Reflective Thinking

It’s me, not you. You haven’t missed any of my blogs, I took some time away from blogging. While I think that I have enjoyed my time away, I’m not confident that I actually had a known reason why I put this aside? So if you were looking for blog entries between 2018 and now, there are none. Let’s see if I can bring myself and you up-to-date on what happens when you make a difficult and willful choice leave Christianity, Religion, God, Political Party and Marriage at the age of 42 in a damn good attempt to be my honest, truthful and intentional self. Fair warning, the highs are high and the lows are low.

I have learned so many things about myself since I last blogged. Some are quite personal and will remain that way, while other things learned, I am happy to share. The first thing that I have learned is that I am not obligated to edit myself to make someone else comfortable. I do not have to share all of me with everyone. I am limited and pretending like I’m not doesn’t change that I am a finite being with limitations. Limitations that I must honor and embrace. I’m not going to set myself on fire to keep another warm. I’m learning to say “thank you, but I’m not going to be able to do that.” You have no further obligation, responsibility or explanation to offer. Easier said than done…I know.

I am well aware that some of my social media posts and blog entries have made some family, friends and even strangers uncomfortable and even angry. The comments, attacks and insults are real as were those comments that cheered me on. They hurt and they healed. My intent has never been to “call out” or “confront” anyone. In fact, as I read back on some of my entries, I find that I was actually speaking to myself from a place of “y’all” listen up now…” instead of, “I have an opportunity to do some work on this.” It’s much less confrontational to speak to “others” than it is to confront the person in the mirror. I will not however, dismiss that my feelings about an issue are just that, MY feelings. I have a right to feel my feelings and I have a right to speak about my past, present and future from my personal perspective. The way that I see it. From where I’m sitting. No one has the right or privilege to tell me that my feelings are wrong. That’s like asking me what my favorite color is and then telling me that I answered the question incorrectly. You may not like my perspective. You may not like my favorite color. However my perspective is still valid and dismissing my feelings about something doesn’t make your perspective the new benchmark of everything that I may be feeling. You honor your feelings and I will honor mine. A simple “I’ve never seen it that way before…” or “I’m sorry that I didn’t see it from where you were sitting…” is much more equitable than dismissing another’s feelings. My partner has been monumental in helping me see my blind spots as well as my gifts and talents. I can count on him to be honest and fair with me. He has also afforded and encouraged me to not “spare his feelings” when I have something that I need to say or he has asked me a difficult question. He gives me the space and opportunity answer in truth…even when its difficult.

Before I move forward, let me offer this to you and me. Feeling and fact are not the same. Facts stand on their own merit…a fact is a fact, is a fact, is a fact…there are no alternate facts. Feelings are feelings, they may not be factual, but my feelings are not negotiable. Neither should yours. But when you have incorrect facts about something, those facts will be challenged and it may sound like your feelings are being brought into question. Don’t confuse feelings with facts.

This explains it better than I can, “Queer people (that’s me) don’t grow up as ourselves, we grow up playing a version of ourselves that sacrifices authenticity to minimize humiliations and prejudice. The massive task of our adult lives is to unpick which parts of ourselves are truly us and which parts we’ve created to protect us.” How about this one? “Each persons grief is as unique as their fingerprint. But what everyone has in common is that no matter how they grieve, they share a need for their grief to be witnessed. That doesn’t mean needing someone to try to lessen it or reframe it for them. The need is for someone to ne fully present to the magnitude of their loss without trying to point out the silver lining.” -David Kessler

It is incredibly uncomfortable to sit with someone in their darkness, in their grief and not be tempted to “turn on the lights.” They need their grief to be witnessed from their perspective, from where they are sitting right now in that very moment as you sit there simply being present. Consider yourself Aphonic. Don’t speak . Listen.

Let me get back to my original point of reflective thinking. Whenever I am “thinking” these days, I try to go back to the original thought that I was having at that time. Sometimes it hurts and other times it heals. I have recently reconnected with a high school friend that I was once very close to. She was my strength when I was weak, she was my laugh when I was sad and she was my rebellious, questioning and self-thinking friend when I was too rigid. But I never told her my truth about being gay. There was still shame living in me. As we began to reflect back on our childhood lives, I realized through reflective thinking, that my whole life was not all a sham, my whole childhood was not all horrible, my whole past was tough to navigate, but it wasn’t all bad. I can now look back and see the good with the bad to help balance my feelings, to balance my perspective and to balance my reaction to some of my triggers.

I am not suggesting that you ignore all of your less-than-desirable feelings and “wash” them with your good feelings to make them pretty. They both have their place. But I am offering that you attempt to see things from a different perspective, a different position, a different person. I’m weary of those who disagree with another person and write them off as “crazy,” “nuts,” or confrontational. Ask yourself “why” instead of focusing on the what. Use some reflective thinking and allow yourself to the opportunity to change your mind about something or someone that you believed to be…shall we say…”incompatible” with you. I end this blog entry with this. When someone sees something from a different perspective than you, it doesn’t make them a liar. It makes them someone who needs their pain and grief witnessed and acknowledged from their point of view.

 

DeRouen Digest 2018

When Christa and I were married, we would write a letter each year to highlight our comings and goings to share with family and friends in a christmas card.  By “we,” I mean me.  I enjoyed writing it and Christa’s writing usually sounded more like an instruction manual or legal brief.  I like to write soft and pretty and she is just about the facts.  We always laughed about it and we still do actually.  So I took the responsibility for the annual letter.  The title was always DeRouen Digest with the current year.  Cute right?  I agree.

2011 was the last year that we sent out a letter.  It was January 1, 2012 that our world changed forever.  It was the best and worst day of my life.  You’ll have to read more of my blog to discover why.

So I’ll update what is happening in the abundant lives of the DeRouen family. Christa continues to operate CarePatrol of Phoenix.  She is dedicated to helping families find the safest assisted living options for her clients.  She has once again won the DeRouen Mother of The Year Award for her exemplary execution of two epic birthday parties for Carly who became a teenager and Casslyn who is sweet 16.  She welcomed Cooper into the family and he is so adorable and handsome and takes his role as man of the house very seriously.  I should mention that Cooper is a Labradoodle.

Carly started Jr High this year and is loving the transition.  She is now 13 and continues with piano lessons.  She is so dedicated to her practice and lessons.  She is a mini-Christa.  Perfect grades and will negotiate with her teachers for every single point that she earns.

Casslyn is a sophomore in high school and she turned 16 and we threw an epic sweet 16 party complete with a DJ and and Daddy/Daughter dance.  She is active in the Theatre Arts and Future Farmers of America.  She has her driving permit and will be getting her license soon. Her driving skills are pretty dang good. I am her instructor.

