How A Cat Saved My Life
…spot to commit suicide. I was fifteen years old and was struggling with a new word that I had learned: “lesbian.” I knew it was word that applied to me—and the more vernacular “dyke” that I had been called by some classmates. I didn’t like either of them. “Lesbian” sounded like a horrible disease (no offense to natives of Lesbos), and “dyke” was not yet an epithet I had learned to love for its amazing power and strength. After dark, when the down…
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