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  1. Winter 1985 So much of my life, until then, had revolved around Evangelical Christianity and suddenly it was all gone, leaving an empty void of time and friendships. All of my social life had gone, over ninety percent of the people who called me friend had disowned me, I was on my own and I was nineteen years old. What was I to do? I wasn’t thrown out of that church’s congregation, no one spoke the words and told me to leave, but they expressly made it clear I wasn’t welcome because I was homosexual. I had been outed to the church’s youth fellowship. They reacted by first trying to cast daemons out of me, one Sunday night, before disowning me. Suddenly, all the people who had called me their friend, turned their backs on me and would have nothing to do with me. It was terrifying. Being subjected to an exorcism, just because I was gay, by people who had said they cared about me, left me feeling confused and betrayed. I had turned to these people for help, I was so confused and afraid of my sexuality, and they had reacted as if I was possessed by the Devil himself. The disowning by the majority of my friends hurt the most. They rejected me solely because I’m gay. I was hit over the head by their message, I wasn’t welcome in that church anymore. Reluctantly I left. Reluctantly because I had believed that being a member of that church was the right thing for me, where God wanted me to be, and leaving that church meant I had got that all wrong. But for my own health and sanity, I had to leave. The people of that church had told me that Evangelical Christians, like them, were the only people who would care for me and accept me. Non-Christians, they said, would just use me and then cast me aside. I believed them because I had thought they were my friends and that they cared for me. I was wrong. To my surprise, and then relief, I found people who weren’t Evangelical Christians not only welcomed me but also accepted me. Though it took so much strength to push myself forward to find a new life. Having all of my old life taken away from me was so hard and very isolating. Suddenly my whole social life and most of my circle of friends were gone, I had to start to rebuild all that and all over again. I was also so depressed by what had happened to me, had it all been my fault, why had I been so harshly rejected? I was beginning to accept my sexuality, finally admitting I couldn’t force it away, and then I was severely rejected for doing so. That took so much out of me. But I didn’t know how to rebuild my life again. I was only nineteen and no one gave me a guide book how to do so, there was no internet then. I found my first entry into a new life in a newsagent, near to Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral. On the top shelf, above the rows of magazines and newspapers, were the usual collection of porn magazines, and at the end of them were two gay lifestyle magazines, Gay Times and Gay Life. It was the 1980s and any gay lifestyle magazines were considered “adult reading”. Nervously I bought both those magazines, as I paid for them, the man behind the counter told me that Gay Life was a good read. He was right. Gay Life was a Manchester based magazine but it also contained listings and details of Liverpool’s small gay scene, where I lived. In its Community Listings section there was a listing for the LGCM (Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement) Liverpool group. Nervously I contacted its convenor, Billy, and started to attend their meetings. I was still a Christian and this seemed the logical place to finally start coming out. I had tried the Evangelical Christian approach, the ex-gay gospel and to deny a large part of who I was, and that had failed completely. Maybe it was time to try and accept my sexuality? Did I have any other alternative? The guys at the LGCM group were warm and welcoming, not a single “predatory homosexual”, as per the Evangelical Christian stereotype I had been previously been repeatedly told. These were men who befriended me, without trying to force their opinions and beliefs onto me. There was no condition to their friendship. It was a wonderful breath of fresh air. I also started to attend a writers’ workshop in Liverpool, The Old Swan Writers. I wanted to be a writer, therefore I needed to get serious about being one, but I knew so little about it. The other writers there taught me so much, showed me were my writing worked and were it didn’t. It was through them that I learnt how and where to submit my writing, and I had my first pieces of writing published while I was a member there. I was also the youngest member by a long stretch. The other were middle-aged or older, but none of them seemed to have any problems with me or my writing, which was beginning to explore gay themes. Next I started to attend Liverpool’s gay youth group, on the recommendation of one of the members