Chet has left the world of hospice and returned full-time to real estate.  He continues to facilitate the group that he founded which connects gay men across the world who have been or may currently be in a mixed orientation marriage.  He is enjoying spending more time with Casslyn and Carly.

The DeRouen family is thriving and growing.  The past 7 years have been tumultuous and down-right unkind at times.  We hunkered down, closed ranks and embraced one another.  We loved and forgave our way to reconciliation.  We are more humble.  More empathetic.  More Aware and stronger than we could have ever imagined.

We have been in the arena getting our arse kicked.  We have dirt on our face, mud on our shoes, sticks and pieces of rock in our hair, but yet we persisted.  We haven’t lost a battle yet.  We have been criticized and ridiculed.  We have been accepted and affirmed.  We have been hurt and shamed.  We have been loved and encouraged. We are not victims.  We are changed. We are DeRouen’s.

 

Forgive Me

It has been nearly 8 years since I stepped into my authentic self and came out of the proverbial closet.  In May of 2012 many of my family, friends, colleagues, cohorts and acquaintances received and email from me publicly sharing my personal story of living a closeted life, my impending divorce and my decision to embrace my life as a gay man.  A life that I did not choose.  A life that I did not want.  A life that would call me to face discrimination that I was not yet ready for.

It was about that time that I began this blog.  I had, at different times in my life began writing journals and/or diaries only to go back to read them, tear them up, burn them or throw them in the trash.  I didn’t like what I had written, I didn’t like seeing my thoughts on paper.  I was afraid that someone would find them and read them, I was ashamed of who I was, my thoughts, my desires and my life as a whole.  I used this blog to kick, scream and claw my way into an authentic life.  Many of you have read my writings and determined that I was a very angry person even though I claimed that I wasn’t.  You labeled me a “back-sliding” christian that was simply trying to “justify” his new “lifestyle.” Sometimes you were correct.  Mostly you were not.

I am reminded of a video that I watched on You Tube where a senior citizen is asked to give an invocation at a senior-based corporate event. Ok… I’ll give them a plug… The event was a conference for Home Instead. Here is the link to the video… (Home Instead, Mary Maxwell)   Her invocation was scripted and contained some very comical moments, the part that resounded within me was when she asked for those around her to be patient with her through her senior years as this was her first time being old.  She had never been “old” before and that she was learning along the way.

There is a quote that I have learned to practice and embrace.  “Don’t judge people for the choices they make, when you don’t know the options they had to choose from.” Take that in for a minute.  Think about it…It’s ok.  I’ll wait…  Take all the time you need.  I often joke that I was the worlds best parent… until I had children.  The “I would never…” and “what I would do is…” just didn’t work out in real life like they did in my head.  It didn’t take me long to realize that parenting is hard work and all the planning in the world won’t get you the results that you thought you’d get when it comes to infants, toddlers and now teens.  I learned to be more patient with parents, especially those who had never been parents before.  They were learning along the way.

That leads me to this.  When I began to embrace and accept being gay, It caused so many, including myself to question my faith, my life and my innate identity.  For my entire life up until this point, I had learned, taught and embraced that homosexuality was a choice, a sin and socially unacceptable.  I believed at one time, that god could and had “healed” me from this “sin” and/or “disease.”  However, I had come to a place where denying my attraction to men was no longer working.  I had done everything under the sun to eradicate this from my being.  It was as hazel as my eyes, as brown as my hair and as innate as my DNA.  I am gay.  Plain and simple.  I was deeply hurt that a loving god would create me gay, yet demand that I live straight or be lonely and unfulfilled like so many well-meaning bible-thumpers had like myself had once believed.  I would be required to live a celibate life, void of companionship, partnership and intimacy.  It was the price that I had to pay for god to love me.  I had somehow offended god so profusely that a life of being alone would be my lot.  My thorn in my side.

I don’t know how this fits in to this particular post, but I want to say it and this seems like a good place to say it.  Many have questioned how I could “walk away” from christianity and my former faith.  I too have questioned that.  I didn’t arrive at this decision easily. It wasn’t easy to do.  It was one of the most difficult decisions that I had to make.  In fact I didn’t “WALK AWAY” from christianity and my faith.  I walked “PAST” it.  There is a difference.  We all have a destination. We all have a place that we need to get to.  In order to get to our destination, we must walk PAST some things to get there.  Furthermore, I believe that there are things that we are OBLIGATED to walk PAST in order to get to our destination.  You may disagree.  That is because your destination is not the same as mine.  I have no desire to live in a “heaven” that is filled with people who make it their business to belittle, exclude and condemn me and my community here on planet earth.  I’m not an atheist, even though I have no issue with Atheists.  I have found that most of my atheist friends are some of the most moral and friendly people.    I’m agnostic.  Because I’m ok with saying “I don’t know.”  Something I wish that I had said more when I was in ministry.

During my infancy of living as a gay man, I made some infant choices, said some infant things and behaved in some infant ways.  I’m not apologizing or making excuses, I’m stating facts.  I had choices to make that I had never made before.  I had never come out of the closet before.   I never had to reveal such private and personal information before.  I never lived as a gay man before.  This was new territory for me.  There was no “Coming Out for Dummies” publication that would guide me through this process.  Throw in the religion piece of the puzzle and you will quickly see that I was swimming upstream in a turbulent river. I didn’t have a chance at survival.  Especially among those of the religious community.  Up was down.  Down was up.  God was mad, People were hurt, things were said, things were NOT said, I was angry, I was happy… nothing was right, nothing was wrong…  Suffice to say, I made some mistakes.  I was learning along the way.

I said and did some things that were not my proudest moments, and so did you.  Yes you.  Yes you did, and I did too.  I said some things publicly that should have been said in private.  You did too.  I did some things that I should have refrained from.  You did too.  I made some choices that I should not have made at that time.  You did too.  We were both learning along the way, a we likely hurt each other.

I had never lived openly as a gay man before.  I had never deconstructed my faith before.  I had never made the choice to leave my faith before.  I had never been through a divorce before.  I had never come out to my spouse, children, parents, siblings, family, friends, cohorts and acquaintances before.  This is new territory for me. I was doing my best. I made some mistakes.

In your defense, you likely had never had your son, husband, father, brother, co-worker, friend or acquaintance come out as gay before.  Especially one who was an evangelical christian and minister.  We were both in uncharted territory.  There was no right or wrong.  No good or bad.  Just overall bedlam.  I would dare to say that you did what you did and said what you said, for the most part, in sincere and good faith.  Well… some didn’t.  Some were just plain hateful and still are.  You know who you are.  We will just let Miss Karma handle her bid’ness in this case.

