lose you, to lose your trust, your respect, your love, if you’ll find out about my love, my love of women. I’m scared I’ll hear all these charges, insults and disgusting words which I listen from everyone else every day. I know I’m not the only one with these feelings. I know there are other people like me, with the same fears and feelings. But I want you to know – to hear from others it’s not so terrible; you get used to antagonistic attitude of people… it’s not as terrible to hear as when I hear yours, your hostility; it stabs me: my personality, my self-being, my essence.

Dad, do you remember, 90’s…we often spent evenings under the candlelight. You, me and my sister were making a paper world – with beautiful towers, buildings, trees, roads. Remember? Do you remember how with such excitement we’ve been waiting for those evenings to continue to build and create beauty? Day by day we were creating that world; one day adding a tower, another day – roads… It was the world, which was beautiful, safe, which was our own. Now when I’ve become older I understand you’ve never said what you’ve felt, what you’ve thought; even now I am not sure what you feel, what you think, what you wanna from this life. Those towers, houses, trees were messages, which I got from you. I got that I’ve to build my life and my world on my own. And persons close to me can help because it’s very difficult to act alone. Now I’ve built my world, my life, there are people next to me, who helped to create it, full of love and respect. One thing is missing. There’s no paper world anymore, and you’re far away from me. No, not physically, we’re seeing each other on different occasions. You are psychologically detached. I’m in my world, you’re in your own. And there’s a big sea of silence between those worlds, full of tensions and fears; my fears, maybe your fears too, I do not know. I only know I’m afraid of losing you, losing your trust, your respect, your love, if you’ll find out about my love, my love of women. I’m scared I’ll hear all those charges, insults and disgusting words which I listen from everyone else every single day. And sometimes I see these in your eyes. It hurts me, hurts very much like the stabs of a sword.

You know, sometimes I am jealous that other parents don’t hurt their children. Looking with love to those parents, who are with their children, and they aren’t scared, or maybe they are scared, but anyway they are right there for their children; I don’t know. I would love to fear or not to fear with you; I don’t know. I wish you could be next to me, no matter what. I would really love, but…

Lilit, Yerevan