of the LGCM group. At this group I met Tommy & Ashley, a pair of bright and lively friends, who quickly took me under their wing. They took me out clubbing in the few gay clubs there were in Liverpool. They introduced me to gay club life, taking away the mystery and apprehension too. And they were friends so there was no pressure, and that was what I needed then. The chance, every week or so, to dance and enjoy myself without any pressure. Lastly, I joined the Merseyside AIDS Support Group (MASG). This was 1985/86 and the AIDS panic was running high. Daily I saw the prejudice, ignorance and sheer homophobia around AIDS and it sickened me. This was my way of trying to fight that, so I joined MASG’s training course for their helpline. That training taught me so much, not just about HIV and AIDS, but it helped me look at myself. I also met some amazing people through it. Two nurses, a teacher, a HIV worker, gay men and women, a bisexual man, and straights. Different people but for all of them, being gay wasn’t a problem. I also met a man who I quietly looked up to, John Sam Jones. He’d been an Anglican minister, lived and worked in San Francisco, and was now back in Liverpool, working in HIV prevention. All through this he’d remained a Christian, and that was something I was trying to do but finding it such an uphill struggle. I make this narrative sound so easy, I took step one, which led to step two and then steps three and four. But it wasn’t that easy. I was silently carrying the baggage from the True Freedom Trust (TFT) and that Evangelical church. Most of the LGBT people I met in Liverpool, especially those I met through the LGCM group, knew of TFT and despised them. Rightly, they saw TFT as a dangerous and deeply homophobic organisation that only harmed LGBT people. Wrongly, I thought they would be angry at me too, for being involved with them. So I kept silent about that part of my past. I wish I hadn’t because I now know those people won’t have rejected me, they would have supported me. But the experience of being rejected by that Evangelical church was still sharp in my memory and I didn’t want to risk it happening again. I also found making friends difficult and scary. The people at that Evangelical church had told me that they were my friends, better friends than any non-Christians would be, and yet they so quickly withdrew their friendship when they found out I was gay. Would that happen again? Again and again I met people, after leaving that church, who openly accepted me, but that fear wouldn’t go away. It nagged away at the back of my mind. During this time in Liverpool, I never had a boyfriend, I never even tried to find one, I stayed single and celibate. This wasn’t out of any religious belief but it was out of fear. Fear that I couldn’t get close to anyone, fear that my parents would find out I’m gay, I was living with them at the time and I didn’t know if I could hide a relationship from them, and resting at the back of my mind, was the fear that those Evangelical Christians were right and I would go to hell for being gay. It was completely irrational but I couldn’t shake it. I had the realisation, slow at first but soon gathering speed, that the people at that Evangelical church had been lying to me. At first I noticed small lies but as time passed, I noticed bigger and nastier lies. The people at that Evangelical church told me I would never find “truer” friends than them, but those people rapidly withdrew their friendships when they found out I was gay. Their friendships were ultimately so shallow. Outside of that church, I found real friendships, people who didn’t reject me just because of my sexuality. Being a member of MASG, I learnt so much that also opened my eyes. AIDS wasn’t the “judgement of God”, as I’d been repeatedly told at that Evangelical church. The evidence didn’t support all the homophobic lies I’d been told about it. It wasn’t caught via casual physical contact, though people at that Evangelical church had behaved as if it was, even though no one with AIDS had dared to cross its doorstep. Then I met Nicholas & Robin, again. Nicholas had been the organist at that Evangelical church, until it was discovered Robin was his partner. Nicholas & Robin were rapidly and coldly thrown out of the church. I’d watched what had happened silently from the side-lines, terrified that that would be my fate. I was told Nicholas was not a Christian, he was only a member of the church for its social life, so it was right to throw him out of there, for being gay, because he wasn’t really a Christian. Then I met Nicholas & Robin, again. They were both Christians and very involved with a different church. I had been lied to, and to justify a very homophobic act. It left a very sour taste in my mouth. That Evangelical church had told me that the “homosexual lifestyle” was a lonely, cold and sterile life, and I’d only find true friendships and happiness as an Evangelical