Let me be clear.  This doesn’t excuse, dismiss or eradicate the things that we said or did.  No, this is the opposite.  This calls those things to light.  It’s giving it a name not a pardon.  Apologies still must be offered, wrongs must be righted and things once ignored must be acknowledged.  While some relationships have been restored, some have been revamped. In contrast, there are relationships that simply aren’t worth either.  Remember that part about having to walk PAST some things to get to your destination?  Yep. There are some people that you must walk past as well.

Before I go today, there are two more things that I need to say.  Only one will apply to you.  You can only choose one.  There is a difference between the two.  The difference lies within you.  Sometimes we “feel” that someone has hurt us, when in fact they did not. It was you who misinterpreted, misread or simply made up a scenario in your mind that caused you to feel the way that you do. Those are your insecurities, your demons, your issues.  I cannot and will not take responsibility for clouds that are in your sky, hurricanes that are in your ocean or  clutter that you have placed in your closet.

1. Forgive me.  That is a statement.  This I offer to those whom I intentionally did nothing, yet you somehow feel wronged by me.
2. Forgive me?  That is a question. This I offer to those that I intentionally hurt or harmed.

 

 

Who’s Clapping?

Tonight I went out alone to see a movie.  I needed to get out of the house and make an intentional effort to not isolate myself when I’m feeling less than self-confident.  While I realize that many people see me as an extrovert, I am at heart, an introvert.  I’ll write about that some other time.

The movie that I chose to see was LBJ.  I don’t read movie reviews and I don’t choose movies by other peoples opinions. I had no expectation either good or bad.   I just needed to get out.  I greatly enjoyed it, but I triggered something inside of me that I need to process through.  At a place in the film, Mr. Johnson is to make a speech.  Someone tells him that there will be people who will not be pleased with his position on civil rights.  Mr. Johnson respond with “we will know whom those people are because they will be the ones who won’t be clapping.” This was the second time in the recent that I heard a reference.

I saw this post on Facebook recently, and it stunned me. Stunned me because its true.  I have experienced this truth from people in my life that once clapped for me.  As a minister and singer in church, there were lots of people who clapped for me who are no longer clapping for me.  These are people that have been dear to me.  Family and friends alike. People that I love and people that love me.  However somewhere in my life’s journey, they have chosen become un-supportive of my “position.”  Un-supportive of my being, un-supportive of my identity.  Un-supportive of my love and un-supportive of my authenticity.  Mostly un-suportive of my “lifestyle.” They stopped clapping for me.  Some intentionally and some unintentionally.  Some stopped clapping for me simply because they are concerned that others may not agree with them affirming me.  Some have been malicious and some just don’t have the ability to relate to me any longer because I’m gay.  Something that I kept secret until I fell out of the proverbial closet in 2012.

It’s no secret that I am active on social media.  I enjoy it and I offer no apology.  I post about many different things.  Some political, some funny, some religious or irreligious and some about human rights or LGBT issues.  I realize that some of my positions are controversial to some.  We don’t have to agree with someone to want the best for them.  I have noticed that some of those that follow me on social media will “like” a particular post and will bypass other post with no acknowledgment.  I’ve even noticed that there are times that I will post on another’s wall and particular people will “like” some comments but will not “like” my post or comment even when my comment was in line and agreement with similar posts.  This isn’t a new revelation for me. I’ve noticed this for years.  I pay attention when people don’t clap for me.  

I have at times, exercised my opportunity to unfriend some people that I feel are simply “watching from a distance” or just “keeping tabs” on me.  Some have even RE-friend requested me.  With much skepticism, I have accepted their request hoping that somewhere along their journey that they may have come to a place where they can “clap” for me again.  This hasn’t always been the case.  Maybe they have and maybe they haven’t.

Today I needed to acknowledge to myself and to them, that their choice to not clap has hurt me and did not go unnoticed.  So now I’m giving myself a standing ovation.  Because I can.

 

Return to me.

In my last post, I stated that I was leaving my blog.  I needed to move forward and begin a new chapter.  I believed that abandoning my blog was the solution to finding a new road to travel.  I have been through so many changes since publicly stepping into my authentic self as a gay man in May of 2012.  Divorce, loss of family, friends and leaving my christian lifestyle had taken it’s toll on me.  I was now in a relationship with a man that I intended to marry.  I was rounding the corner to a life of love and fulfillment that until now, had only existed in my dreams.  It felt good to feel good. I didn’t feel like I needed to continue to question why I’m gay.  I was feeling pretty confident in my skin.

Well I have heard it said, that life is what happens when you are making plans.  So life happened.  The wedding did not happen and the relationship ended.  I won’t use the word devastated, because I believe that words are powerful and I am very particular about saying what I mean and meaning what I say.   I was not devastated with the break-up, but I was definitely caught off-guard.  I’m bummed, confused and sad.   Without this blog, I did not have a place to tell my secrets, my hurt and my lack of understanding what was going on.  I did not have a cathartic outlet to do a “brain dump.”  I quickly learned that I best express my feelings through written text.  Specifically this blog.  So I am returning to my voice.  I am returning to my expression.  I am returning to me.

I find myself in a very disrupted disposition right now.  I can barely think a clear thought.  My anxiety is high and my A. D. D. is in full disorder.  It’s a combination of hurt, anger, frustration and sadness.  I feel  physically ill and disconnected.  In fact, its all that I can do to refrain from bursting into tears at this very minute.  I’m holding back because I don’t want my kids in the next room to share in my brokenness. I don’t hide much from my girls, but I try not to burden them with things that they have no responsibility for and things that they cannot fix.  So for now I hold it together.

Today I was reminded that my world forever changed when a rich, white, heterosexual, un-christian man was elected largely by Christians to be the 45th President of the United States.  Sadly his supporters happen to be those that have proved over and over again to be the self-serving, unkind, inconsistent and hurtful people.  I know, because I used to be one those people.  I believed that my God and my political party were a reflection of each other and if you chose another god or party, then oh well…  You suffered the consequences of your choices. We all know that Jesus was white and republican…right?

Some of these people happen to be friends, family and people that I care very much about.  It seems to not matter to them that people like me are hurting, afraid and in general, tentative about our place as gay people in this United States of America.  In fact these people that I care for are already doubling down and making plans to cast their ballot again for this same un-christian, verbally abusive, child-like, adulterous, gambling, cut-throat, cheating, lying person to represent their “christian values.”  It cuts me to my core and hurts my heart that their concern for humanity has taken a back seat to profits, patriotism, privilege and Pietism.

