The loud crack of my bedroom door bursting open jarred me awake. I saw my mother’s silhouette in my doorway, framed by the hall light.

She just found out her godson was gay and had a message for me.

“If I ever find out that you’re gay, you can just pack your bags and leave,” she growled.

I was about 13.

Growing up, my home never served as my safe haven. School proved just as scary. So did boy scouts and basketball practice and pretty much any social situation.

In school and at home, I frequently was located at the receiving end of any gay jabs.

“What a fag,” “Are you sure you’re a boy?” “Stop being such a pansy,” “You’re acting like a sissy boy,” “You’re going to grow up and be one of those queers who wears a dress and cuts their dick off.”

Small pockets of seclusion  quelled my anxiety, such as bathroom stalls, the depths of swimming pools, under my trundle bed or up a tree.

If ever I was found out, I said I would kill myself, and I even wrote practice suicide notes for my stuffed animals to proofread.

Alcohol cured my inhibitions as I got older, and in my senior year of high school, I started telling my friends about my “issue.” The news was well received.

If anything, I gained more friends because of my honesty.

But the damage was  done. I perfected the art of wall building and covered up my true feelings with my rambunctious and ridiculous personality.

My passion for writing became muddled by my self-hate and I turned to partying to cope.

Fun was had, friends were made, but I wasn’t healing.

My undergraduate education at USI started in a funk. I got good grades but that’s all.

I got trashed as often as possible and did hurtful things to my friends and myself, like getting behind the wheel of a car.

My DUI destroyed me inside because I was ashamed. I left USI shortly after. I was defeated, and I hated myself even more. Looking in the mirror, I was disgusted at the person I’d become.

After three underwhelming semesters at USI, I took a semester off, saved money and spent the next year taking an online course at The New York Film Academy, which required the completion of a feature-length screenplay.

My script followed a self-destructive teenager, who collects a peculiar group of friends that help and hurt his progression toward normalcy.

It was the most therapeutic thing I had ever done and reminded me why I wanted to pursue writing.

I returned to USI with a new outlook and made one of the best decisions of my life — I stepped into The Shield’s office.

In two years, I went from staff writer to features editor to news editor to magazine editor to editor-in-chief. I found my safe haven and flourished.

I envy the people who had the courage to try things early. I didn’t because of fear and anxiety, and missed out on a lot.

My staff is amazing; we’re the epitome of a team. And while I’d like to attribute that all to me, that’s not even close to true.

The fact is they are all driven in their own way. I try to teach them whenever I can, but I learn from them just as often.

Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

Don’t let anything distract you from what you love doing. You’ll waste precious time being something you’re not, only to find yourself scrambling to catch up with who you are.

You don’t want to find yourself at age 25 boiling with anger because you’ve accomplished more in three years than you feel like you have your whole life.

One of the worst feelings I have ever experienced is the realization that I can, only to find that it’s too late.

But it’s never too late.

After I graduate in May, I will begin my internship at The Courier-Journal in Louisville, Kentucky. This opportunity could be the first big step leading me to my variety of dreams: work at a big newspaper, film a documentary, publish a novel or sell a screenplay.

Maybe it’s not, though— that all depends on me.

But now that I know I have enough ambition and talent, not trying would quite frankly be pathetic.

As the end of the academic year approaches, I feel like I am fading into the distance.

The Shield helped me redirect my spotlight so I was no longer blocking it’s radiance.

My beam found its stage and I planned to go out with a standing ovation.

Instead, I can feel my particles quietly separating in solitude as they prepare to take form again as a bumble-footed graduate.

My teammates don’t need me anymore, and it’s time for me to find a new safe haven to spread my wings.

I can’t think of a more satisfying exit.