Christian. But as one, my life was cold, empty and lonely. I was so unhappy, having to hide my sexuality and struggle silently trying to accept it. Only leaving that Evangelical church, saw me start to turn my life around, trying to turn away from a cold and empty existence. My story doesn’t have a Hollywood ending, I didn’t walk away from that Evangelical church and straight into a much better life. It was a struggle and hard work to rebuild my life, especially as I was still haunted by what that Evangelical church said and did to me, causing me to be far from open with other people. I also had to come to terms with all the lies that that church told me, and how I foolishly believed them. It was a hard struggle, finding a new and honest life outside that church, but I am so glad I did. The alternative would have been unliveable. Drew Postscript: I have used the names these groups used back then in 1985/6. Groups called themselves “gay”, rather than Lesbian & Gay or LGBTQ+. In 1995, Merseyside AIDS Support Group (MASG) and Mersey Body Positive (MBP) merged to form Sahir House In 2017, LGCM changed its name to One Body One Faith, with a change in its focus.
  2. Summer 1985 “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Lynne said and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. We were sat together in my parents’ kitchen, while my parents were in the living room, watching television. Lynne and I were members of the Young People’s Fellowship (YPF), which was the young people’s group at our Evangelical Anglian church. We were also friends. I really admired her singing voice, which was one of those voice’s that could claim the attention of a whole room with its purity and clarity. She admired my writing, which was strange and humbling. She was one of the handful of people then who encouraged me to write, which was so eye-opening to me. Lynne was and is beautiful but her beauty is more than skin deep and stays in the memory long after meeting her. She radiates a confident sexuality which is so attractive to others, and yet she is so oblivious to it herself. In the YPF, there were so many young men who were attracted to her, some even claimed to be in love with her, and yet Lynne barely saw this. I, though, was fascinated. These young men projected so much onto her, one even claiming that God had sent her to be his wife, but none of them seemed interested in Lynne as a person, none of them looked further than Lynne’s attractiveness. To me, she was a wonderful friend with an amazing intellect and a warm personality. That summer Lynne was eighteen, preparing to go to university that autumn, I was nineteen and struggling to deal with my sexuality, and failing, believing that the only choice I had was celibacy because I was an Evangelical Christian. I had also started my first job and had fallen into a hopeless, unrequited and very secret love for a male colleague. I can’t remember why she called on me but that’s the least important part of the evening. For some reason Lynne asked to see one of the poems I’d written, one about loneliness. So I showed it to her, in the notepad I used to write my poems in. My poems were very teenage poems. They were high on emotional content and low on style and format. I simply copied the styles of poets I liked, not understanding the form or style and struggling with rhyming couplets. My poems were much more of a way to explore and vent my emotional life, to try and make sense of my emotions and the things I was living through. Lynne read that poem, nodding to herself, and, to my horror, turned over the page and started reading the next poem. After she finished that one, she read the next and the next one. She must have read a dozen of those poems. To my horror, she read poems were I expressed my struggles with my sexuality and my unrequited love (crush?), poems that talked about my love for him. I didn’t use the gender neutral “you” because I never intended anyone to read them. But Lynne was reading them (!!). I couldn’t just snatch the note pad out of her hand, so I just sat there and watched her read them. Though the expression that graced her face wasn’t disgust, it was realisation. After she’d finished reading, she put the notepad down on the kitchen table, said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” and gave me a big hug. Then we talked. I tried to explain to her my therapy that it was the “act” of homosexuality, not the desire, that was the sin, and if I could remain “pure” then God would be “happy” with me. I was still in the thrall of the True Freedom Trust. I must have sounded crazy but Lynne didn’t act negatively, but she did ask me an important question. She asked me what I really wanted. Quietly I answered, I wanted a boyfriend. I didn’t know what form that relationship could take, especially with my believes then, but I wanted a relationship, someone to love. She was the first person I admitted to that I wanted to