I am sad not only for myself but for my daughter who is also gay.  She is now surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and extend family who did not stand up for her or others who happen to be different.  Who do not have her back.  We wake up every day and journey into a world that is still straight, christian-only and masculine.  Religion and political party, have been chosen over people and humanity.  But I have resolved in my being that I will never be able to change their perspective in my lifetime.  I feel like being complicit is what they have come to be.  It cuts deep.

I don’t want to win, I want us all to make it.  Unfortunately we live in an America that has forced us to take sides.  There are winners and losers. We are divided and our president is incessant with his choice to foster and incite this climate while the evangelical community praises his “tell it like it is” approach.  We will stand our ground on ignorance alone to be declared the winner.  We’ve lost the art of understanding, respect and the willingness move to the center.  We are right-fighters.  We don’t listen to hear, we simply listen return an answer.  We want power.  We want privilege.  We want what we want.  We want America to be solely christian and we are willing to do what we have to do in the name of God. Because when we do it in the name of God, then it must be right.  We want to force every one of you to comply with what we believe is truth, moral and Good.  Damned be the rest of you.

I’m listening, I’m pliable, I’m willing.  Maybe that once-failed, untimely, insensitive intervention attempt would yield some understanding.  I want to understand and to be understood.  I want to respect and to be respected.

 

The End.

I started this blog on July 16 2012.  I began writing to help me process through being gay in a straight world.  My blog is titled “Why Am I Gay?”  While I still am not sure that I have arrived at a definitive answer, I now realize that it really doesn’t matter much any more. I will never know why the God that I loved and served and gave my life to betrayed me.  I begged you to fix me.  You can’t claim to create someone “perfect” then change the rules in the middle of the game, requiring me to be born-again because I wasn’t born right the first time.  Which is it?  Am I perfect or broken?   Did you make a mistake?  You can’t claim to be all kind and loving, then change the rules.  You loved me when I was pretending to be straight, but you turned your wrath to me and condemned me to hell when I chose to be honest.  Remember, it was your idea that we shouldn’t lie and pretend.  I had to free myself from your wrath by calling out the contradiction where I saw it.  I could no longer do the mind aerobics to get myself to believe in such a bi-polar deity.  I do know that I no longer subscribe to the aforementioned God.  It really doesn’t matter much any more.  We’ve both moved on I guess. What I do know is that I have finally found freedom to be me whether there is or isn’t a God.  It simply doesn’t matter.

I don’t subscribe to the notion and common phrase that, “gay doesn’t define me.”  That’s pure  doo-doo right there.  I am gay.  Gay does define me and I have chosen to embrace that.  It’s taken me 47 years to get to this place, but I’m finally at a place where I no longer wonder or care what people think about me.  I don’t rent out space in my head any longer.  So with that in mind, I’m writing my final post to this blog.  I’ll replace it with a blog about do it yourself design and decorating ideas.  That is a passion and love that I’ve always had.

To those who read just to see what a train wreck looks like up close.  I hope you’ve been enlightened and that you enjoyed the view from up close.  To those who read to keep tabs on me and my family so that you had some good fodder for your lunch after church on Sunday… “Bless your heart…”  To those who read because you know someone or you yourself have a similar story, I’m thankful for the camaraderie and I hope that I helped in even just a tiny way.  For those who read to further stand on your self-righteous, religious wall of “truth,” I bet you still haven’t found what your looking for…everything is so black and white to you isn’t it?  Finally, to those who read with genuine care, concern and support, I felt you all the time.  No, I mean it.  I really felt you. YOU are the people that I will forever keep close to me.

On January 1, 2012, my now former wife “caught” me texting a man that I intended to meet up with. While I probably could have lied my way through it,  I decided that day to stop lying and come clean with her about my sexuality.  I chose to come clean with myself. We were both deeply hurt. She suffered.  I suffered and our children suffered. It was a horrible difficult time.  Somewhere though, I felt relief and retreat.  Up until that day, I had made a plan to kill myself so that my family would never have to know the shame and pain that I was suffering, and they would never have to live with knowing that their husband, dad, son, brother, cousin, employee, pastor, deacon and/or neighbor was gay.  I had been taught my who life that gay was right next to murder on the sin scale.  Actually in some circles, it trumped murder because gay and pedophile where the same thing.  So I did everything possible to hide.  I was hiding to protect you my family and friends…I didn’t want to bring you shame.  I had it all in place.  I planned it to be an “accident” so that my wife and daughters would get double payout from the life insurance.  They could live such a great life without me.  Getting caught literally saved my life.

We lost family and friends through the process of our eventual divorce and my “coming out.”  People and family that we loved, cherished, honored and trusted.  We heard the stories you told, we saw the posts on social media about our integrity and faith.  If you scroll back, they are still posted there.  This shows me that you have no remorse. You were even asked to take it down and you refused.  We know that you lied about us and to us.  You were the only one with the information that you shared.  We were starting to see that the “dirt” that you always knew about others was the same dirt that you would throw at us when we figured you out. We know that it came directly from you. We felt your abandonment and judgment.  We heard about it when you told people that I became gay because I started hanging around gay people and that I was likely watching gay shows… I didn’t have any gay friends at that time and I certainly hadn’t seen any “gay” shows.   Well…Those relationships are broken beyond repair.  Some things cannot be fixed.  I must admit that I felt some vindication when your family member came out…Its all judgment and contempt until that same event comes to visit you.

I will not wear the shame and guilt of those broken relationships.  I made multiple attempts and by multiple, I mean at least three… to restore and reconcile, but my “lifestyle” was something that you were unwilling to accept. I heard you say it with your mouth. You didn’t want the truth… you wanted to be right.  Well…You lost.  I lost.  I will not set myself on fire to keep someone else warm.

