Check the state of her...

I was brought up in a very loving household. Yes, we had our ups and downs but my mum insured that we were given a balance of culture and creativity and expressed ourselves artistically and musically. She also made sure that we knew the difference between right and wrong and to accept people for who they were, whether they were rich, poor, of different race or disability. We never judged anyone.

I loved primary school. I loved everything about it. I had loads of friends, went to heaps of sleepovers and revelled in my childhood. I was nervous about starting Secondary School as I knew that kids were crueler there but it never bothered me overall. I was heading to Secondary school with all the kids I had grew up with, shared birthdays and stories with. I'll be safe and happy and I'll get on with my education. I couldn't have been more wrong.

My parents didn't have alot of money so for the majority of the time, we had to make do with second hand clothes or cheaper clothes and shoes from budget shops, which was fine in primary school but moving onto Secondary school where everyone wore Ben Sherman shirts and Adidas trainers, girls with their perfectly straightened hair and delicately applied make up, There was no way I was going to get away with my fashion faux pas unnoticed. Everything went well in my first two years. I made new friends and enjoyed my new classes. I occasionally got the odd disgusted look or sneer but I rose above it. I was unfortunate to have both frizzy hair and multicoloured glasses, making me look like a complete nutter but I was happy and I respected my parents for trying their best.
As I progressed into third year, things started to change. I began to notice my peers more. How they behaved, how they dressed and what cool accessories they adorned. The more I came to school in my noticeably cheap clothing, the more sneery remarks I got. The comments grew uglier and I began shying away even more. I would get called things like "specky", "Fatty" and constantly be told nobody would ever "ride" me or "get off" with me. I begged my mum to help me fit in more.

By the time I was fourteen, my mum had put herself through her highers as a mature student and gained herself an HNC in Social Sciences, of which, I was immensely proud of. My mum had suppressed her disability enough to add more substance to her life and do something just for her. Although she wasn't working and still in receipt of benefits, my dad was working and things were a lot brighter. The very first thing I asked my mum to get me was a Ben Sherman school shirt. All the popular girls in school where wearing them. Perfectly fitting, perfectly ironed, crisp white shirts. Compared to my "budget" shirts at £3.99 for two, A Ben Sherman shirt was the height of luxury with a price tag to go with it. Mums face looked ashen when I told her. She knew money was still tight but she weighed up the options and would rather her child escaped the dispair of bullying than worry about money. She ordered me two shirts. At twenty pounds each.

Soon I was slapping mum with a whole list of things I desperately needed. Hair straighteners being a must to tame my frizzy mop and designer trainers as that was what most people kicked about in. 
Although I was trying to alter my appearance to fit in with my peers, I was still the victim of bullying. One year in science class, a boy I had went to school with tried to set fire to my hair. He pulled out a lighter and put the flame to the end of ponytail. Luckly one of the girls in my class has extinguished it and all I was left with was singed ends. My head of year had taken me aside and basically gave me the option of expelling him permenently or suspending him for two weeks. I though extremely hard about the decision. I had the power to get rid of a bully, who gets off on causing misery to others. I felt something of importance for a split second. I had the power and I felt like a King.
 I asked for him to be suspended. I'd get bullied even more if I got one of "their" friends expelled and I couldn't risk that.
The moment I felt completely at my worst was when I got picked on by some girls I went to primary school with. I'd grown up with these girls. Shared parties with them, days out, sleepovers. I was being betrayed all because they thought it was cool to be a bully. It started out as the odd name calling and threatening behaviour but soon escalated into following me home from school, pinning me up against walls and waiting for me after classes. I was teased in class, spat on and even had someone spit in my cola can. My depression spiralled out of control to the point that I was begging my mum to keep me off school and she had no option but to let me stay at home. She didn't want some thugs hurting her baby. I never left the house when I wasn't at school. I was petrified of bumping into one of them. On the rare occasion when I went to the shopping centre, I would constantly be looking over my shoulder and would do whatever it was I was doing as quickly as possible so I could get back to the safe and secure place I called my bedroom. On one occasion I was beaten up outside the shopping centre. A girl I barely knew came up behind me and announced that I had been saying things behind her back and spreading rumours about her. I, of course, denied all knowledge of these rediculous claims. She smacked me across the face, pulling my hair so hard I was left with a small patch of hairless scalp, but the thing that hurt me more than the punches and slaps was my new top that she ripped. My mum had bought it for me the day before.
 Soom my self harming had reared its ugly head again and I began drinking in the streets and messing about with drugs to deal with the pain.
My best friend has just left school, having turned sixteen, and I was still stuck in the obscure, Intimidating confinement which made the whole situation ten times worse. The only thing the School could do for me was let me leave my classes ten minutes earlier in order to get to my next class without any confrontation. I was constantly on an attendance card, was always bumping off school and social workers were called in. By the time I was fifteen I was missing school for weeks at a time until the School came up with a solution. Having attended a local nursery for my work experience placement, they had arrange with the nursery to turn my work experience into a type of placement, two days a week and three days in school. To begin with, I was delighted. The school had came to a compromise with me and I could enjoy the experiences of working with children, something I'd always wanted to do.
Unfortunetly it didn't solve the problem of me being victimised. The bullies were still there on those three days and I was still being emotionally distroyed. After two months I'd had enough and I left school and my placement for good, two months before I turned sixteen.
I never wanted to be leave education but I was physically forced out of it. Nobody could help me and I resorted to the only option I had left before it permenently damaged me. I planned on staying on for the rest of my fifth year and sit my highers and advanced highers and I still to this day suffer with what happened all those years ago. I'm having to go back into education as an adult.
These people destroyed my life. They stole my education away from me. They took every ounce of self worth and confidence I had and robbed me of it. I didn't believe in myself anymore. I barely wanted to be me anymore. It's taken alot of courage and determination to overcome what happened to me. I am so luckly to be surrounded by good, honest people who have helped me on my road to recovery. Without all that, I could have easily taken my own life.