love someone, to love another man, and she didn’t condemn me for it, she simply accepted it. Her acceptance meant so much to me and was so eye opening. There were people who didn’t hate and condemn me just for being gay, and maybe wanting to love another man wasn’t so wrong. Her acceptance wasn’t a light bulb moment, I didn’t suddenly realise it was okay to be gay, but it stayed in the back of my mind, it held out the hope that I could be accepted. All these years later, I am still in contact with Lynne, though we live at almost opposite ends of the country. She is one of the few people I remained in contact from that time. So many people, back then, who called me their friend, quickly dropped me when they found out that I’m gay, not Lynne. Many, many years later, Lynne sang at my wedding. She sang a marvellous version of O Tell Me the Truth About Love by WH Auden. Her beautiful and clear voice filled the registry office, being the perfect ending to our marriage ceremony. She was one of the four people I dedicated my first book to, she was one of the people who encouragement kept me writing. There are some people, through their simple acts of kindness and love, that leave a deep impact upon our lives, Lynne was one of those people for me. Drew Postscript: In the previous essays in this series I’ve used pseudonyms for the people mentioned. This essay is different because I’ve used Lynne’s real name, with her permission. I want this essay to stand as a tribute to this wonderful person. Find the next story in this series here
  3. (This is part of a continuing series about how I tried to come out as gay in an Evangelical Christian environment. If you haven’t read my other essays in this series, please find them here, they will put this essay into context) Spring 1985 “I don’t believe you’re homosexual,” he said. “I believe you’re bisexual, mostly heterosexual, and this is a phase you are going through.” I just nodded my agreement, what else could I do? We were sat together in the tiny study of his house. He was the curate of the church I attended, in suburban Liverpool. It was an extremely Evangelical church, everything was right or wrong, no grey areas, from a very simplistic reading of the bible, but it was also the place I was desperately trying to belong to. I wanted to be accepted by this congregation, these people, because I believed they were my only chance at finding friendship. But there was a secret stain on my soul, I am gay, and back then Evangelical Christians saw it as a sin so bad it was only punishable by hell (I know many still believe that). I was eighteen then and so deeply closeted. I had locked that closet door and wasn’t letting in a spark of light. No one could know I was gay, if they did I could risk losing all of my friends, and I was lonely enough. The thought of being friendless was terrifying. But my secret was eating away inside of me. There was the fear of being found out but there was also the isolation. There was no one I could talk to and be my real self with, I had to constantly monitor what I said, again and again I had to pretend to be straight, again and again I had to hide so much of myself. I longed to be open with someone about my sexuality. (Deep down I longed for a boyfriend but that was too much to express. But I still believed that if I had gay sex, it would be a sin that would condemn me to hell forever). I was so deeply depressed, but back then I didn’t even recognise that, I found it was just my normal, melancholic personality. Several months before that day I hit a watershed moment. I saw an advert for an organisation called the True Freedom Trust (TFT), in the back of my Christian youth magazine, they claimed to have an alternative to the “homosexual lifestyle” through Christianity. I had been seeing its founder, HM, since then for counselling. He said his belief was just being gay wasn’t a sin but any kind of gay sex was, the only “acceptable” lifestyle was that of celibacy. I jumped at that, when I first heard it, it was my fire escape from hell (Though as time passed, it proved nothing of the sort). HM said that I needed to confide in someone, at my church, about my sexuality. He suggested my church’s curate. I was unsure but was convinced by HM. HM said he had met the curate and he was the right man to support me. I wasn’t sure but HM said this was the right thing to do. The curate was a middle-aged man who had trained for the Anglican ministry after a life of low paid jobs and then a long time in adult education. He had deeply Evangelical beliefs, which he would talk about at any opportunity, especially his views on sex, which were just as Evangelical. He talked about masculine Christianity and for Christian leaders to be strong and real men. I screwed up what little courage I had, this would only be the second person I told about my sexuality, and asked the curate if I could see him. There was something I needed to talk to him