Yeah, I’ve always been a bit of a wild-card.  I get that.  I still am actually. It was my defense mechanism.  Its a tough gig to fight your whole life to keep a secret that is destroying you from your mind to your body and to your soul.  Yeah I kicked and screamed toward the end, but maybe you’ll be a bit more sensitive to the next person that you encounter that is literally on the rail of the bridge about to jump off. Even a gentle dog will attack you if you corner it.  I was cornered.  My secret was about to be exposed and my life as I knew it was over…at least that is what I hoped for.  Why couldn’t I just die already…

To the people who opened your heart and mind to the possibility that LGBT people like me and my daughter don’t choose their sexuality…  To the people who opened your heart and mind to possibility that the fundamentalist and evangelical church just may have this gay thing all wrong… To the people who, with reservation, embraced us and cared for us even when you didn’t quite understand or comprehend, you are appreciated and loved. No really… I appreciate you.  I’m hugging your right now in my heart.  I must admit, some of you who reached out in support and love, shocked the hell-outta-me.  I mis-judged you.  No really… I got you all wrong.  I was wrong.  To those that I counted on to love me and help me.  To see past the past and help a dying soul that was kicking and screaming (we call this terminal restlessness in hospice)…  wow did that hurt.  ouch  ouch  ouch!  I got you all wrong too.  In a bad kinda way.

I always somehow knew what people thought of me, no honest…I saw the looks, I heard the whispers, I got your “jokes” and your “I’m just kidding” crap. I knew that your “asking for a friend” was really about me.  I hear you loud and clear. I wondered if my own parents and siblings thought the same.  I had a high-pitched voice.  I loved to sew, paint and landscape.  I talked a lot and I ran from violence and sports. I only went to football games to watch the cheerleaders and wished that I could cheer with them. Damn did I want to be a cheerleader. I went to basketball games because the uniforms allowed me to see beautiful arms, legs and the occasional “junk” when they pulled on the shorts just right for that free throw. I played little league and biddy basketball in hopes to somehow dispel the perception that I was a “pussy.”  I loved music, I loved to sing and dance and girls…wow did I love the girls.  I was called fag, queer, girl, cock sucker and every word on the planet to emasculate and humiliate me.  I remember each of your names and I still see your faces.  Especially Patrick who always sat in the back of the bus… but Patrick, you are just the kind of guy that I would dream about at night.  No really, I did.  I was too creative for my own good, I’d rather be in home economics instead of  welding, but then y’all would really know that I’m gay.  The chore of going to school was a daily fight in my battered soul. I lived in a constant state of terror and distress. I lived every day begging god to just let me die in my sleep.

Every time a friend died (Chip Parro, Kelly Hebert, Philip Frederick) I deeply wished that it was me.  Why couldn’t it just be me!  The internal torture was too much.  Why I didn’t follow my plan to commit suicide on the campus of Franklin Junior High and then again at Franklin High is beyond me?  Even my therapist questions how I survived such terror and abuse.  He is baffled at my strength to survive.  I suffer to this day with a bit of PTSD. Even while I was serving in ministry in an evangelical church and attended an evangelical bible college, (In an effort to get god to make me straight) I was confident of the perception that people had of me.  They were right I guess.  But the mistreatment is unforgivable.  You, of all people, were supposed to be different.  But you were right.  That Chet guy is gay!

Before I bid farewell to this Blog, I will take some time to tell  you where I am today and why I’ve chosen to discontinue this blog.  I’ll do so between tears and deep reflection.

I will always love my former wife.  She is the only woman that I have ever loved.  I loved her because she loved me.  She literally saved my life and held me up when someone should have held her up.  I had nothing.  I was down to 120 pounds.  I was taking anxiety and depression medications with very little relief.  I was nothing but an empty shell.  She is not a victim.  We both suffered.  We both hurt.  She taught me what true friendship and true love is.  Our daughters are beyond lucky to have her as their mother.  I give thanks to her parents who guided her through life and helped her attain the skill set that she has.  I still feel discomfort from time to time about not being able be the man that she so richly deserved.  Christa, you are as righteous as a human being can be.  You are true, your are honest and you are honorable.  You will never need for anything as long as there is breath in my lungs and a beat in my heart.  I will paint your walls, sew your draperies, manage your home improvement projects, clean behind your fridge, clean under your dishwasher, hang your pictures, put your trash cans at the curb and move your furniture every damn time you move!

My daughters are adjusted.  Their counselor reports that rarely has she seen two more well-rounded children that have walked through such a life-changing traumatic event. They had to witness their daddy sobbing and sever anxiety for several years with no way to process and understand what was going on. I am beyond grateful that my two children will never know that being gay is anything less than normal. They will never fear judgment, shame or guilt.  They will never plan their suicide because they are different than the “rest of the girls.”  They will always know that love is love.  My gay daughter as well as my straight daughter will never feel afraid to come home and tell me about her new crush.  The rules will still be the same.  NO dating till you are 15 and NO boyfriends or girlfriends in your bedroom ever!  No weddings until you are 30 or have a masters degree… This daddy will stand up for the human and civil rights of both my straight and gay daughters.

The final reason that I’m discontinuing this blog is because I need to. I just need to.  It’s time.  It’s time to broaden my awareness and destiny….

I met Daniel on Feb 12, 2016.  We have been together since that day.  I gave him several opportunities to run like hell the day we met (I literally did zero editing that day… I talked for over three hours)up until the day that I asked him to marry me… on June 12, 2016 while we were on a trip to Naples, Florida.  He said yes!  Since that day, I’ve struggled with unintentional reservation.  I’ve been afraid that by loving Daniel, that I was somehow “unloving” Christa and that has caused me some guilt.  I need to resolve that in my heart and my head. The love that I have for Christa is completely different from the love that I have for Daniel and completely different from the love that I have for my daughters.  It’s simply incomparable on any level.

