Finale

I've fallen a little behind on my goal of finishing this blog by my upcoming birthday. 


I survived high-school. I did fairly well. I went to college. I've become a mentor. I've become a role-model. 


After that week of revelation, and my new mind sight that no one had to ability to question my faith, my salvation, or my relationship with the Almighty except for me, I set out to live my life. 


Eventually the tears my family shed that Autumn dried, and the our relationship began to mend. I can tell you that here I am almost 26 years old, and a rather matured gay man having been out of the closet for going on 11 years now, I've learned a lot of things. To finish this blog up, I'll recount the important ones.


I found unconditional love. Most of my family will always love me. Most of them will always only see me as Robert Lee. Most of them will only see my sexual orientation as a part of who I am, not the defining point of my life. It defines very little about me.


I fell in love. It failed. It didn't fail, much to some people's dismay, because it was a homosexual relationship. It failed because we grew apart. See, homosexual relationships really aren't any different from their heterosexual counterparts. It's hard for me to admit my failures, but the best thing I could ever do was learn from them. I learned a lot from this relationship. He was a great guy. Only two member of my family got to meet the man I spent what I thought was going to be the rest of my life with. That is what I regret most. I kept him hidden, like a secret. I won't do that again.


The company one keeps is almost always an extension of who that person is. People come and go in life. It's just part of it. It stings a little more when it's family. But, sometimes that's also part of it. It's hard for me to tell you that it's been almost 6 months since I've spoken to my Aunt Jane. It's the longest we've ever gone in my almost 26 years of existence. I'm not bitter. I don't have hurt feelings anymore. I still love her, and wish nothing but the best for her and her family. But she feels like she needs to protect her family, and unfortunately what she feels like she needs to protect them from is: me. There's no need to go into detail about the argument, disagreement, misunderstanding, or whatever it was. It's no one's business except for ours. I've forgiven her. As superficial as it sounds, it's important to know that people like you for who you are, whether you went looking for that purpose or not. If someone doesn't like you the way you are, cut your loses. 


Some people in life will only watch you to see how hard you will fall. Prove them wrong. Never break your stride. Keep looking forward and keep going. If I wanted to leave, I would have left a long time ago; I won't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me fail, and won't let anyone run me off.  


People will call you names. People will wish you ill-harm. People will say things under the "conviction of religion" that they don't truly understand because they never took the time to study it themselves. I wish I could say that these things will never happen, and maybe (hopefully) one day they will cease to exist. The only thing you ever have to remember is that you're already stronger than they could ever hope to be. You exist, and that is more than they could ever strive for. You don't conform, you don't need to. You don't pacify, there's no need to. You don't spew hate, you don't have a reason to. I found my own way, you can do the same. 


Which brings me to the final thing I learned. The thing it took me the most time learn. The thing I'm still learning everyday is: it truly does get better. It's just up to you whether you going to let it or not. I recommend sticking it out giving it time to do prove itself to you.

Part III (and delayed disclaimer)

I have taken an intentional hiatus from this blog for several reasons. One of which being that the rehashing of the emotions and events took a little bit more of a toll on my emotional well-being than I would have liked to admit.

Another is that this small piece of writing has caused a rather large rift amongst me and some members of my family. I have made some edits, albeit small changes, to protect those who felt they needed the protection of anonymity.

Thirdly, I have decided that I will vow to finish this thing by my birthday (in late May).

Finally, before I finish telling my story, I would like to add the following disclaimer: This story is my story. I refuse to censor any part of it because it seems like I'm attacking something you believe in, or because you don't particularly care for the way you're portrayed in it. This is my retelling, and my memory.

Now, back to the story...

The person I called to give me a ride to my parent's house was the pastor at the church I had recently joined. He was the man who gave the sermon that I recognized to be my calling to come back to Christ. I called him for two reasons. First and foremost, I wanted out of that house. Secondly, I wanted a man's perspective. It occurred to me that I had only truly spoken with women about it. The car ride back to my parents was fairly smooth. Aside from the unbelievably slow speed he was driving at, it just seemed to take forever. Pastor Tim and I talked about what was going on. We examined every stereotypical reason to feel this way (lack of a father figure, nature versus nurture, etc.). Pastor Tim shared with me the passion he knew I had for serving the Lord. He felt it when I stepped in the baptismal pool with him. This was very true. I was “on fire” for God. But, very politely reminded me that it is a sin to “practice homosexuality” and all but impossible to serve God faithfully while living this lifestyle. When we pulled into my parent's driveway, I thanked him and told him I'd see him on Sunday.

