SAN FRANCISCO (AP) - Jason Karella told himself he was gay at age 10. Seven years later, he told his mother. She told him to get out.
With no where to go, the youngster from Soldotna, Alaska, struck out for San Francisco. It was a place that always looked warm and accepting on television. A place he was sure would grant him a new, better life.
Karella, now 24, long ago abandoned that idea. He is an HIV-positive drug abuser who has attempted suicide and is facing homelessness.
''I ran to San Francisco because people told me this was the gay mecca,'' Karella said in a soft, warm voice. ''I came under false pretenses. People said they would help me, and they didn't.''
Karella is one of many young, lost souls who run to San Francisco every year with high hopes of finding a welcoming shoulder from the gay community. Instead, what they often find is a hardened adult homeless community ready to pounce on unsuspecting victims.
The holiday season is a time when many youngsters choose to confront confusion swirling around their sexual identity. And if that decision backfires, San Francisco often is the first place they turn.
''It's a time when a lot of gay and lesbian people come out to families,'' said Stephen Russell, a gay youth educator at the University of California, Davis. ''It's a time when they're all together, and it's intense. For whatever reason, it comes up.''
Sam Cobbs deals with plenty of such youngsters, particularly around this time of year.
''Parents begin to want their kids home for the holidays. They think, 'We can work this out. We can be a family,''' said Cobbs, manager of the Larkin Street Youth Center's LARK-Inn, one of two city shelters. ''A lot of our youth try to go home. What usually happens is they get there and everything is fine and after the leftover turkey is gone, it's back to reality. They're back in the same situation.''
After those short-lived reconciliations fall apart, Cobbs said, many of the same faces show up looking for a bed.
No one is sure just how many homeless gay youngsters are out there. A study done by the Streetwork Project, which provides outreach to street youth, says 42 percent of homeless youth identify themselves as gay or lesbian.
The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force estimates 26 percent of gay youngsters are forced from their homes because of conflicts surrounding their sexual identities.
Larkin serves about 3,000 kids a year in San Francisco. Forty percent of them are gay, lesbian or transgender, and 10 percent of the gay-identified youth in the center's programs are HIV-positive, said Anne Stanton, executive director. That's five to 10 times higher than the norm at sexually transmitted disease clinics, she said.
''It's from drug use mostly,'' said Denise Albano, deputy director of programs. ''Now there's new treatments, and the crisis phenomenon has subsided. It's taken away some of the hype.''
Gay male youth aged 13 to 24 made up 51 percent of the nation's AIDS cases reported in 1998, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. As many as half of gay and bisexual males forced out of their homes sell their bodies to survive, according to the Hetrick-Martin Institute, a New York-based social service advocacy agency.
Part of the reason hinges on the lack of services available targeting gay youth. As a result, many parents simply close the door on their children and their responsibilities. And the children keep getting younger and younger.
''I saw a young man, 10 years old in our lobby, and the only service we could offer was counseling to him and his parents,'' said Verna Eggleston, executive director of Hetrick-Martin, which serves gay, lesbian and transgender youth ages 12 to 21.
While many believe San Francisco is the best-equipped city to handle gay and homeless issues, the city struggles to deal with the onslaught. There are no gay-specific shelters, and that keeps many gay, bisexual and transgender kids from requesting a bed. They fear ridicule or beatings from straight kids bunking near them.
''Queer youth think it's a safe haven,'' said Mitch Thompson, manager of the Eureka Valley Recreation Center. ''But there are less services now than three years ago.''
It's a fact Karella learned the hard way. After his mother told him to leave, he dropped out of high school in Alaska and ran to San Francisco. He soon found no one would hire him without a diploma.
He ended up selling himself on the street for four years while sinking deeper and deeper into crystal methamphetamine addiction.
At one point, he tried to go home - but his mother wouldn't consider it. She said his gayness would rub off on her eight other children.
''I'm afraid of being homeless. About a week ago I tried to strangle myself,'' said Karella, who's currently living in a shelter for HIV-positive gays. ''I know what it's like out there. It's scary. They will lie to you. They will hurt you.''
Cobbs said he typically sees two types of kids - those thrown out of their homes, and those who leave on their own because of tension with parents. Once they arrive in San Francisco, they're often surprised by the cold northern California temperatures and the astronomical cost of living.
Even the historically liberal Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, where homeless kids beg for change, and the Castro District, with its large, visible gay community, have not lived up to the national reputations they once carried as areas of refuge.
''Kids hear about the Haight and they think it's just this magical place and it's not,'' Cobbs said. ''This kid from Indiana thought, 'I'll go to San Francisco where my people are,' and once he got here he said, 'I didn't realize my people were rich.'''
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On the Net:
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force: http://www.ngltf.org/
