At 27, I came to a realization: “God loves me.”  Did that make life any easier?  Did I hate myself any less?  No, but, the journey to self acceptance could now begin.

From the time I was a child, 3 or 4 years old, I knew that I was different. I knew what my heart longed for.  I knew that I was not “normal.”  I remember when I was five, a boy in his late teens, whom I knew very well, had come to me and initiated an intimacy that while new, felt so natural, so loving.

I sit here now, in disgust, but, not as you might imagine.  I sit here looking at a society that creates within us a “victim” mentality.  My experiences themselves, though socially unacceptable,  were not tragic, not damaging, not overwhelming.  What was done with me I found to be emotional, loving, and gentle.  What was tragic, was that for the next 22 years, I would be told by society that I was a victim, a poor child who didn’t know any better.  Society would convince me that I was worthless, horrible, and a monster that should be hidden away.  I had been convinced that if anyone found out, I would be treated like some type of side show animal, and that all who knew, believed that I would grow up to be an abuser, manipulator or rapist.  Society forced me to outwardly deny what I had experienced, and inwardly suffer alone.   I could not express my feelings.  I could not show my emotion.  I could only close myself off from all hope of ever being accepted.

In my life, the damage was not done by the action of that older boy, rather, by a society that, in the name of protection, had encouraged in me self hate, doubt and loathing.

The one thing I could hold onto was my faith.  With everything I had witnessed in this world, I knew that there had to be something beyond.  At times, I lost my footing.  At times I doubted.  And, in my darkest moments, I would catch myself whispering a prayer to a God that I wanted so badly to not believe in.  And, in this deep rooted faith, came many more struggles.

Growing up, I had known of a calling on my life, one that to this day has not been fully realized.  I have always felt a moving in my spirit to be able to help others, to reach out to those who have also been neglected by society. To simply let people know that they are not alone.  And, I made steps.  I was a Sunday school teacher, I was in charge of youth programs, I volunteered with youth from the inner city, and headed up a music ministry.  But, there it was, tearing at me from the inside.  What if they found out?  What if they knew that I was gay?

And, my struggle with my faith grew stronger.  I was taught that God was love, but, it seemed, only if you fit into the right set of molds.  I was encouraged to go into the world and preach the gospel, but, discouraged from bringing those who truly needed it, into the church.   I was shown that outward appearance is far more important than inward salvation.  And, that because of the temptations that I kept hidden, I was cursed, evil and a disgrace to the God I so dearly loved.

So, I fought.  Every day I prayed that God would take away the "curse".  Every night I would cry myself to sleep hoping that the next morning would find my body cold and lifeless.   I worked so hard to keep my feelings hidden away in fear that those around me would find out.  And, I truly believed that there was no one in whom I could confide; no one who would understand.  Through years of pain, I was encouraged to believe that I couldn't go to other “christians” because of their intolerance and hate toward homosexuals, and I could not go to the homosexual community because of their intolerance and hate of “christians.”  So, there I was, like so many others, who are totally alone in their own inner hell.

22 years!  I could no longer survive.  My body, my mind, my spirit totally exhausted.  I lost my job, went bankrupt and secluded myself from family, friends, everyone who could help.  I was broken.

There is much before this time that I can not remember, and many effects that I continue to work through.  I no longer walk with my head up, rather, with my chin tucked far into my chest.  I am afraid of everyone around me.  I avoid public situations, confrontation, new experiences.  But, I can no longer hide who I am or what I feel. 

I was forced to admit to myself, my family, and my church what I had been through, and what I “struggled” with.  And, what I found was love.  Not just love from those around me, but, the reassurance that the God whom I loved, had never left my side and loved me far more than I could have ever accepted before.  There were those who turned their backs.  There were those who spread rumors.  There were those who I had lost forever, but, those, I discovered, were not true friends at all.

And, the struggle continues.  I fight my way through depression and anxiety.  I work at preparing myself for whatever new paths God is preparing, and in this preparation & through these struggles I am strengthened.

The poem “The Existential Forbearance of a Society Forlorned” is an external outlet for the emotions I went through as I struggled with “christians” and “churches” that would rather hate than love, rather judge than accept.  And, I hope and pray that those who read, and relate, can realize in their own lives that their salvation is secured because of the blood that Christ has shed for them, not through the church, or others around them.  I want them to realize that when all seems lost, when it seems like they’ve lost it all, and everyone is against them, that there is a God that loved them so much that he gave the ultimate gift.  I want them to rest assured that even when many in the “church” have turned their back, that God is still there, waiting, holding, longing for us to be with him.  His love is truly sufficient.