As a child and on into teenage-hood I was a devote home grown born again holy ghost filled blood of Jesus washed Jehova god worshipin' Christian. (As soon as I graduated high school I started questioning all that bullshit, but it took me some time to untangle all those lies they planted and maintained for my entire childhood.) Therefore, for the first time on leave from the military I would naturally come running back to what I know, where I feel safe, where I feel at home; and so I ran to the place I grew up besides home. The (godforsaken) church.
You see, ever since I had graduated high school I had considered myself at that time bi-sexual. I had a painful crush on a straight girl I spent my senior trip with - I think all I did the whole time was drink Zimas and stare at her. Then during that next summer, on into basic training, and knee high in weapons training I struggled with my sexuality. Daily I struggled. Daily I had to suppress the truth of who I was, because the preacher man said so and the preacher man speaks for God (goddamnit). It had been carved deep into my brain by the church that homosexuality was a moral (fucking) sin, and that I would burn in hell for eternity should I ever even consider acting on feelings I may have towards a person of the same sex, or the inclinations I have towards not wanting to act, dress, or do things that were considered feminine in anyway since around kindergarten. Am I stained? Am I a gross abomination? A mistake? Broken? - You get the point, yeah? Years of ingrained dogma oppressing all I knew I was.
I was on holiday leave. And naturally I was back in church - where else do you go when you're disgustingly home sick and plagued with separation anxiety, and church was home number two your entire childhood? You go back to church even though you're starting to see through their lies, and notice the judgment they're dealing is inhumane. You go back to church, because you're questioning who you are, what you believe, what is love, can you live this way, do you want to still live, should you kill yourself. I went back to church for answers, because men of god would have the right answers, right? I was taught they're the ones you go to when you're in crisis - they will help you. So, I reverted to what I was trained to do in times of crisis. I went to the preacher man.
There was a youth minister whom I had grown to trust, and admired somewhat for his intelligence. Who had worked for some time at the church. Who adults allowed their children to be alone with; therefore I decided to trust he was a good man of god. There was one late evening at church where we had had a youth function. Now mind you, I was now an "adult youth leader" of sorts - not a youth group member, but one of the adult leaders who worked with other youth leaders and the youth minister and his wife to lead the youth (with our vast fairy tale indoctrinated bullshit knowledge of absolutely nothing fucking useful). The youth were leaving one by one as their parents came to get them. The youth minister and I were ensuring all the youth got home with their appropriate guardians. As the last youth had left, and there were only a few adults here and there throughout the church locking doors, gossiping, cleaning, I said 'fuck it' in my head, and stomped into the youth ministers office leaving the door open behind me, and asked if I could talk to him a minute or two. My fist are clinching. My jaw is locked. My eyes are cast down. I'm fighting a panic attack. I'm forgetting to breathe.
The youth minster, Ronnie (rhymes with), looks up and smiles warmly at me waving me in. I take a seat in front of his desk in the chair on the left. The desk has a large computer monitor. The typical office phone on a chord. The desk is of light wood. Stained orange. It's ugly. The walls are paneled. There are old books of green and burgundy around the walls. My foot is bouncing on the ball of my right foot. He looks at me and winks, and then proceeds to lie to his wife on the phone. He winks multiple times all the while telling her he must catch up on some paperwork, and he will be home shortly. My woman sense started tingling on the tops of my ears. Thoughts start shooting through my brain like minnow when you stick you hand down in the bucket to put one to its death on your fishhook. Why'd he lie? Why lie to his wife? Is this okay? Why all of a sudden doesn't this feel okay? Am I overreacting? Fuck. Don't say fuck in church. Why did he wink at me so much? Do I keep talking? Do I leave? Where are the other adults? Why's it so quite? My fingernails hurt. Why's this office so small?
He asked what he could do for me.
And it all started spilling out like thick hot vomit that I started to gag on, and brought stinging tears to my eyes. Questioning god. Questioning religion. And as quick as all that came out so did me questioning whether I'm gay or not. And then, his demeanor changed. It was quick. But his eyes became stronger somehow. He let me finish, and proceeded to tell me that maybe I just hadn't met the right man yet. That the right man would show me that I wasn't gay. That the right man would save me from myself. The fuck? This didn't sound right. This didn't feel right. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't fucking right. The tops of my legs started to tingle. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. He stands up, knuckles on the desk, looking down at me, side grinning. You're not gay he says again. Maybe I could be the right..., and before he could say man I ran out of his office, jumped off the sidewalk and into my car, and drove miles deep back into the closet.
Instead of proper guidance to someone who could better assist me, such as a therapist, he decided the best way to treat me was to convince me he could fix what I thought was broken and cure my depression from being gay by fucking me, because he was man enough to do it for me. I don't know if I ever spoke to anyone about my sexuality for years after that. I tried to come out of the closet, and was frightened right back in by toxic masculinity in the form of a married man of the cloth with disgusting entitlement issues. It took years after that to finally have the courage or strength to even start to get near the door of the closet - much less come out of it. This experience, though scary and scarring for me, is mild compared to the experiences others have faced in part due to the authoritative power given to men of clergy.
I could have been spared years and years and years of struggle to find myself. I could have been spared unearned guilt. I could have been spared pain. I could have spared others pain. I could have been spared a suicide attempt. I could have been spared relationships that never had a chance. I could have been spared a lot of dark times. This college educated seminary tested husband father of three lewd toxic intimidating behavior was a life changing act. It triggered a war that waged inside myself for years. Only now at 34 years old, after having attended Pride again for I lost count how many times, am I starting to heal from the deep wounds inflicted by religion and its men of god year after year after year. A lot of folks don't get the opportunities to heal like I did. Some folks experiences are so traumatic and life altering that recovery never fully happens. Some folks can never come out of their closet that was built around them by religion and the patriarchy. I'm not braver, or more sane, or highly spiritual to have come out and still be pilgrimaging to find myself and my place in this chain of events in this Earth Event. This is simply my plight, and how my story is playing out. Do not compare it to others. Do not compare it to your own.
For your children.
For your friends.
For each other.
Use my story as inspiration.
You too can heal.
We all can.
We can all be holy whole even with holes shot through us.
Use my story as a promise.
Should you ever be in my presence, and try some misogynistic shit like that in front of me I will throat punch you, and proceed to stomp your balls.
Not playin'.
I'll fuck your shit up.
Use my story as a reason to come out now.
Do not let anyone shove you deeper into your closet.
Find others like you. They can and will help you.
The sooner you come out when you know the sooner you can be free, and at peace, and in harmony.
Damn man. I could have come out at 18.
Fuck you preacher man. Fuck you and the good word you rode in on. h
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