If I told you I spent my twenties in a coma it would be close to the truth. It would also elicit more compassion than telling you I spent them in a cult. And all that time I wanted to leave, but I was afraid. 

I was brainwashed by loving parents and well meaning friends to believe that being gay was a sin. That it was a choice made by God’s children that pulled them from his presence as they willingly damned themselves to hell. That anyone who chose to be gay not only made a choice of the Devil, but made themselves of the Devil and were not to be acquainted with prestigious, godly people such as us. 

Thus, we shunned all non-heterosexual individuals and gave them not so much as a glance, for to pay them attention was to pay Satan attention. They were banned from Sunday service as to prevent the presence of the dark one in our Holy Communion. Families turned on their homosexual members, disowning them in shame. 

All the time I saw these things happening, and felt uneasy as my friends turned against them in disgust and hate. Surely it could not be God’s will to hurt his children. Yet, I saw them suffer. They suffered not by their actions, but by the hands of those who opposed them. 

I felt pity for them, and even more for myself. I knew I too was one of them, one of the outsiders, but I feared exile if I spoke. I belonged, they accepted me, but simply because they did not know who I truly was. 

I tried as hard as I could to change the way I was. They said it was a choice, but I chose to be straight. Still, I couldn’t deny my urges. I was, inevitably, gay. 

Nine years I spent following the motions of hating gay people, silently feeling their pain. Nine years I fought with myself, longing to be the way they wanted me to be. It was nine years before I met him. 

He was long cast out from the society of ‘God’ and walked alone. Still, he smiled as he passed them on the streets, and offered to help all those in need. I watched him as he traveled to the church every Sunday and sat outside the back doors in prayer. How could someone so hurt by man and so separate from society find the strength to press on so persistently? 

One Sunday after service, I approached him and asked, “How is it that you can be openly gay, and still be so happy?” 

He smiled at me and placed his hand on my left shoulder saying, “Young man, if you are being as God made you to be, you will be happy as he intended all of his children to be. Believe not the words of man, as they are fallible in their interpretations. Follow your heart, for that is how God speaks to you.” 

I sat there a moment, contemplating his words. Had God made me to be gay, or was it my choice? I didn’t really know the answer, but his words gave me hope. They spoke to me, to my heart, and lifted my spirit. I didn’t know what God wanted, but I knew what I wanted. Surely God meant for me to be happy. 

It took nine years to finally get out, but now I know that where I am is where I’m meant to be. With every breath my heart beats loudly, triumphantly. I am who I was meant to be. I am free. I am finally awake.