And then I turned 13, and he beat me into a corner while my mother stood and watched. To lay eyes on the rows and rows and rows of chairs. Chairs filled with rows and rows and rows of teenage bodies. And the old reliable “spit therapy,” where kids took turns screaming insults, and hocking loogies into the designated victim’s face. For 16 months, I watched as Straight kids tried, and tried hard, to kill themselves.

Source: Huffington Post March 01, 2019 13:52 UTC