“I don’t have a disease!” (part 2)
Content warning: mention of suicide & conversion therapy
That night it was pouring, we held each other and cried and didn’t know what to do next. I really didn’t want to come back to his place to spend the night because I dread seeing those hateful eyes from his relatives, as if I brought harm to their son. But we can’t just not come back, we had nowhere else to go.
When we returned, his parents wouldn’t let us share a bed. I slept in the attic, he slept downstairs in his room. As night fell, he wasn’t sleeping but I could hear him crying. I could only look at him from the attic, and tell him “Don’t cry, we’ll figure this out tomorrow. Try and sleep.” We were like that all night, though we knew we couldn’t touch each other, but our hands reached for one another. We felt so desperate and kept crying.
But the following day was when the crisis hit.
Early in the morning, his parents invited his whole extended family. I woke up that morning, not from all the relatives, the uncles and aunties yelling, but from his wailing, “I am not like that, this is not an illness.”
His uncle, don’t know where he heard this from, but insisted that “You’re sick, and if you’re sick you gotta get cured, just inject from hormones and it’ll go away.” His uncle told of a similar instance in the neighboring village, they took the injections and they like girls now. His parents were forced to the end of the road, they agreed with anyone with a solution. He kept crying louder and begging, “I can’t! I don’t have a disease!”
I was in the attic then, my heart broke when I heard his cries, but I laid my hand on my forehead and felt helpless. Helpless because as I witnessed the one I loved fight his whole family, I was right here, silent. I don’t know how else to describe that feeling, I just felt sorry for him, I wanted to help but I couldn’t, because my own knowledge wasn’t enough, I just knew it wasn’t an illness, but I didn’t have any proof. What’s more, I didn’t have a job, so no one would listen to me if I spoke now. Since I couldn’t do anything, I’d take a peek every once in a while, then when I saw him covered in tears, I couldn’t look anymore…
A moment later, he begged his parents for a chance to see a psychiatrist. If the doctor said this was a disease, then he’ll go on hormones. His parents accepted.
Since he had to take me back to District 7, we took one scooter with his parents riding behind. On the way, we didn’t dare to hold hands or hug or have any intimate or supporting gestures, we only knew to look at each other in the rearview mirror and whisper encouraging words. When we almost reached District 7, I told him that if he had to be injected with hormones, and if he became ill or had any brain damage, or faced anything issues that he couldn’t handle, I’d be willing to take him in and take care of him. He started crying again as I said this. My tears started streaming, too.
Fortunately, he met a kind person, the doctor who has been treating his family for years, and assured them that this wasn’t an illness. His parents burst into tears, but would not accept him. It took a couple of days, then the situation became tenser, his parents decided to lock his bike in Đồng Nai. He couldn’t handle it anymore and left home, headed to Sài Gòn, and we’ve been living together since.
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Rồi Sẽ Ổn Thôi (“Gonna Be Alright”) is a project that collects coming out stories from the LGBTIQ+ community and their loved ones in Việt Nam. To find out more details or to read more stories from the project, please visit our official social media site on Instagram at ComingOutVN.