What's that on your arm?...

That one little question has a big impact on me every time I hear it ringing in my ears. What do I say? How would they react if they knew the truth? "I got scratched by the cat" was a common answer.

From the age of twelve I have self harmed. I can remember the first time I did it and what I used but not exactly why. All I know was that I was angry and upset and I made a few light scratches at the top of my knee. I still have the very faint scars to this day. My mum has suffered with Bi Polar Disorder since she was eighteen and from the day I was born until I was fourteen, She ended up in hospital every two years.
 I remember my parents had been arguing and I had obviously had enough of it. I went to the bathroom and grabbed a razor off the shelf and when to my room. I remember feeling a sense of calm when I'd finished, like everything was all better again. It took the pain of my mum being ill and my parents shouting away. I must have seen something on television that gave me the idea to do it but I have no idea what it was. I wasn't scared of doing it, but dying for a release from it all.

Anytime I found myself angry or depressed, I would always reach for that sharp object to take all the pain and discomfort away. I spent most of my teenage years being severely depressed and I quite often, at least once a day, take it out on myself. I would try my best to hide it under long sleeved shirts and tops and covering the scabs with make up. I didn't want anyone to know my little secret. I had a fear that nobody would understand. I'd be judged as a freak or an attention seeker and I couldn't cope with being even more of an outsider that I already was.
When I was involved in my first serious relationship with a woman in America, I continued it. I'd moved to Florida to be with her and I couldn't cope with the thought that I would have to go back to Scotland. I knew that our relationship was doomed from the start due to the problems we faced with visas and citizenship but I let my heart rule my head and put it on the back burner. Towards the end of my stays I'd quite often stay up late getting drunk and cutting myself because I wanted to numb the pain of facing up to losing her. The next day I would lie to her about how it happened, saying I brushed against the coffee table. I didn't want her to see I was breaking down and becoming a shadow of my former self. I loved her and wanted to do everything I could to protect her from it.

I would always regret what I had done. I'd quite often cry at the fact that my arm looked like a butchered piece of meat but I couldn't stop doing it. It wasn't a cry for help. Far from it. I had lost the ability to control my emotions and express my anger in a more productive way.

One previous girlfriend in particular took real offence to my scars. She looked at me like I was a nut job and I felt like one too. She said If I ever did it again, She wouldn't want to know me. I didn't understand how someone couldn't love me for who I was. It made my self confidence plummet and in the end I don't think she could handle it and our relationship dissolved. It took me a while to get over the fact that someone so close to me had judged me on the most sacred and intimate part of my life. I never thought I'd find someone who would see my scars as part of my life.

