This Is For Scott

I always hate to hear of people who commit suicide. It grieves me terribly, because I know what it's like to want to do that—to feel such utter hopelessness, despair, and emptiness. I've contemplated killing myself many times in the past. I came within only seconds of doing that a few years ago. I had planned on driving my car off the road and over a bluff. I remember turning the wheel and hitting the rough edge of the road, and at the last second, I turned the wheel back. I honestly do think that if I had stayed on course only a second longer I would have went over that bluff. I would have killed myself. And the thing is, I really don't know why I didn't. I wasn't afraid of dying. I wanted to die. I just know that something made me turn the wheel, and I don't think that I could ever credit that to anything other than the hands of God directing mine. But I know what it's like to want to die. It's such a terrible, empty feeling. It's a miserable feeling that I don't think any words could ever accurately describe.

Last Friday, a man I knew of—not personally, but just knew of—killed himself. His name was Scott. He was a hairdresser and worked in one of the local shops. I had never met the man myself, but my brother knew him and had told me about him. Just today, my brother informed me that Scott had taken his life. I asked him how it had happened. He told me Scott's parents had found him Thursday night curled up in a ball on the floor with a Bible in his hands, and then the next day, they found him hanging from a rope in his home.

Why? Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't I have done something to help him? To show him the truth?

I blame myself in part for Scott's death. I honestly do. Because here was a Christian man, who lived near to me, who struggled with his sexuality, just as I have, who I knew of and I could have went to and I could have befriended him and helped him, but I didn't. I could have helped him! Thing is, and this is where irony or something has such a horrible way about it, I had prayed for Scott just last Thursday night. I'd thought of him, because he was a hairdresser, and in a book I've been reading, God's Grace and the Homosexual Next Door, Randy Thomas mentions going to a gay hairdresser. That had made me think of Scott, and it made me pray for him to be able to find God, and to be okay. While I was praying for him, he must have felt so awful. He must have felt so lost and empty, and confused and hopeless. And he killed himself.

Why didn't I go to him sooner? Why didn't I do more when I knew there was more I could have done? Why didn't I go to him and tell him how much God loved him?

I know Scott was raised in a Christian home, and I believe he was a Christian. I don't know how God is going to judge him, but I pray that he shows mercy upon him, because I do know that Scott was a kind, warm, loving, and gentle person. I remember how he took pity on one of my nephews when they were babies. Their grandmother has only ever favored just one of the two, and she had left one of them in his carrier without showing him any special attention as she did the other, while at the shop where Scott worked. I know Scott went to that one and held him and played with him. And I always was grateful to him for having done that, so that my nephew didn't feel neglected or alone, or unloved. I wish I had known Scott. I had wanted to meet him for a long time now, and I had just recently been thinking about going to him to get my haircut.

Do you all know that God loves you? Do you know how much God cares about you? Do you know how much he wants to be there for you and to spend time with you, and to make everything in your lives better? Don't you know that he loved you so much that he was brutally beaten and died just to save you? To save all of us. Just so that we could all spend eternity with him. God's not your enemy. This world and the devil is your enemy. And killing yourself is exactly what your enemy wants you to do. I wonder if Scott knew that. I don't suppose that he did. I'd imagine he thought as I did once—that death was the answer, and a way out. You know, God doesn't care that we're attracted to this, or tempted to that. None of that stops him from loving and caring about any of us. He doesn't condemn or hate any of us because we're gay or have homosexual temptations. Nor does he hate us if or when we give into those temptations. He loves us always.

I know that it's not God who made me different, or to have bad feelings, but the devil. I know that God is my best hope, my friend, my daddy. I know that He loves me beyond anything I could ever imagine. And I wish so very much that Scott had known that too. Like I said in my last post, I wish nobody ever died without knowing the truth. I think Scott probably knew some truth. But I doubt that he knew all of it, and I doubt that he ever had the Christian help that quite possibly could have saved his life. I wish I had helped him, and been friends with him. I knew the truth, and I didn't help him. I wish I had helped him.