Daniel affords me the ability for me to be me.  Exactly as I am.  He requires nothing more and nothing less than me being me. I am Chet and I can only be Chet.  He lingers in Home Depot while I oooh and aaah over all the gidgets and gadgets and never says an impatient word or sighs in frustration. He will even suggest that we go to Lowes if I didn’t find what I needed or wanted at Home Depot.  He lets me be silly and nutty without a complaint.  He does roll his eyes sometimes though.  He listens as I talk incessantly and lets me go on and on and on for hours at times.  He lets me name off all the plants and trees that I can name and runs all over the creation trying to find the perfect table and chairs for our house. Which we still haven’t found.  He lets me pick paint colors and rugs without conflict.  He even took my car to the car wash.  He texts me just to tell my that I’m sexy and good lookin’ and just to say I Love you.  He goes to the grocery store and comes home with all the stuff that the girls need for lunch and even buys them ginger ale and ice cream sandwiches.  He cuddles Bill the Chihuahua and Prince Ali the cat and I think that they like him more than me.  He makes breakfast every Saturday an Sunday for me and the girls. He’s a trained chef so I’m not talking ’bout bacon and a couple scrambled eggs… He makes low-carb cheesecake just for Christa and goes over to her house with me while I do her “Husband” chores.  He jumps right in with my parents who are hanging curtains over at Christa’s.  He helped me pick out the perfect gift for my dad on fathers day.  He lets me cry when I need to cry and sends me links to songs when I’m least expecting it.  He makes me sangria and tells the girls how silly that I was when I had one glass too many.  He cooks low fat and low-carb when my blood test results are less than stellar.  He can tell when I’m worrying and will just let me worry till it settles down.  He encourages me to find my passion and do it.  He makes the girls dinner when I’m late getting home from work.  He sweeps the front porch and wipes down the dusty front door because he knows that a clean front door is a happy front door and that makes me happy.  He cleans the toilets every weekend and loads the dishwasher all wrong.  He lets me sneak his clothes away and take them to the cleaners so that he doesn’t have to iron for hours on Sunday.  He goes every week to check in on his mom 40 miles away from our house and takes her to run her “granny” errands.  He lets me obsess about almost anything like should the table be round, oval, square or rectangle.  He watches Candice Olsen’s Divine Design with me for hours and lets me watch all the cooking shows with him and explains all the ingredients to me in English.  He lays in bed with me every night until I fall asleep and then gets up and goes to sleep most nights on the couch because my snoring is too loud and he’s a soft sleeper.  He showers in the dark and goes downstairs to dry his hair because he doesn’t want to wake me in the morning.  He kisses me before he heads out the door when the sun isn’t up yet and I’m still snoring.  He sorts and washes all the laundry. He helps me be a better dad and a better person just by being near me.  He accepts that Christa and the girls are permanently embedded into our lives.  He loves them too.  He lets me clean up all the dishes when he cooks. He lets me unload the dishwasher and reload it the “right way” without getting all pissy and pouty.  He puts my piles away when they get too big and out of control. He lets me hang up his slacks and dress shirts on “nice” hangers so the collars stay nice and the creases stay in place. He’s funny and should be a writer for a comedy series.  And Damn can that man dance.

So there you have it. It’s time for me to embrace the life and love that I truly deserve with Daniel.  It’s time for me to accept and embrace my life with him with zero reservation…intentional or unintentional.  It’s time for me to stop blaming myself for being gay.  Its time for me to stop feeling bad because I have normal needs like love, touch and companionship.  Its time for me to be the fiance and husband that I am capable of being.  Its time.  I love you Daniel Gray.  Thank you for loving me.

 

 

 

 

 

Now & Then

This journey truly began in August of 1969.  I became aware of my journey about age 4.. the exact time evades me.  I was baptized Catholic at birth and later converted to Assemblies of God (Pentecostal) somewhere around Jr. High.  Some of you remember that conversion, some don’t.  Nonetheless, my journey continued.

At a very young age, I knew that my attraction to men/boys/males was was legitimate. However, as I grew up in the deep south of Louisiana, I quickly became cognizant of the unacceptability of my inherent, genetic make up.  This began the hiding, shame and all the ugliness that goes with being gay in a straight world.  At least the world as I knew it.  Growing up in a very, very, very small town with only one stop light only added to my confusion, but I didn’t even know at the time that my geographical location could effect my upbringing and cause life-long consequences.  I didn’t know what I didn’t know.  But I knew that something wasn’t “A-Ok.” I was a stranger in my own mind and body. 

As a Catholic, I prayed the rosary, took the sacrament of communion and went to confession. I attended mass, catechism and bingo.  Ah yes… Bingo.  It’s a Catholic thing for all of you unfamiliar with it.  I was an altar boy and spent a lot of time at the church.  I was always infatuated with the “secrecy” of the church. What was behind that altar?  What was under the robe?  How did the water turn holy?  Was that real wine?  What was the wafer made from? Where did the priest live? What was in the priest side of the confessional booth? Could he really NOT see you?  Call me inquisitive.  Inquisitive I still am.  I love to seek and find the “why’s” of life.  Sometimes I never found the “WHY.” Why?  Why would god make me Gay and forbid me to live true to myself.  Why would god give me desire for men yet force me to deny it?  Sometimes the “Why” never comes.

I always wondered if god was real, how could it be?  Was I too inquisitive for my own good. But as a good Catholic and later a devout Pentecostal, I chose to just accept things as they were.  Just believe and embrace with a blind faith. Sit down, shut up and enjoy the ride.  I embraced it, loved it and lived it.  I even went to Bible College and became a minister with the Assemblies of God.  I was “sold out for JESUS!”  I gave him my all.  Honest, I really did.  I was a bona fide legalist, fundamental, evangelical christian. I was “all in.”

But I never really felt that god gave ME his all.  He was withholding something. Something very necessary to my life and faith. I felt broken, defective and sinful.  I sang amazing grace… that saved a wretch like me….  always with the emphasis on “wretch” and never the “saved” part of the lyrics.  No matter how much I prayed, preached, fasted, tithed, worshipped, spoke in tongues or repeated the “sinners prayer,” I never felt “saved.” I never felt whole like he promised. I somehow got skipped over when it came to completeness.  Why. Why. Why did he make me gay?  What a cruel thing to do to such a good kid like me. 

I believe religion that teaches that one is wretched and that we can do nothing and be NOTHING without god is dangerous at best. It’s a control tactic. In fact, it was the church that taught me to dislike myself.  Heck… what did I do?  I was born.  That’s all.  I was born.  Nothing else.  I did nothing to become so “wretched.”  It was the evangelical church that taught me to dislike myself so much that I MUST be “born again.”  Born Again???  Why do I need to be born again?

I love the Catholic approach to being born again.  A good catholic said to me once, “why do you evangelicals need to be born again? Don’t you believe that god got it right the first time?”  It still makes me giggle, but now,  yes… yes I believe that I was born right the first time. No born again needed here.  Thank you very much.

In my evangelical teachings, I was taught and I preached that god didn’t make mistakes. That god was good and fair and just.  He was perfect and he created us perfect. How then would he create a wretch, a loser, a broken, confused, hurting man?  I believed that I was a big fat nothing, I had nothing to live for. I felt that it would be better for everyone if I were dead and gone. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to carry out my planned suicide…out of fear of going to hell.  I felt powerless and useless without god, but yet it was god who made me this way. Oh the misery.  How could a loving god allow someone that loved him and dedicated his life to him be so broken, so defunct, so lost and so down-trodden even after being born again?  It just stopped making sense to me.

That was then.

Today is a different story.  I’ve realized that the authentic me is a happier me.  A braver me.  A more peaceful me.  A more loving me.  A more humanitarian me.  A more “godly” me.  I’ve realized that I don’t have to be religious to be a good and moral person.  Some of the most moral people that I know have no form of “religion” in their lives. They just treat others they way that they wish to be treated. Just plain and simple human kindness and character. 

