Personal Narrative: Growing Up In Casper, Wyoming

Growing up in Casper, Wyoming is supposed to be wonderful, and for the most part, it is. As kids, we could always find something to do. Whether it be spending all day at one of the ponds that seemed to be around every corner, where we’d try so hard to catch small fish and funny looking bugs that we could bring home with us like trophies, or running around one of the parks, attempting to organize one of those sports games that never actually materialized, despite our promises a few days prior to actually get something together for once (“About”). When the sprawling skies turned to dusk, we’d rush to our houses, eat dinners as fast as we could, and meet up again, mason jars in hand, and try to catch those fireflies that floated around us until our mothers called us home again. Back then, it was almost like we were all exactly the same. We were always hanging out together, always doing the same things. Nobody realized it then, but it wouldn’t always be that way. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I knew I was different from everyone I knew, but it started pretty early on. Sometimes, my friends and I would sit around and talk about the girls we liked. Well, they’d talk about that. I’d sit just a little bit farther from the rest
Shortly after graduating high school, I sat her down and somehow managed to force the words “I’m gay” out of my mouth somewhere within my ramblings (“Matthew’s Story”). My hands were shaking and heart was beating out of my chest during those few seconds before she said something, and I just watched her, trying to gauge her reaction. After what seemed like the longest moment of my life, she finally spoke. She told me that everything was okay, that she would always love and support me, and that honestly, she had known since I was little. Hearing this from my mother, and finally having someone else to confide in, was something I didn’t realize I needed, but was so, so