Please, all of you, pray for Scott and his family, and for all those whose lives he touched. It's so close to Christmas, and I'm sure this has to be so hard on all of them right now. Please also pray for me to always proclaim the truth, and to never hold it back.

Reflections On My Life: Part One

The other day I was reading through some of the posts on my blog and it occurred to me that I'd never really written about any of my gay experiences. Well, other than some of the feelings I've had related to them. I think I can honestly say that I've been somewhat avoiding this subject. It is not an easy thing for me to talk about being gay. There are so many things about my life that I've tried so very hard to pretend wasn't real, or to forget about or block out, to lock deep down within myself to never let resurface. But there are a lot of things that I've wanted to write about and to open up on. So, I began thinking about where to start. Then it hit me, “How do I begin to tell the story of my life?” I had no idea, and I definitely didn't realize how difficult this would be. There are so many things I could tell, but it'd take me a lifetime just to write about it all. I tried to start from several different points, and then I just decided to start with what I know...

I am gay. Don't ask me to explain this, because I don't know for sure why that is. Not to say that I don't have some strong ideas about that, but I can't say beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's because of genetics or the environment in which I've lived, or a combination of the two. I've always tended to believe that certain environmental factors played the biggest part in this, but I'm not closed-minded or stubborn enough to rule out the possibility of genetics having played some role. Whatever the cause, however, I am, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a homosexual.

The first time I ever remember hearing the word gay was when I was in the fifth grade. All I was told it meant was that that's what you were if you liked other guys. I had no clue what that really meant though. I had already began noticing other guys. I was drawn to them for some reason, which I couldn't understand. I would catch myself looking at them and having odd thoughts and feelings, which made no sense at all to me at the time. It was strange, because I knew that as a guy, I was supposed to find girls attractive and I was supposed to want a girlfriend, but that just wasn't at all what I felt for girls, or what I wanted from them. Girls were never anything more than just friends, if even that. I honestly had no desire at all to be with any of them. I only wanted to be around other guys. I was desperate for their friendship and acceptance. I just wanted to feel as though I was “one of them”.

I always had trouble making friends while in school. Girls were most often easy to befriend. But with the guys, I always seemed to be this outcast or loner. I never felt as though I was good enough or fit in. I didn't enjoy sports, and was never any good at any of them when I tried to participate. I'm not a car junkie or a music fanatic either. So, that practically ruled out three-fourths of the guys I could have had anything in common with.

I remember being made fun of. I suppose that's why I deplore that act so much today. I absolutely hate seeing another person being made fun of or belittled. But I remember so many innuendoes and jokes at my expense. I remember being called gay for the first time when I was in the sixth grade. I had already began to wonder about myself by that age, always in denial about it though. Not that I thought I was gay, because I didn't fully understand what that meant, but that I knew there was something different about me. But I remember one day when a local doctor was invited to our school to teach us boys about the birds and the bees. Somewhere in the question and answer session that followed, it was asked, “How many guys are gay?” The response was, “About one in every hundred. Chances are, one in this room of about forty might be gay.” The room became really quiet and I remember feeling myself turn beet red. I wasn't even sure why. Afterwards, however, when we returned to our regular classes, one of the other guys, someone whom I'd mistaken as a friend at the time, was telling one of the girls in our class about what all had been discussed. When he mentioned the part about the gay question, he turned to me and said to the girl, “Yeah, we all thought he (the doctor) was talking about Brandon”. I made some fire back remark and left it at that, but I felt crushed. I knew that being gay wasn't something a person wanted to be. I knew that much. Being gay meant that you were different. But I realized at that moment that that's what other people were beginning to think of me, or at least might be thinking about me. And whatever gay really meant, it must not be anything good, or else it wouldn't always be used in a negative context. I often wondered why anyone would think that about me, but looking back, I suppose I probably did give myself away fairly well in a few regards. But at the time, I was always puzzled about it.