I’ve come to understand and accept that I no longer have to be christian to be kind and have good things happen to and for me.  Heck, I now realize that I don’t have to give 10% of my income to a church or ministry to be “blessed.”  I don’t have to comply with the rules and regulations of church and christianity to live a happy and successful life.

When I made the choice to live authentic as a gay man, I was promised by god’s people… the very people that I ministered to… that I was no longer living in god’s will.  I would go to hell, be stricken with cancer or other diseases that would take my life, be financially destitute and likely homeless and begging for food.  Yes, all this from those that would fight till the death telling you what a loving and caring being that their god is… as long as you play by their rules…the bible.  This caused me great confusion.  How can he be so hateful and angry and so loving and kind at the same time???  It doesn’t compute for me any longer.

So when I say that I’ve chosen to be agnostic, I’m not saying that I’m atheist, although I see nothing inherently wrong with atheism.  I’m saying that I can no longer accept, subscribe to or identify with the god of modern evangelical, legalistic, fundamental christianity.  It no longer serves my highest and best needs as a human being.

So this is my now.  I don’t subscribe to a punitive hell.  I don’t describe to a literal interpretation of the bible. I don’t subscribe to religious rules and regulations.  I have made my choice. My choice to live a meaningful life.  Because humans have a 100% mortality rate.  We will all be gone one day. We will all soon die.

Where will we all be when we die? I dunno.  Life is a mystery, and so is the afterlife.  I’ve got one shot at this. One shot at living a happy, healthy and whole as my authentic self. I won’t live another day for anyone other than me.  By me, I mean everything that is a part of me.  My children, my friends, my family and animals…don’t forget the animals.  I refuse and reject living to please and fancy others and their religious rules and regulations that are not a part of who I wish to be. I won’t live my life for anyone who rejects my inherent being as a good, moral, kind gay man.  I was born right the first time.  I don’t need to be born again.  Requiring one to be born again assumes that someone or something wasn’t right the first time around.  I’m no mistake!  God got it right the first time.

So if you’ve read this blog from the beginning, you’ll see that I was a right-wing, republican, evangelical christian and living my life in a way that was pleasing to others.  I am no longer any of that.  This is my now. I do not blame or deny my “then.”  In fact, my then has guided me to my NOW.  I did the best with what I had.  When I knew better, I did better.  In fact, once I knew better, I was self-obligated to do better.

Life is a about choices.  I am free to choose which door I will enter into today.  When that choice no longer fits my highest and best need, then I am free to choose again.

Don’t let your then rule your now.

 

 

I Don’t Belong

From time to time I will blog when I am in a current state of “funk & blah.”  Yes… I just created that lil diddy. You may use it. You’re welcome.

I do this to capture the sincere and brutal reality of coming out after being closeted for 42 years due to evangelical religious oppression and societal bias.

I did my best to retain my faith after coming out.  Unfortunately evangelical religion has taken up arms against the gay community with guns blazing to force us to believe as they believe or go back into the closet. As if torturing us with threats of burning in a punitive hell our whole lives wasn’t hateful enough. That story has already been told, so this brief sound bite is for those readers that have not read my blog from the beginning.

So back to my “funk & blah.”   I was recently meeting a man for an impromptu coffee date. A resident physician man at that.  It was my lucky day… He was smart and cute. With the potential to be moderately rich. I digress.

We agreed to meet at Starbucks.  I arrived before he did. He overslept due to a late shift the night before in the Emergency Department.

As I placed my order and waited for him, I unintentionally began to notice all the men wearing wedding rings. Go figure. I kinda got gut-sick. Sadness slapped me and within no time I realized why taking off my wedding ring 4 years ago was like ripping off an unhealed scab. I weep as I write this.

I gave it to my former wife at one point so that she could sell it. But at some point I took it back. The memory and representation was much too much to process. That ring currently is in the console of my car where I will take it out from time to time and reminisce. I will likely never part from it. It will always be a tribute to the blood sweat and tears that I put into my marriage and family.  I cannot erase my history. I won’t even try. There is way too much value there.

I remember being in high school, college and the time between college and when I got married. I always wanted a wedding ring. I used to get fake rings and pretend that I was married. The ring part was super important to me.

The ring represented love, commitment and most of all it meant that I belonged to someone.  It meant that it wasn’t all about me.  It meant that someone counted on me and needed me. It meant that no matter what happened, that I wasn’t alone and I was important to someone. Again, I weep writing this.  Sometimes life just sucks damnit.

So as I sat there waiting for Dr. Coffee Date to arrive, a sudden awful feeling of “I don’t belong to anyone anymore” rushed over me in a not so welcomed way. I literally wanted to run to my car to get my ring and put it on so that I could belong to someone. It was a sick sick feeling.

And out of courtesy, please don’t be tempted to send me notes or quips about how I belong to God/Jesus. I cannot do enough brain aerobics to believe in a god that would allow such anguish, confusion and pain to someone like me that committed his life and career to serve others. It just doesn’t line up any longer. I’m happily agnostic. Namaste.

So I journey this journey.  I adjust as adjustment presents itself.  I cry as needed and I hurt as hurt is inevitable.  But this is just one stop along the way. Survivors don’t survive by happenstance. They intentionally survive. I shall live with brazen intention. I will return to a place of joy.

 

Maison du Solstice

Such an odd title I know. It’s the French translation of the English words House of Solstice. 

Huh???  What’s that?  We will get to that soon enough. 

I’ve always admired how people named their homes. I’ve further wondered how those names came to be. I’m very curious and I ask lots of questions.  At times it gets me into trouble. Meh! Who cares. 

My blog has evolved over the past few years, but my original intent was to give an accurate portrayal of what it’s like for a married man to come out as truly being gay after being in a supposed heterosexual marriage with children. Read previous blogs for those details. 

Today was an excruciating day for me and I’m sure for my former wife and children too. But this is about me. Today is the day that the home which our family has lived in for almost 10 years closed escrow and transferred to another family. 

This is no ordinary home. It was one of my most prized accomplishments.  I worked long hours as a new home sales agent to purchase this home for my family. This was THE home that was going to be our forever home. (Whatever the hell that means…)  I sewed almost every window treatment.  Installed the moldings and window casings. Faux painted the handrail to match the light fixtures that I hung. I made my master suite resemble a fine resort. The girls rooms were rooms that every kid dreams of. I customized the cabinets with a professional glaze. I ordered wood floors and stair treads. I installed granite counters and designed a pool and back yard that was lush and welcoming. The front yard was a showstopper and once I even got a letter from the homeowners association telling me what a great looking front yard that I had. I built shelves and storage for the pantry and laundry room. It was MY work. What I always wanted for my family. A family that I always dreamed of. I was a lucky, lucky man. I had achieved a life long goal. Oh and the parties and events that I hosted. THE BEST!

