people, particularly women, remains 

rampant in our culture. On “Friends,” 
Chandler and Joey jump at the opportunity 
to watch Rachel and Monica share a 
minute-long kiss. In Katy Perry’s debut 
single, “I Kissed a Girl,” she perpetuates 
the notion that relationships between two 
women are just experimental and simply a 
way to entertain straight men.

Ackerman-Greenberg, now speaking 

louder than before, attempting to break 
through the voices of students frantically 
ordering their last caffeine fix before 
moving to the library for the night, begins 
to highlight how these portrayals in pop 
culture have manifested in her own life.

“I was at Skeeps (Scorekeepers Sports 

Grill and Pub), and my girlfriend and I 
kissed for the first time,” she said. “For the 
first time in my life I was kissing a girl that 
I cared about,” a hint of red beginning to 
color her face. “It felt as if there was not 
another person in the world.”

That euphoric feeling did not last 

long, she notes. Soon, that world was 
interrupted by the sight of half a dozen 
men, staring, cheering, as more onlookers 
began to gather around for “their own 
entertainment.” While this brought a 
“feeling of disgust,” what stuck in her 
mind the most was having to weave 
through the crowded bar, watching as 
dozens of straight couples intensely, and 
“sloppily,” made out with one another — 
unnoticed and unbothered.

“I’m sure there are hundreds of bisexual 

girls like me on campus, people who I 
can talk to and who could relate to these 
things,” she said, placing her drink back 
down, the bottom of her cup now visible. 
“I guess I just don’t know where to find 
them.”

Her phone buzzes, interrupting a 

solemn gaze. It’s her girlfriend, asking 
when she will be back home. A smile 
returns to her face.

“I almost feel bad for complaining. You 

know, it could be much worse. My parents 

are so accepting. I have a girlfriend who I 
love. But sometimes — as soon as I begin 
to let go just a bit, something brings me 
crashing back down to reality.”
“I 

came home from school, and I 
knew something was wrong.”

“My parents sat me down and they said, 

‘We heard you’ve been cutting yourself.’”

LSA junior Caleb Grimes met me in 

the middle of the Ross School of Business 
Winter Garden. He stood out amid the 
chaos of networking calls and coffee 
chats transpiring around him, dressed in 
a sweatshirt and the only one without a 
backpack or briefcase.

“Sorry I was late,” he said calmly, “I had 

to come straight here from my friend’s 
house”

Hailing from an all-boys Catholic 

school in Kentucky, Grimes exhibits an 
air that one might expect from an All-
American lacrosse player. At first glance, 
his hardy demeanor supports the cool and 
unaffected presence that he carries. Yet, 
as his guard begins to wane, his effort to 
maintain this composure becomes more 
apparent.

“It was hard,” he says in a more solemn 

tone. “I was just 15 years old. I wasn’t even 
sure what or who I was. So, when I tried 
talking to a friend to maybe get some sort 
of clarity, and it suddenly spread across 
the town, I fell into a dark place.”

During his sophomore year of high 

school, Grimes’s parents received a phone 
call from a friend about his self-harm and 
the rumors of his sexuality. Hoping to 
alleviate their son’s pain and confusion, 
they sought out a therapist to speak with 
him.

“I never got to have my ‘coming out 

moment,’” he says with a more sunken 
face, his hands retreating into the refuge 
of his sweatshirt. “Instead, I woke up each 
day wondering if I would even be alive the 
next morning, all while trying to maintain 
this image of the lacrosse player, of the 
football player, of the student.”

Grimes’s internal conflict with his 

identity is pervasive in LGBT teens across 
the country. According to the Centers 
for Disease Control and Prevention, 
people who are gay are four times as 
likely to attempt suicide when compared 
to heterosexual youth. The fear of 
discrimination and harassment because 
of one’s sexuality also leads LGBT people 
to have depression and anxiety disorder 
rates three times as high as their straight 
counterparts.

“My therapist helped me sort through 

some of these things, but that constant 
anxiety and overthinking just never went 
away.” He begins to pause at the sound of 
his voice becoming shakier, almost taking 
this as a signal to tuck back these difficult 
memories. “So I clung to anything that I 
thought would make it easier.”

Grimes notes that he wore his “non-

stereotypical” background as a badge of 
honor for the majority of both his high 
school and college careers. “It was funny 
how much I relied on that single label of 
the ‘lacrosse kid’ as a way to lift myself 
up.”

“Half of the reason I wanted to play 

lacrosse in college was because I wanted 
to maintain that safety of, ‘Yeah, I am gay, 
but look at me defying the stereotypes!’” 
he laughs with an almost-regretful tone.

Upon coming to campus, Caleb saw 

Greek life as his next outlet to bolster this 
image. He recalls hoping to not be seen 
as the “gay kid,” but as the “masculine, 
gay frat kid.” While he eventually found 
a supportive community within this 
new space, there are times he still feels 
isolated because of his sexuality. To 
him, Greek life is built upon, in many 
ways, the expectation of going out and 
finding another person to hook up with. 
Reinforced by dark, cramped basement 
parties, where the conversation is limited 
by blaring music, people can mainly just 
“dance and hook up.” While friends may 
come briefly to wave hello, most of them 
quickly disperse as he “obviously doesn’t 
fit what they came there for.”

Even when he has brought another guy 

with him to a party — something he notes 
he is very lucky to be able to do — that 
isolating feeling begins to reemerge.

“I never truly feel comfortable or 

accepted with another guy in public. Even 
the most accepting people cringe deep 
down when they see two guys together.”

When I asked him why he thinks that, 

he responded coldly, “Because we cringe 
too.”

Before heading back to return to his 

friends, Grimes notes how his years hiding 
his identity have manifested throughout 
almost all spheres of his life.

“I just got really good at covering up how 

I feel,” he confessed. “But I go through an 
internal battle every single day.”

This is a common theme for many gay 

people. As discussed in a recent study 
from 
Georgetown 
University, 
LGBT 

people have learned that it is often safer to 
conceal their feelings than to become open 
to criticism or ridicule. This instinctual 
sense of protection, however, leads to 
an undermining of self-esteem and self-
worth. 

“I am grossly insecure with myself and 

I constantly regulate how people might 
view me,” Grimes admits. “And because of 
that, I may have come across in the wrong 
way to some people.”

Now, six years since his talk with his 

parents, he notes he is becoming more 
comfortable with the many facets of 
his identity. His family, too, has been 
celebrating this part of him as well. In 
fact, he tells me, they even went to a Pride 
parade without him.

A smile begins to break, and a warm 

glow fills his eyes.

“Yeah, that was pretty cool.”
B

usiness senior Chandra Sahu 
highlights how being a woman of 
color has played in her experience 

as a queer woman. While it has been easier 
for her to identify other Black students on 
campus, her pursuit of finding other gay 
students was difficult.

“I was surprised by how little of a 

community for gay people there was 
here,” she said in a disappointed tone. 
“Statistically, there have to be a lot more 

Wednesday, October 24, 2018 // The Statement
6B

Courtesy of Sam Goldin

Nicole Ackerman-Greenberg