My coming out story

I'm almost 29 now, and I came out just 3 years ago. I've had a very long journey to acceptance of myself. I grew up in the southern Appalachians. I've had attraction to the same sex since as far back as I can remember. I remember knowing that there was something different about me, and even though I wasn't ashamed of it, I shouldn't tell anyone. In the town that I grew up some people hated gays so bad that they might go so far as to kill them, or atleast they talked about it. But, this wasn't what defined me, as far as I was concerned. I loved God, being brought up in church, and that was what defined me the most. When I finally had to make a decision to either live with myself as a gay man or follow God, I chose to try to leave the attractions for men behind and follow what was most important to me. It was my first year of college and I was 18, when I made this decision. For the next 8 years I pushed this side of myself away. I went to churches, and had alot of christian friends who knew what I struggled with and were great support. Then, I became a member of a church to work with the homeless. I absolutely loved working with these men and women. The church was awesome too. Our name, at the beginning, was "The Assembly of the Outcast" and we made it clear that anyone who felt like they weren't welcome at church, because of the way they looked, tattoos, etc were welcome and wouldn't be judged or looked down on. In fact I remember the pastor saying that, "If you smoked pot before you came to church, fine. Just come." I loved that attitude. But, as time progressed the pastor became calvinistic. I don't know if you know what calvinism is, but it is very strict. He started changing and the church changed with him. I remember one sermon that he preached where he said, "if you are here and not a christian it is my job to tell you that God hates you." It was after this sermon that alot of people left the church. I should have left, I wanted to leave because I very much disagreed with that, but I wanted to stay and work with the homeless. I was the last person in the church to give over to this calvinistic way of thinking. It still haunts me. The church started changing and I became the head deacon. We all took classes at a local bible college so that we could understand the bible better. I was zealous. The church sent me to Mexico, and eastern Europe as a missionary. But, at the height of all of this something unexpected happened. I had always worked hard to keep anyone I was attracted too at a safe distance, but I fell in love with a friend who I wasn't attracted too at first. As we got to know eachother and I started connecting with him, I felt that I had found something that I had been longing for. He turned out to be straight, but the deep longing was still there. After struggling for about a year like this and dealing with depression, losing 40 pounds in two months, I finally decided either I was going to give up this fight against love or I was going to become suicidal or crazy.

During all of this time I was also wrestling with theological issues. The idea that most of the world was going to go to hell really bothered me, as it should. I spent nights, all night, praying for the salvation of people that I loved and asking God how was I supposed to deal with this "truth". All of this kind of converged together, but I finally came to the conclusion that there is no way that God can ask me to love my neighbor as myself and believe, at the same time, that my neighbor is going to hell. I found alot of encouragement from the bible that the way we western "christians" think about hell is not exactly the truth. There is actually very little that we understand about anything spiritual. We just like to make it look like we have this great "truth". It's a game.

As I started coming to terms with being more gentle with other people and not believing that they were going to go to hell for all eternity because they don't believe like I believe, I also started being more gentle with myself. I started realizing that I am not a bad person if I love someone. I came to the conclusion that I was actually causing more harm by not allowing myself to truly love someone and living in shame. This was the bigger sin. So, it was two years ago this past October that I sent a letter to the Head pastor that I was going to allow myself to love and be loved by another man someday. I knew what that meant. They called me in the next Saturday and I sat before the the two elders of the church. I gave up the keys to the church, the church card, all of the church's bank documents, etc. They cried and warned me that I was in danger of hell. The pastor actually read curses over from the bible.

"Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor homosexuals nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God."

My answer to this was, "and why don't you find yourself in that list."

I told them that, when I left, I would not speak badly of them, but only that they were a great, loving congregation. And they were, but with conditions. They assured me that they would not do the same for me. The pastor told me that they would let everyone know why I wasn't with them anymore. This meant my old professors, the missionaries in Europe, everyone. There was also a little boy that I counseled, that I was told I wouldn't be able to see anymore. That was the hardest part of it, because he and I were close. I was kind of his big brother, maybe even a father figure.

They were true to their word. The next morning the pastor preached a sermon, directly, against me. He told the congregation about my decision, and that no one was ever to speak to me, unless they told me to repent. He told them that as far as the church was concerned I was dead. Then they posted it on their website. This is where I heard it. They took it off the website the same week, probably because I could sue them for it. Since then the congregation still doesn't speak to me. If I see them in public they turn their head, quickly, as if I don't exist. I've spent the last, almost, three years pretty much alone. I had built such a family with them, they are probably more of a cult, that when I left I didn't have anyone else. I've made some close friends since then, but they've all moved away. I've had one serious relationship, but it didn't last.

I have to say, though, even though this has been the hardest 3 years of my life, I don't regret it. I have learned so much about myself, and have come to really see how strong I am. I wouldn't have seen that without this hardship.

Since I was excommunicated I have found out that I have PTSD. Everytime I see someone from my old church my heart starts pounding, out of my chest, and I have an uncontrollable urge to get away from them. But a few recent events has really helped me with that. I don't mean to speak against anyone, but when it's due it's due. The family of the boy who I counseled, eventually left the church. The last night I was at their house before I was excommunicated he was looking into a candle, caught his shirt on fire, and had 2nd and 3rd degree burns all over his body. They had to rush him to the hospital, and so they weren't even a part of the excommunication. They told me that during the whole time no one from the church even inquired to see how they were. I've since been reunited with the boy, and when he sees me in public he runs as fast as he can to hug me and tell me about how everything is going for him. I'm crying right now, because the reason I was counseling him was because the church thought that he might turn out gay. They knew I struggled with it. When I left, they asked me, "what kind of example will this set?" I said, "I hope that if he is gay, he will learn to accept and love himself." His grandparents told me that if he ever does turn out gay they will not love him any less. I told them that is so important.

Another event that happened: One man that went to went to the church was a known theologian and author. After I was excommunicated, he saw me at the grocery store. He came and gave me a hug and told me that he and his wife wanted me to come to their house. I never did. It just felt too awkward.(PTSD) A few months ago I saw his wife at the hospital. I was there visiting my stepfather. She told me that he had a brain tumor, and they were trying to see what the doctors could do. A few weeks after that, I was in their neighborhood, so I stopped in to see how they were doing. He was barely able to lift his head. She was having to lift him out of the bed and put him back in, by herself sometimes. I asked her if the pastor had been there, she said yes. I was floored. The church knew that she was struggling, and were offering no help. I helped her get him into bed that night. The next day I called one of the pastors and told him that the church needed to help her and that she couldn't do all of this by herself. Two weeks later he died from pneumonia, and the church did as little as they could. I went to his funeral, just to be there for his wife. I walked in and everyone from the church, about 40, were there. They all stared at me, but wouldn't wave, say hi, or anything. When the pastor saw me he turned white. (remember, I'm supposed to be dead) I went up gave her a hug and sat on the front row and just laughed. I thought these people are terrible. They abandoned this man and then treat me like shit because I'm gay. I'm the faggot who came back and was helping this man, when they were supposed to be helping him. I just couldn't help but think it was funny and completely lost my respect for them and their emotional hold on me.

The reason I've told you these two stories is to show that those people in your life, who are telling you that you are gross and that God hates you because you are gay. They are no closer to being normal or right or loved by God than you are.

This turned out to be long, but aren't they all long stories. It's been, actually, therapeutic to be able to write this story down.