But as life sometimes does, it began to change. I could no longer hide my secret. I was dying inside and out. It wasn’t going to end well for me or my family. Most of you reading this knows the history of what came next so I won’t belabor that. 

The time came to put the house on the market. There were days of excitement to begin a new chapter as a gay man and father of two daughters. There were days of extreme shame and guilt for simply being me. A gay man. 

The house sold and today was my final trip through that home to take one last look. My mind flashed memories both good and bad. I walked to the breakfast room where I was sitting in the fetal position sobbing and trying to think of a way that I could disappear forever. I stood in the shower where I stood for almost two hours once in running water just hoping that I could just die and be gone forever. I cried just thinking about it. 

But…

I also stood at the top of the stairs where my girls would get the sofa coushion and slide down the stairs laughing historically. I stood in the third-car garage (my shop) where I built a fireplace surround and mantle from the plans in my head.  

 I stood at the bathroom sink where I watched my former wife brush her hair and put on makeup as we talked and laughed. I stood in the playroom where the girls played and had shows that I attended. I stood in each of their rooms where we cuddled and kissed each other goodnight. I stood in the backyard by the pool and remembered all the fun we had and how lucky we were to have such a nice pool. I stood in the kitchen where we dyed Easter eggs and carved pumpkins. The memories just flooded my mind and heart as I sobbed. 

So it’s hard to call it just a building or just stuff. It was a safe house. A place that we called home. It was magnificent. 

So today I want to give 3155 South Porter Street in Gilbert, Arizona a name that I will always remember. It shall be known as   Maison du Solstice. I chose French because that is my heritage. 

But why the word solstice?  Im happy that you asked. Let me start with the Webster definition of solstice. “A furthest or culminating point; a turning point.”

  You see I had to get to the furthest point of my big gay secret to begin to turn around to my authenticity and reality. I had to get real with myself and set myself free from my irrational guilt and shame. I had to act bravely to ensure that my children had a father and that other men and women who are in my place could know that it does get better and suicide would not resolve being gay. It would wreak more havoc that being authentic. 

So just as we have seasons and solstices on planet earth, we have seasons and solstices in our lives. 

So farewell Maison du Solstice. You have been good to the DeRouen family. 

Now on to Chapter Two. 

 

I’m Defective

I’ve entered a new phase of “coming out.” 

Ummm… Chet, I thought that you “came out” over three years ago?  Yes. Yes I did, but in a predominately “straight” society, coming out is almost daily for a man my age. 

When I mention that I have children, I usually have to “come out.”  When I mention my former wife, I have to “come out.”  Again and again and again. Can you imagine having to “come out” as straight almost daily?  I gets exhausting. 

Because of the nature of my career, I meet new people every day. I meet with families and individuals on a very personal, intimate and emotional level. It is very difficult to NOT get personal. Discussions of death and dying make it difficult to be stoic and strictly professional. Not to mention I’m super bad at a poker face. I’m built to hurt when people hurt and cry when people cry. I wear it as a badge of honor. 

This week while meeting with my therapist, we began to process why I have been feeling deeply depressed with thoughts of suicide,  lonely, lethargic and extremely apathetic. 

After going through several painful scenarios, we arrived at a probable explaination. An explaination that is difficult to say and difficult to process. But I promised myself that I would be transparent and honest through this journey of self-acceptance. If for no one else but me. 

IM DEFECTIVE!  Thats it. I’m effing DEFECTIVE. I cannot remember a time in my life where I haven’t felt defective. I felt it in kindergarten, I felt it in elementary, junior high and high school. I felt it deeply in college and I felt it through my marriage and I feel it now. I feel like somewhere in the creation of Chet, something went terribly wrong. I’m defective. I’m gay. I pulled the short straw. 

Why Chet, why do you feel defective?  Why do you feel less-than. Why do you feel like you don’t belong? I’m glad that you asked. Let me tell you. 

Unless you have been under a rock on the moon, you may have noticed in the news the outright attack on me and the gay community by many people. I’d be unnecessarily dishonest to pretend that it doesn’t affect how I feel about myself. Especially while its perpetrated  by the very sect who themselves claim to be defective albeit “forgiven.”  Which I guess gives them the right and authority to piss on the defective that don’t subscribe to their need to be forgiven. What a bunch of condescending pricks. Yes… I went there. I’m angry damnit. My therapist said that its time for me to get angry so that I can push past the guit and shame if being me. 

And no I’m not lumping Everyone together. But if the shoe fits…  If you, for one second believe that Kim Davis of Kentucky is justified in her abuse of power toward my gay family, then  YOU are a perpetrator of labeling people defective. You are the problem. 

I constantly feel like if I somehow weren’t gay that I would still have my marriage and intact family that I’m so proud of. There would be no need to sort through our belongings and decide who gets what.  There would be no need to take the wedding pictures down and put the wedding photo album away. There would be no need to move into separate homes. There would be no need to sleep alone in an apartment when I could be sleeping down the hall from my children. But I was born. And I’m defective. I’m not whole. I’m not a full human. If only… If only I were born straight and privileged. This chaos is all my fault.  

I peruse the Facebook postings of family and friends. I read the mocking  picture-grams. I read the posts about standing up to and fighting aganst the gays. It’s an all out war against “those people” the defective ones. 

Don’t tell me that you love me but you don’t agree with my “lifestyle.”  You have just communicated to me that I am irreversably defective. Oh Yes You Did… That’s exactly what you say every time that you refer to my being as sinful. That’s exactly what you say when you compare my being to that of a murderer, filanderer, theif, rapist or pedophile and all the other “feelings” and desires that you may have been born with. 

I see the posts about how being gay is a choice and being gay is wrong and being gay makes one defective. Unfortunately there is no money back guarantee. Not return policy. No manufacturer limited lifetime warranty. I just have to suffer through my defectiveness while the rest of the world gets a pass?  I don’t think so!

So that is my next phase of “coming out.” I will work diligently to reject that I am defective. I will permanently eradicate from my life people and organizations of people and books… (Yes even “holy” books) that refer to me as defective. 

It’s not something that I can unlearn overnight after a life of religious legalism, brainwashing, dogmatism and fundamentalism. It will take some time and thought restructuring to fully achieve. 

Onward!