Episode 1

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This is me, Rafael, but everyone calls me Rafa. I'm 23 years old and single. I'm gay, I came out at 16, surprising a total of zero people. I've always been flamboyant, what can I say? I was born to shine.

Another day down! My feet are killing me, my God, I'm so tired. At least this way I'll fall asleep fast! But it's not always like this. When I'm alone, my thoughts demand my attention for feelings I want to ignore, memories I want to forget, and dreams I want to abandon.

I always feel frustrated for not being where I wanted to be, I feel incapable of finishing what I start, I feel insecure about my appearance and my body. It's as if I never thought I deserved anything good in my life. My brain constantly reminds me of the goals I haven't achieved and the things I haven't experienced yet. I feel small and fragile, but nobody sees that.

What everyone sees is a crazy and outrageous gay guy, vain, with an uncontrolled sexual appetite, and so on, a cluster of stereotypes.

What I mean is, everyone sees me as happy, cheerful, content with life. They think that because I'm out, I'm strong, they treat me as if I were made of steel. No one sees my pain and my fears, they only see the fun-loving friend, ignoring the wounds in my heart.

I don't feel like talking to anyone, not even Isadora, my best friend. It's exhausting having to change the label from "crazy queen" to "depressed queen." I have zero patience for people treating me like this:

"Oh, don't be like that, you have to be strong, you're so young."

"Look at all you have!"

"You have to want to get better!"

"There are people worse off than you!"

Ugh, come on! I've heard so many clueless people saying this to those who are suffering. You know that saying "talking helps?" Well, it doesn't help worth shit. What's going to change in my life by telling my problems to someone who's more screwed up than I am?

I'll keep surviving like this for as long as I can. When the time comes, and if I need to, I'll see what I do.

I work at a designer clothing store. Today was a new collection launch, so everything was chaos! The ladies were there in full force. Just because I'm gay, they think I understand everything about fashion, but the fact is, I know next to nothing, just enough not to embarrass myself. I usually wear what I think looks good. But since I'm not here to "educate" anyone, I pretend to be the biggest fashion guru in the entire world. How? By making it up as I go along. It always works.

I live with my mother. My father left when I was six years old. I think he wasn't very happy to have an effeminate son. In the end, it was for the best, because between having a father who beats me and my mother, and not having a father, I prefer the second option. My mother had breast cancer two years ago. Because of that, I dropped out of dance school to work and help pay for her treatment. She received government assistance, but it wasn't enough, so I decided to help. I never regretted it. My mother is everything to me, she's always been there for me, helping and supporting me, so what I did was the least I could do.

Dance has always been my passion. I feel free when I dance; I can release my pain and anguish. But being on scholarship at a college full of rich kids was a nightmare. It was definitely the worst year of my life. Every day I was attacked with insults and mockery for being poor, gay, and effeminate.

They would laugh at the clothes I wore, my secondhand school supplies, my lack of resources for the courses and extracurricular activities that the college offered.

They always left me out of parties; I was the only scholarship student in the course, the only one who couldn't afford the entrance fees for the clubs, the bar tab, or any of that.

They made me ashamed of myself, of who I am and where I came from. I wouldn't open my mouth to speak because I was afraid; my voice back then was more effeminate than it is now. I used to gesticulate more when I spoke, I laughed loudly, and I was spontaneous.

All of that was a reason for them to laugh at me and make fun of me, to imitate me and ridicule me. After a while, I just wanted to be invisible. I was afraid of being "too gay" and ending up getting beaten up or worse.

After a while, I got out of that hellhole to help my mother. Since then, I use any excuse not to go back there. I hate that place with all my might.

With time away from those horrible people, I went back to normal, or almost. There was a lot of trauma left behind: the insecurity, the shame, the fear.

I don't like to be touched or hugged. Never, ever, under any circumstances do I use public restrooms.

One day, if I have the courage, I'll tell you why.

But now I like to attract attention; this is my way of getting revenge and showing those people that people like me exist and are everywhere! To show them that they didn't defeat me and that I won't hide.

Tomorrow is Friday, and I'm going out to hunt. I want to sit on a hot guy until I forget my own name.

I know I'll be used, but I'm going to use them too. I feel like for a casual hookup, no-strings-attached sex, for those things, I'm good enough. As one guy once said, I have the "face" for it.

But for dating, well, I'm not interesting enough to keep anyone in a relationship.

So, since everyone thinks I'm a slutty bitch, I'm not going to disappoint them, right? If it's for the greater good, tell everyone I'm DTF!

I'm going to the club in my best outfit, dance the sexiest way I know how, get wasted, and fuck like crazy.

I may not have a Prince Charming or a happy ending, but nobody can deny me sex and fun.

Even if at the end of the night I feel empty and sad, even if I feel like worthless trash with no future, I will still keep fighting this war between my heart and my mind, which seems to have no end.

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