about. On a weekday afternoon, I visited him, at his home, sat in his tiny study with him, and I told him I thought I was gay. I actually said I thought I was homosexual and that I’d been having homosexual feelings. That was when he told me he believed I wasn’t, that I was just a confused heterosexual. I was stunned, this wasn’t the reaction I had been expecting, or even fearing, and I had no answer for him but to agree with him. How could I have argued? What could I have said? I didn’t have the strength, back then, to tell him that I don’t have a heterosexual bone in my body, which is what I would do now. I just agreed with him, because that was what I was sure he wanted me to say, and in that I wasn’t wrong. Then he told me he’d had of vision of me, a vision given to him by God. He saw me dressed in a suit and tie, not wearing my glasses, with my hair short, neat and tidy, taking a girl out on a date to the cinema. If I followed this vision then I would truly find happiness and be the man God wanted me to be, he said. I felt a terrible kick of fear. How could this be a vision from God, it was so wrong. Without my glasses I am very short-sighted, which makes most activities difficult, at best. My hair is thick and curly and in any style that is short, it rebels against it, sticking out at odd angles, it is never neat when short. I hate wearing a suit and tie, even then I did. Suit jackets show off my round shoulders, I’m never comfortable with a tie pushed up to my neck, and shirts never stay tucked into my trousers. My mother always complained about how badly suits hung off me, but I am just genetically unsuited to them. But taking a girl on a date, that was the most confusing part of his vision. Was he telling me to stay and follow the TFT’s ex-gay counselling? I was begging God, each night, to turn me straight, but that prayer went unanswered, every time. Did the curate’s vision mean I was failing? His words felt like a command, telling me the way I should be living, but a goal I was falling so far short of. I didn’t argue with the curate, I didn’t tell him what he said was certainly a lie, when he called me heterosexual, but I couldn’t. I had such a negative view of myself, I hated so much of myself, that denying myself and agreeing with him was all I could think of to do. As I left his study, and his home, I again agreed with him, he said I wasn’t gay, only a confused heterosexual. He was so wrong. I felt so betrayed, after seeing him. I had gone to him for help and support but he’d denied me that by denying what I said to him. How could he have turned it into such a lie, something that was so untrue? (Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I realise that man was deeply homophobic. It was his homophobia that drove him to deny my sexuality and to come up with that ridiculous vision of me. But I didn’t know that, back then) After that afternoon, the curate behaved as if I had never told him I was gay, he just ignored it as if I had never said a word to him. He carried on talking to me about me finding a girlfriend and his preaching, at church, got increasingly homophobic. I got the message though, he didn’t want to hear any more about me being gay. The impression was made, did anyone at church want to know I’m gay? No they didn’t. I had to stay firmly closeted because being gay was something to be ashamed of. Not what I needed to hear at that moment. Drew Find the next story in this series here
  4. Autumn 1985 At nineteen, my main mission in life was to “fit in” with the world around me. If I kept my head down and didn’t draw attention to myself then people would not guess my secret and not hate me for it, as I feared. It was a simple but very flawed plan, though at the time it was all I could see to do. At that time, most of my world revolved around being a member of my church and being a good Christian because that was what was expected of me with my membership there. It was an Evangelical Anglican church, and being Evangelical they preached that the church had to be all of your life, and I happily agreed with that because I so wanted to fit in somewhere. Up until then I had been an outsider in my life; I didn’t like the things other kids were passionate about, I didn’t follow all the different trends that consumed the other kids around me, I was plainly unpopular, but fitting in was the most important thing where I grew up and I failed at it. Church gave me the chance of a place where I could belong, of a place where I could be wanted, and I grabbed at it with both hands. At nineteen, church offered me a full social life and happily I jumped into it, I was wanted. There was the church service on a Sunday morning and the Young People’s Fellowship on a Sunday evening, plus the Bible study group, prayer meetings, worship practice, drama group rehearsals, and other meetings all throughout the week, but the most important of all was the Sunday morning Communion (Eucharist) Service, and everyone was expected to attend that. After this service the congregation would always move into the church hall to have a cup of tea and split off into our different cliques. This social element seemed almost as important as the service itself, or at least we had the chance to discuss the service and then discuss other people’s lives and actions. I so enjoyed this part of the morning, I belonged somewhere and there were people I could talk with. It was an extra forty-five minutes to an hour before I had to return home. The clique I belonged to was the Young People’s Fellowship, the church’s spiritual youth group. For me it was a safe clique to hide away in. We all sat together in church, went to the same church activities together, and when the Young People’s Fellowship met, we’d all agree on the same things, the things we were told we needed to believe and agree on. That Sunday morning, the church service had been noticeably different. Our regular organist, Nicholas, wasn’t there. Instead, an elderly man, with a bald and domed head, had slowly and awkwardly played the church’s organ, all the hymns at the same painfully slow pace. Now, after the service, it was all anyone could talk about. Where was Nicholas and how terrible the hymns were, some people were even calling the organ playing a disgrace, talking about how we hadn’t fully worshipped God’s glory. Suddenly I felt like an outsider again; I didn’t know what was happening, no one had thought to include me, again I had to find out for myself. I did what I had always learnt to do, I stayed quiet and listened to the conversations around me. If I listened carefully I would always learn something. Each Sunday morning, during the Communion Service, Nicholas had sat at the church’s organ, playing the hymns with gusto and energy, while his friend, Robin, sat in the pew next to him. Those two men had fascinated me. Nicholas was ten or more years older than Robin and yet they were still friends, almost constant companions at church. People from different ages didn’t mix at church, it was very much divided along age lines. People from the Young People’s Fellowship didn’t mix with the members of the Mothers Union, who didn’t mix with Full Gospel Businessmen’s Luncheon group; everyone was in awe of the church’s council members, and we all looked up to the clergy. But here were Nicholas and Robin, open with their friendship. Nicholas had always been conservatively dressed at church, he wore neat and dark suits, his grey hair cut into a short and neat style. Robin was far more stylish, obviously aware of his clothes and appearance. His hair was always neatly styled, brushed in a careful way and always parted at the side. He wore a suit too, but his suits were always sharply coloured, rich browns, bright blues and greens, neat charcoal, they were always worn over a matching waistcoat and a coordinated tie tied in a large and prominent knot under his collar. He wore several rings on his fingers back when men didn’t wear rings, even married men didn’t wear a wedding ring. The most prominent one was a gold signet ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand and he would absentmindedly turn it around on his finger when he seemed preoccupied. I was fascinated by these two men, but my fascination was always from afar. I would watch them from my pew in church. I could never speak to them because they were in such a different social circle to me. If I had spoken to them, what would I have said to them? I could never have asked them that question that nagged away at the back of my mind, were they like me? But how could I ask it when I could not even ask it of myself? I wasn’t like that, it was just a mistake, just a phase my life was stuck in, something I could deny and push down as far as I could. The Young People’s Fellowship was run by two married couples, the clean-cut Richard and Elizabeth, and their growing number of children, and the round and comical Iain and Sadie, who always had the latest electronic gadget. That morning, Iain almost bounded up to our group as we stood together in the church hall, exclaiming, “Have you lot heard? Nicholas the organist has had to leave the church because he went and married his husband!” “What?” Elizabeth replied. “Robin, that friend of his, was his homosexual lover and they went through a mock marriage,” Iain gleefully added. “That’s disgusting!” Elizabeth said, her whole face twisting up with distaste. Suddenly the whole group was alive with the subject, talking hurriedly and excitedly about it; this was true gossip that everyone could condemn and they were all condemning it. Homosexuality was disgusting, immoral, a perversion, sin made flesh. No Christian could be a homosexual, they said and they were certain that God condemned it, simply look at AIDS and all the other failings they attributed to being homosexual. And they knew they were right because they were certain they