In the later part of that same year, I began having sexual encounters with another guy. He was a couple of years younger than me, and it was mostly innocent type of stuff at the start. Over the next two years though, things got a little more serious. We eventually ended up having sex with each other at least three times that I can remember.

When I entered high school, I broke off that relationship. One reason for this was out of necessity. I didn't want anyone knowing I was gay, and after a few close calls, I decided it would be better to play it safe and lay low. I decided it would be safer and more convenient to pretend to be straight. Secondly, I'd began to realize more fully what being gay was, and I just didn't want that for myself. I also didn't want to give in to something considered sinful by God. Thirdly, I had to listen to my conscience. As right as being with another guy felt, there was something about it that never felt right. It was just one of those gut feelings, which told me I wasn't doing something I should be. Perhaps it was God laying heavy upon my heart? Whatever the reasons, I did decide to break off that relationship, and looking back I'd say that it was the right thing for me to do.

That same year, as a freshman, a few older students began thinking I was gay, and decided to make my life a living hell because of that. They began routinely picking on me, calling me “queer”, “faggot”, “homo”, or any other derogatory word used to describe a homosexual. And I was routinely reminded by the persons branding me with these labels that they hated me and everyone else like me. I was put in my place rather well by a few of them, and on more than one occasion. Even still, I tried my best to pretend that I wasn't gay. I was in denial. Or, actually, I was confused. I actually did have a girlfriend during eighth grade—the same time I was secretly having sex with that other guy—and I liked her a lot. I was never attracted to her, but I liked her. Maybe I was even in love with her. Maybe that's why it hurt as much as it did when she broke up with me. And there were other girls I considered dating as well. Usually they were friends who'd fall for me, and who I'd regrettably toy around with just long enough so that other people would think I liked them and was therefore NOT a homosexual. I wanted to prove myself to be just like everybody else. After all, who really wants to be gay? I never did. But after that freshmen year, things did improve. In short, I left high school much better than I entered it.

My first year in college, I decided to face facts for the first time and admitted to myself that I was a homosexual. I was attracted to other guys, I'd had sex with one of them, I'd already been looking up gay pornography for about a year or so, and I just wasn't interested in girls whatsoever. Unfortunately, I allowed that realization to blanket my life under a dark layer of clouds. I became very depressed. I was miserable with myself. I hated that I was gay, and I blamed God—at least partially—for that, and I just felt so alone. I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't talk about what I was going through. No one seemed safe to go to for support. I felt trapped and isolated, and I hated who I was and all those past things I'd done. I felt so much regret. I hated the fact that I'd had sex. I actually tried to, and was successful for awhile, at blocking those experiences nearly completely from my mind. I knew it happened, but I tried to pretend as though it hadn't. I felt so torn and confused.

I eventually began contemplating suicide. I had it all figured out. I'd drive myself right off a cliff and wreck and die and all my troubles would be over and done with. My miserable life of conflicts and loneliness would be no more. I had just become so tired, and was so frustrated, that killing myself seemed to be the only logical thing to do. I couldn't find or think of any other way out. It seemed as though this was my only option.

I remember begging and pleading God to help me. I blamed Him for making me gay. I actually believed that He had. I believed He had messed up with me, that He'd made a mistake, and I let Him know how I felt about that. I believed He was being unfair with me, and that He was torturing me, and had turned His back on me from the very beginning. I just couldn't understand why it would be so wrong for me to have a boyfriend. I couldn't understand why it was so wrong of me to be so drawn to other men. I couldn't understand why He'd consider that to be something sinful.

Eventually, I decided I needed to make a few decisions. One, I wanted to live, so I'd better get the idea of suicide out of my head completely and start living my life better than I had. Two, I didn't want to blame God for something I'm sure He'd have never purposefully made me and then condemned me for being. Three, I wanted to obey God, and refrain from acting out on my homosexual desires in the future. I realized that when I didn't give in, I felt better about myself, and I felt closer to God. That is what sin does, by the way... it separates us from God. When you give up sinning, you draw closer to Him. So, I determined never to have another homosexual relationship for as long as I live.

