Guest Blog by Veronica Camacho
At forty-one years of age, I am nowhere near where I thought I would be when I was younger and still trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. I spent most of high school hiding from how I felt about who I knew I was, and much of my early twenties trying to figure out who I was because I no longer knew. It wasn’t until I hit my thirties that I started to understand that I was queer.
My moment of knowing I had an attraction to women was in high school with my teammate. We were always so shy around each other, she was the same position as me and we were often paired up for drills. We walked the same way home and would have these flirty glances and nervous laughs shared between us. When she was my secret Santa she bought me a huge stuffed reindeer bigger than me, and she knew I loved dark chocolate so she got me a big box of candies. I knew then I liked her, but sadly nothing ever came of it.
After high school, I started my freshman year at UTEP, and at first, I was so excited! I was ready for meeting new friends. I was ready to experience a whole new culture of learning. That’s when depression hit me for the very first time in my life. I did not know what depression was then, but I knew I was sad and tired all the time. I hated how I felt inside about who I was and what I wanted and who I liked. I made all the wrong friends, did all the wrong things to self-medicate and self-soothe. It would be 10 years before I finally saw through the fog of depression.