Long story ahead. I may fall asleep soon after posting it, so if anyone replies, I may not see it for a while. Not that anyone should really pay attention to the ramblings of a random teenager, but… idk. Whatever. Here goes…
This story begins about two weeks ago when I went to a sort of camp thing for a few days. It was fun and all and things were going well, and suddenly things got even better for me. I met a girl who actually seemed to enjoy my company. Hell, at one point she even seemed to get adorably giddy to see me. We talked for a long time and she actually seemed like she enjoyed talking to me. ‘Holy ****, she might actually like me!’ I thought. It was a first. Suddenly, I began to delude myself into thinking I was completely straight, and so that night I was happy, happier than I’d been in a long time.
The next night was a “dance,” a raucous affair that I didn’t want any part of. For the most part, it was miserable. I stood around anxiously hoping to not be noticed by anyone (except her) and stared into the colorful lights (which in a strange way was somewhat calming, even if undoubtedly bad for my eyes). Eventually, the girl found me and we spent most of the night sitting against the wall in the back and talking, but it was getting late and my anxiety kicked in hard as usual, so I kept asking her if I was bothering her, but she kept insisting that I wasn’t. Then, my hopes jumped up way too high and I stuttered out a stupid question. Upon my asking, she sighed and admitted that she had a boyfriend. She did give me her phone number though, which is more than anyone ever has before really.
Anyway, the camp ends and we part ways. We text each other for a while but eventually I realize that she in fact did not purge my faggotry and I’m still bi at best, but then I felt guilty. I felt like I was somehow lying to her, or to myself, or to someone. I haven’t texted her in a few days because I figured it was pointless to make myself feel even more miserable. So now it’s all back; the intense fear of God, the feeling that I’m some kind of fraud, the suicidal thoughts accompanied by the fear that I’d go to hell, so killing myself would make things worse. Last night it was really bad and I couldn’t bear it, so I just dumped it all on a friend of mine late at night (having no prior knowledge of my faggotry, but he seemed pretty chill about it). It made me feel a little better, but I still have no idea what to do about any of it. There’s no way I could tell my parents about any of this lest they expidiate my inevitable trip to hell, and any time I try to talk to my mom about any of my other problems it doesn’t go well (like a month or so ago when I brought up the frequent beatings I took in middle school locker rooms a few years back and she denied ever knowing about it despite me having brought it up several times). I can’t tell my father any of my problems lest he become even more disappointed in me. I’m still not the Super Star Athlete Son™ he always wanted and I have nothing but contempt for mindless, barbaric athletic competition. He treats that as a personal failing on his part so he continually forces me to partake in mindless, barbaric athletic competition. If I told him any of my problems, he’d probably treat those as woeful failings of his as a parent and as a person, and he’s so fundamentalist that I wouldn’t be surprised if he took me to he edge of town and stoned me if he found out about my faggotry.I don’t even know what I’m trying to say at this point. I’m just tired of feeling guilty any time I have any kind of affection for anyone, tired of being a lousy son, tired of wanting to die and being too afraid to, tired of being afraid of God, and just tired in general.
Feel free to ignore this post, I’m a mess and I just needed to vent.
Luke 18:9-14 New International Version (NIV)
The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
9 To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: 10 “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’
13 “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’
14 “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
With whom did Jesus prefer to spend his time: those who tried to define society’s righteousness based on their understanding of the scriptures, or sinners who came to him looking for forgiveness?
Regardless of your beliefs, regardless of whether your parents or your church are right or wrong about homosexuality (though I believe they are wrong), they do not have the privilege of deciding who gets into heaven. That is Jesus’ prerogative. Your parents may not have the same struggles you do, but they too are sinners who need His grace to get into heaven. The same for your pastor, the girl at your camp, me, and everyone else. Accept Jesus Christ, believe that he makes our shortcomings into righteousness, that he is our great Intercessor. Only he can get you into heaven. And believe me, Jesus loves you more than you can imagine. He already suffered for you. He wants to save you!