I felt good about my decisions for about two or three years. Then, my brother found out I was gay. He was the first person to ever truly know this about me. It happened due to my own carelessness. He'd come across some gay pornography I used to have, and so it was pretty clear cut and dry that he knew. I couldn't weasel my way out of it. I couldn't deny it or pretend anymore. At least not with him. He confronted me about this, and in not the best of ways, but his confrontation sparked in me an urge to obey God more thoroughly than I ever had. I decided to give up pornography. I also decided to try to change. I felt in my heart that with God I could change. And I wanted to change.

I eventually, out of some desperation for help, came across Exodus International, who as it turned out, promoted the message that one could possibly change from gay to straight. Now, my decision to want to change, was mostly due to a desire in my heart for a family. I'd love to be able to find a woman I could fall in love with, and have kids with, and to grow old sharing my life with her. At the same time, I could say that I'd like to share my life with another man, but this dream is greater than that one.

During this last year, I've been trying to change my sexual orientation. I do, however, seem to be failing miserably to do that. There have been times when I truly have been attracted to girls. And I've also had times when I wasn't attracted to other guys at all. However, those attractions always seem to keep coming back. I am still gay. Even though this hasn't worked very well for me so far, I won't go as far as to say that it can't work for anyone else. With God, all things are possible. Even this, I think. And as much as I'd like to just give up and be gay sometimes, I still have that hope that it's possible for me. One change that has been permanent so far is my attitudes towards other guys and myself. I don't see them as unreachable anymore. I see them as potential friends. I also see myself being more like them than I ever used to think I was. I don't feel as different as I used to.

I look to God for strength and support. Sometimes I need Him so desperately in my life. I can feel so conflicted and frustrated with myself. I can feel so lonely and also so very tempted. I realize now that there's a great possibility I'll never have that family of my own. And that bothers me greatly sometimes. I hate the thought of always having to live alone. And the temptations bother me. I hate meeting a guy for the first time and instantly having that thought about how good looking he is. I feel torn in two. I know the very thing I want is the very thing I cannot have. I know that I want to be friends with other guys, but I tend to distance myself from them whenever I find myself attracted to them. Then there's the regrets. I feel so much regret for so many things I've done in my life. I hate the fact that I slept with that other guy. The thought of that really does bother me sometimes. I hate that I've looked up, and continue to keep looking up from time to time, so much pornography. I hate that I've pushed away so many people for fear of them getting close enough to me to find out that I might not be perfect, but gay. I hate so many things about my life.

I know God loves me though. I can hold onto that, if nothing else. I know that no matter what I do or how I feel about myself, no matter how rejected or abused I may feel, He'll always care deeply for me. He'll always be there for me, no matter what. And I know I'm forgiven for all those terrible things I've done. I don't know where this life is going to lead me, but I hope it'll always take me further and further toward God. I struggle with the fact that I'm gay. I deny that fact quite a bit usually, but it is true. I like other guys. But as much as other guys do it for me, none of them do it for me like God does. And I'll choose Him any day over anyone or anything else of this world.

“God, I may be gay, but I'm yours.”

When I look back on my life, I can't help but remember so many things. There were times when I was a kid that I wished I'd been born a girl. I played dress up occasionally. I've struggled to have a relationship with my dad. Sometimes I can feel really close to him, and other times I can feel so far away. I've always liked interior design—up to a certain extent (yeah, I hate to fit that cliché). And I've always felt it easier to relate to girls than other guys. I've hurt a lot of people. Some intentionally, others not—usually not. I've struggled to fit in at my church. I've resisted a lot of things the good Lord has wanted of me. I've struggled a great deal on whether or not to tell anyone in my family about my past and current struggles. There's just so much I could tell. But, for now, this is my story. It's not by any means my whole story, but it's a start.