That week was when my revelation came. I had attended church that Sunday, and the sermon was about having a real relationship with God. I spent some time at Aunt Jane's helping her get ready for the Fall Festival she was hosting for the church. Lots of time praying, lots of homework, and lots of time to study The Word and reflect. It was the week my revelation came to me. I was at home, praying, and something in my mind kept telling me 127. I had no idea what this meant. But I went the one place I figured made the most sense: The Bible. I opened it to Genesis 1:27. There were the most beautiful words “So God created man in his own image...” Those words spoke volumes to me. I know that the verse goes on to say that God created man and woman, but what it said to me was that I was created in HIS OWN IMAGE. Why was I trying to change what the creator had made? I knew that God was not a God of confusion, or anything else I had been feeling while fighting this fight. That night I made peace with how I felt. I huge weight was lifted off my chest, and I could see straight (no pun intended). It was truly the beginning of the rest of my life, lived the way it was meant to be lived.  

Part II

Now, for the most part, my high school experience wasn't really bad after the first year. I found a niche, found a clique, and just kind of went with everything. That day, I went ahead and admitted to a few friends who had their suspicions. Nothing changed between us. That school day went by so quickly. It was probably one of the easiest I had to endure, as well. 


3:15 the bell finally rang, ending the school day. I walked out front, and there sat my dad's truck. I threw my backpack in the bed, hopped in the cab, and we took off. The radio played and nothing was said. Only, that wasn't different from any other day. My dad and I didn't have much to talk about those days, and so we just didn't. Every now and then we'd have a conversation about a song, or a car we passed, or so-and-so in my grade and how dad was in the same grade as their parents. 


Out of the corner of my eye, I realize my dad is just staring at me. Paying more attention to me than the road or traffic around us. Suddenly, it occurs to me. Mother must have told. That drive home could not have gone any slower. I didn't think we were ever going to get home. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity later, we did. I jump out of the truck grab my backpack, dash in the house and corner Mother in the kitchen.

"You told him," I said, my voice so flat you could have set a foundation on it. 

"Well, what was I supposed to do, Robert Lee," She starts, "He's your daddy and he has a right to know."

"I would have liked to have told him myself."

"Well, that isn't your place."


What did she mean it wasn't my place? I knew that I at least owed my dad the decency to tell him myself. I stormed to my bedroom, buried myself in homework, ate dinner, and went to sleep. That became my routine for the next week. Silent car rides to school, school days that flew by, silent car rides home, silence at the house. No one really knew what to say to me. I didn't have anyone else to speak to, but my Aunt Jane. 


She and I had always been close so I called her. If anyone would help me out it would be her. After all, it was kind of her fault I was in the situation I was.


Mother was the second person I told. I told Aunt Jane first, right after school started; Right after I rededicated my life back to my faith. She was always like a second mother to me. I spent weeks at her house, and if anyone knew me better than myself it was that woman. Unfortunately, the nature of our relation took a very negative turn. Jane and I rededicated ourselves back to the Lord around the same time. Her life changed as much as mine did, just in two opposite directions. 


So, I tell Jane one day the feelings I have going on, how it's making me feel, the confusion, the anger, the aggression. She prays with me, and I'm all for it. If this isn't what God wants me to be, I want to change it. I start going to therapy sessions with a very nice christian lady, a friend-of-a-friend of Aunt Jane's. I go for a solid week, right after school, staying with Jane that week just to make sure I get there. I leave there everyday feeling more frustration, more guilt, more regret. The lady told me that it was my fault I was feeling these feelings because I wasn't willing to change, I wasn't doing enough, I wasn't trying hard enough. How she couldn't believe that "the homosexuals" chose to call their lifestyle "Gay" because there was nothing gay about it. How "the Gays" were the most miserable people she had ever seen. On our final session, after she had pretty much told me I was a lost cause 10 minutes into the session, I walked out. Tears of failure were flooding my eyes. I walk to a relative's who lives a few blocks away, call Jane, and wait. I get in the car, and I lost it. 


My Aunt had always been in my corner, taken my side, had back. ALWAYS. Until now. She looked at me, unable to hide the disappointment in her eyes. I get myself composed as we pull in her driveway, and tell her that tomorrow after school I wanted to go home. That night we sat outside after I had worked on my homework, and prayed. Jane looked at me and asked if I felt any different.

