Symptoms of Being Human by Jeff Garvin Page A

Force be with you.”
    My parents won’t be home for another hour and a half, so I sequester myself in my room, fire up my laptop, and log in to Bloglr. When my dash appears, I lean back in my chair and stare at the numbers on the screen:
    MESSAGES: 27
    FOLLOWERS: 568
    Five hundred sixty-eight followers ? Last time I checked, it was fifty something—and it’s been less than a week! I click Refresh, but the numbers remain the same. How did I gainso many followers so quickly?
    I start clicking on their avatars and browsing through their profiles, paying particular attention to the connections we have in common. When I notice that the first dozen or so also follow QueerAlliance’s Bloglr feed, things start to make sense. QueerAlliance is a popular site; it probably gets thousands of hits every day. All these people must have found me because I was featured in the “What’s New” section on the home page.
    I run my fingers through my hair. These five hundred new followers—these strangers—have read my most personal thoughts. My most embarrassing feelings. My secrets. All at once, I feel naked. I know it’s practically impossible . . . but what if someone reads this and knows it’s me? I glance at the window to make sure my curtains are closed. They are. Then a nervous laugh escapes me, and I shake my head; I’m just being paranoid. Bloglr is anonymous. There’s nothing anyone could use to connect Alix the blogger with Riley the congressman’s kid. I let out a long breath, and then I scroll through the comments.
    People appear to actually like what I’ve shared. More than that, they seem to take comfort or inspiration from it, and that makes me feel . . . I don’t know. Like I matter. Like maybe I’m not so alone after all.
    I click on Messages and start reading.
    Anonymous: Love ur blog! XD
    yell0wbedwetter: Moar pleez!
    Anonymous: OMG. Thank. U. So. Much. I came out to my mom over the weekend & she cried & couldn’t understand. Kept asking if I was trans, and I couldn’t explain.After I read ur post I told her your line “it’s not a switch it’s a dial.” I think she finally got it! U have no idea. Thank u!!!!
    MiMi_Q: Oh, Alix, I don’t envy where you are, but you will make it. You are an inspiration. Keep writing.
    I scroll down. There are more messages like the ones above. I start replying, thanking the senders, and welcoming my new followers. And then, after about twenty minutes, I come to a more substantial message, and I start to read:
    Anonymous: Hi Alix. I totally started crying when I read ur story about being in the toy store with ur dad. That is what I’ve been feeling my whole life. Exactly that. Anyway thank u so much. I want to come out to my sister but I don’t know what to say. Any advice?
    I reread the message. My heart physically aches at the thought that something I wrote helped this stranger figure out what they’re going through. I start to type out a reply, tentatively at first, but with increasing velocity. Soon, my hands are flying over the keyboard; I’m surprised how much I have to say.
    And then, just as I’m about to click Post, I hesitate. Because the message is anonymous, I can’t reply privately; anyone who follows my blog will be able see this. I reread what I’ve written. It all sounds . . . wrong. False. Arrogant. Who am I to give this person advice? For one thing, I don’t know anything about coming out. I’m still in the closet myself. How am I remotely qualified to advise this stranger on something so big?
    I delete my reply and type a new one.
    Alix: Hi, Anonymous. I wish I could give you advice, but the truth is, I’m just a big fat coward. The only person I’ve come out to is my therapist, who is oath-bound not to judge me and required by law to keep my secrets. In my own searching, I’ve come across a couple sites that might help: try