When I met my partner Davina in 2009, I was absolutely petrified of bringing my truth to light. After all the heartache I'd went through, I had to lay myself on the line and hope to god she accepted me for who I was. She did, thank god, and we've spent three glorious years together so far.
These days I'm not ashamed of my scars. I accept that people have questions and I will always answer honestly. They have became part of me like my tattoos are part of me. They're the story of my life and I haven't harmed myself in over three years. It's my biggest accomplishment.

Liberated...

It took me two years to really appreciate myself as a gay woman. In the space on two months I'd came out to my parents and travelled for 22 hours to live with my partner in Florida. Even though I was living my life as a gay woman in a same sex relationship, I couldn't help but feel left out of the "gay community". I wasn't associating or socialising with others, I wasn't spending my time surrounded by the people that felt most connected to, that I had the most in common with. It was only after my relationship broke up and I moved back to Scotland was I greeted by the true lifestyle I wished to lead. I started going out to gay bars and clubs, making new friends and discussing my thoughts and opinions with others. I am a proud feminist also and i actively discuss my thoughts on gay liberation and gay rights.

2009 has been an interesting year, a year of mistakes and learning and year for new adventures. I am fairly active in the gay community and 90% of my friends are gay. I felt Truly liberated when i came back home because it meant I was given an opportunity to be who i really am. I am very much a people person and I enjoy socialising on a regular basis, both with heterosexual and homosexual individuals. I am more stimulated in a gay environment because that's who i am. I live my life as a lesbian. I like to be surrounded my lesbians because that's what I know. I like discussing my life with my partner Davina, because we are a gay couple.

It's hard to broach the subject of gay marriage with heterosexuals. Their reactions differ and it can go 50/50. They could tell you to f**k off or they could be deeply interested in yours. You just don't know how they're going to react, pure and simple.

I look at it this way. A brain surgeon is invited to two different parties. One is for brain surgeons only the other is for people who work as bin men. What party is the brain surgeon most likely to go to? The party for Brain Surgeons of course. I am most likely to surround myself in homosexual company as that is who I am. I have nothing against heterosexuals, I like to talk about what I know best, what I practise and who i am.

Having met the people I now call my friends, I've been surrounded by their emotional tales, the stories of their lives. The heartache and the joys. A friend of mine is trying to adopt with her partner and that's the what life is all about. It shouldn't matter what your sexual orientation is. We are entitled to the same rights as everyone else: Marriage, children and a normal and happy life. It's time the world changed its views and let us live. To be honest, I don't care what everyone else's views are. I am truly liberated as a person and proud of who I am. I am proud to be a woman, a lesbian and I'm proud of the kind of person I am and the people who surround me. I am truly liberated.

Good girl gone bad...

I've never once doubted my sexuality. I think I knew from a very young age that I was different from all my friends. Especially when i started secondary school. While girls with lusting after the school "hotties", young, hot blooded boys, I couldn't stop thinking about how gorgeous Kate Winslet was and what it would be like to kiss her. Sure I liked boys, but only in the platonic sense. My room was decorated with pictures of Take That and Leonardo DiCaprio but i only lusted after them for their talents, singing and acting. Mainly my walls were full of pictures of Kate, her beautiful, full, wavy hair, her passionate lips. That's what took my fancy but i never dare tell anyone.
When you're a 14 year old girl, especially coming from Glasgow, the world and all your peers have expectations of you. Boy meets girl, girl loses her virginity down the local park, girl has baby and boy is never seen again. Something like that anyway. I had tried time after time to be like everyone else, kissing boys and having fun but deep down I knew it wasn't right for me. I didn't like boys and I was a bit unsure of why I felt this way and the more I thought of this, the more different I thought I was.

My first sexual experience with a girl was at a relatively young age. I guess curiosity got the better of us and we decided to experiment, only for me, my feelings towards her were very different from hers. She was my best friend, ever since we were three so who better to experiment with. It lasted 10 months and eventually fizzled out when she didn't want to do it anymore. I, of course was heartbroken. No more cuddles, no more affection...How was I to deal with this? Was it my first real love? A crush? Well, mum gave me some chocolate and that was the end of all that.