"No," I didn't want to lie to her. I had lied enough. 


I then get a good lecture about Old Testament scripture "condemning" homosexuality. I get a very long definition of the word abomination. Then, this woman who had been my best friend, refuge, hero for the past 15 years says two things that I will never forget.

"Well, John [her husband] and I won't want you around our boys." 


I look away. Absolutely ashamed of myself for having these feelings. For feeling like I somehow fueled her ignorance, like it was a contagious virus. 

She then began asking me about my intentions of telling my parents. I explained to her that I had no intentions of telling them anytime soon. Then came the ultimatum.


"You tell them, or I will."


I went upstairs, packed the overnight bag I had been living out of for the past week, made a phone call and left.


Here we were, two weeks later. I had told my parents. And they couldn't stand to look at me. 

The Beginning...

I started blogging almost ten years ago. Only, we didn't call it blogging, we referred to it as a journal. The hip new way to keep up with everything minus the pencil and paper and hiding it from Mom and Dad. I had (still have it) a LiveJournal account. But those have almost always been my daily ramblings about my mundane life. Now that I think about it, my life isn't mundane, nor has it ever been. I'm going to use this blog not to recount my day, but to recount my life. I'm going to put down my coming out story as a gay man in the south. In hopes to shed light. In the hope of giving someone some glimmer of hope. Kind of my "It Gets Better" message, but with all of the stuff before it does.


I remember the first question I always got was "When did you know" that you were gay? The answer if very simple. I always knew. It was never a question to me. I always acted like I had a sexual attraction to women, but that was the pressure of society telling me I didn't have a choice in the matter. Being homosexual was wrong, an abomination, corrupt, immoral, unnatural. You get the gist?


You see I've been an openly gay man for 10 years this coming October. Ten years ago, you didn't have 15 year olds telling people they were attracted to the same sex.


I was raised extremely Southern Baptist. The subject of sex was never spoken of in my house, never mind the subject of sexuality. In early September 2001 I rededicated my life to my faith. By the end of September I was dying physically and spiritually.


People asked me why I came out so young. The only answer I have ever had to validate that question is that I didn't have a choice. I wasn't per se suicidal, although the thought seemed to cross my mind everyday, but I couldn't take the lies anymore. The lying to my family, to my friends, most of all: to myself. I'm sure this all sounds very cliche, but I was a 15 year old high-school sophomore. I was in the middle of the time of life that would, supposedly, shape my whole life. On top of all that, I was 15 in a very small town in East Tennessee. I came from a family of some prominence. My dad was the the captain of the fire department, a deacon, a leader in the community. My mother was in what could have been considered the Junior League, if we had one. I was the oldest child and only son. My parents expectations of me would soon shift.


One day, on a cool October morning as mother drove me to school, the feeling of sickness was overwhelming. We weren't even half way to school, and words started coming out of my mouth before I could stop them. I wasn't exactly known to have a filter and sugar coat what I was saying. The 5 minute conversation my mother and I had went over about like a rock in a windshield.


"Momma, I think I might be gay," I said. My ice breakers aren't usually award winning. I hit my mother with the truth right off the bat. No warning, no preface, no nothing. I threw myself out there, unprepared to follow with any kind of answer.


 "What did you say," Mother asked. That's my momma. I was pretty sure it was because the radio was on, so I reached to turn it off and repeat my confession.


"I think I might.."
"I heard what you said." Well why did you ask me was apparent all over my face, but she just stared at the red light in front of us. See, I timed this pretty poorly. We had a good half hour drive in front of us to school. We had been in the car just over 5 minutes before I attacked her with an uncomfortable conversation. "Why do you think that?"


"Well, momma, I'm attracted to boys. I have been as far as I can remember."


My mother then proceeded to tell me that I wasn't "raised that way" and just kept asking "Why, why, why? How, how how?" The embarrassment was already all over her face, and we were the only two who knew. The next 20 minutes of our car ride was driven in silence. When we got to school, I got out and leaned in to kiss her like I had every other morning and she wouldn't even look at me. She didn't bid me a goodbye, good day, nothing. She just kept staring out the windshield, her sight set on something not there. I simply said, "Don't tell Daddy. OK?" and she nodded in agreement. I closed the car door, and walked on in to school. Feeling no relief whatsoever.