Girls, more often than not, or pressured into forming relationships with the opposite sex. There's too much pressure nowadays for young girls to have intercourse. I was no different. I'm not a "gold star" lesbian (a lesbian who has never had sex with a man). I felt the same pressures as an adolescent and eventually succumbed to the inevitable. I slept with boys. Not because I wanted to but because it was the "thing" to do. You get someone to jump in for alcohol and cigarettes, go down to the railway bridge, get messed up and have drunken sex. On the outside I'd be smiling, trying to make out that this was all great fun but inside I was screaming. I wanted to run away, cry, scrub myself clean. I felt dirty, ashamed and most of all, I didn't feel like me. No matter how much I felt this way, I continued to behave in this way until I was about 17.

I got into a lot of trouble when I was a teenager. I was caught shop lifting and cautioned by the police. I was constantly skipping school, getting drunk and wasted on whatever I could get my hands on. Taking cannabis, cocaine and Ecstasy on a Friday night was a regular weekly occurrence. I just didn't care. I'd abused myself by letting men touch me and on top of other family issues, I'd spiralled out of control.

The thought of coming out scared me. How am I going to deal with other people was the first thing that crossed my mind. People can be cruel. Name calling doesn't just happen in the playground. I was scared of being so different to everyone else and at the age of 19, That was my main concern. I was very naive and didn't know much about being gay, what it mean to be gay and I certainly didn't have any gay friends. I felt completely alone and no idea how i was going to handle this. It took me 2 years to find out.....

Exiting the wardrobe...

"Dad, Im in love with a woman and I'm moving to Florida". Those were the very words I used. I always thought of my dad being a bit judgmental. Stuck in his old ways with traditional opinions and values so telling my dad that I was gay seemed to be a daunting thing. The reaction I got took me very much by surprise. "What did you say?" He said. I repeated what I had first told him. "I'm in love with a woman and Im moving to Florida".

My dad looked at me and smiled. "This definite then?" He said. "Yes" I said as I calmly poured water from the kettle all over my toast.

"You're my daughter Louise. I'll love you no matter what decisions you make." Bob wasn't my real dad. He'd stepped in when I was three years old and got together with my mum. He was step dad to my brother Daniel and I and treated us like we were his own. "So you're gay then?" he said. "Yes dad. I like women, not men". He gave me a hug and said he was with me all the way if i needed him. And that was pretty much that. I thought that if anyone would be against this it would be him but i was delighted with how he reacted. It made my life feel alot less stressful.

Mum was easy. "As long as you're happy. It makes no difference to me babe". And that was that. I've been treated no differently by parents and have their full support and love. I am one of the lucky ones. I've met and known young people from across the UK that have had top deal with the traumatic aftermath of "Coming out". Young people being thrown out onto the streets, abandoned by their loved ones for loving the "wrong" gender. Women and men with no one to turn to as their lives turn into turmoil. In this day and age, the 21st century and with all the controversy that already exists in the world we live in, we are still being judged. What happen to the quote Live and let live"?

Welcome...

My name is Louise Michelle Scott, I am 26 and I live in Scotland. I am gay and in love with a beautiful woman. I have lots of tattoos and I have two furry screwed up cats. I'm a fairly ordinary woman living a fairly ordinary life. I have a past and I have a future.

I decided to write this blog as a kind of outlet for my emotions. I can record the information of my life and remove it from my head were it continuously swirls around day after day. I also want to help people.
I know what it's like to be in horrible situations with no one to grab onto and when that person finally crosses your path, you can not be more deliriously happy and eternally grateful that they were willing to assist you back onto the right path. I would never have got through my many experiences without those closest to me and if I can bring comfort to someone else, for them to know they are not alone, I'll have told my stories for a worthy cause. Some of my experiences have been uncomfortable to write about, many because I don't talk about them often and having to think about them in order to write them has, at times, sent shivers down my spine. I try to remember that I am only human and that life can deal you some unexpected crap.
I think that in order to really achieve your future, you have to accept your past for what it was. Life kicking you in the ass. Deal with it and move the fuck on. A favorite author of mine, Beverly Donofrio, sent me a quote recently;
"You have to forgive life for being life".