were. Elizabeth and Richard were strong in their condemnation, certain they were right in the way they were always certain their beliefs were always right. I withdrew to the edge of the group, my hands pushed into the pockets of my duffle coat, and just listened to the words bouncing around me. I knew I failed so often as a Christian, I could not live up to the high moral standards required of me. I struggled to believe all the things required of me because of the inner doubts that plagued my mind, telling me I wasn’t good enough and that I failed at every attempt. The biggest doubt that rang in my mind was that I was already going to hell just for being who I was. I am gay, but at nineteen I couldn’t begin to admit it to myself, it was my dark secret that I dreaded anyone else finding out. The only expression of my sexuality I dared to make were quick and very furtive glances at handsome men when I though no one else was watching me. In the next moment I would be flooded with guilt. I was disgusting and going straight to hell, the guilt told me. Hearing what those around me were saying, the force of their condemnation of Nicholas and Robin, again I knew I was right to be afraid. These people around me, they were the people who called me their friend, who told me they were my Christian family, and they were now pouring out the most terrible prejudice and hatred towards homosexuals. Would they turn that onto me if they knew the truth? I couldn’t take the risk so I pulled myself further within myself. Friendships were a risk; I couldn’t let people into my life, but how could I avoid hell? I was lost. That moment was chilling, I saw all my friends and my faith in a new light, this church wasn’t the safe place I’d always hoped it would be. But in the next breath, I wanted these people to like me and I wanted to be part of this group. If they found out I was gay would they treat me the same way? Would they pour out their prejudice on me and force me to leave this church? I couldn’t take that risk. I had to increase my efforts; I had to ensure I fitted in, even though I couldn’t take the biggest step, I couldn’t change my stripes. Eighteen months later, I was outed at church and they did behave exactly as they had done towards Nicholas and Robin. I was left with no choice but to leave. I should have known it would happen, I had watched it play out with their treatment of Nicholas and Robin, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. (All the names here have been changed. I am no longer in contact with anyone mentioned here so I do not know what their beliefs and views are now. People do change) (The photograph illustrating this essay is not a picture of the church where this took place) Drew Find the next story in this series here
  5. The question, of why one should come out in the first place, is probably as old as the coming out as such itself. Similarly, the question of why LGBT* people still need their pride parades and other events. Sure, one could argue, that there are still here and their attacks on queer people in the US or people are killed because of their sexual orientation in other countries of the world. But my answer focuses more on the individual that makes the very decision: Sure, one could argue that coming out is not a necessity since straight people don't have to come out either, but that's comparing apples to oranges. There's an organization called "SpeakOUT", where volunteer speakers hold speeches about LGBT* topics at schools. They have an exercise where each student thinks about three traits that constitute them. Then, they start discussions in groups while avoiding mentioning these three traits. This exercise should emphasize how hard it is, to hide an important part of oneself. And this was one of the reasons for me to come out: I accepted my orientation once I was certain about being gay and even though, I hadn't encountered homophobia personally, I experienced heteronormativity in my everyday life. For instance, if I was asked if I had a girlfriend yet, there were a few possible ways to react: Denying it since having a female partner was simply ineligible Denying but translating "girlfriend" to "boyfriend" in my head since I was single anyway Coming out by correcting "girlfriend" to "boyfriend" verbally The problem with this is, that I were forced to react to this in one way or the other. If I didn't come out, I would hide a part of myself; if I did, someone else determined when I had to come out. That's why I decided to flight forward: I came out on my eighteenth birthday. — From: Ex gay husband, chapter 2 As privileged people, we often overlook it, but with small comments, we hurt marginalized fellow human beings in our everyday life. Social psychologists call that “microaggression”. There once was an interesting discussion on Twitter where somebody complained, that gays always have to rub their sexuality under everybody’s nose because his co-worker placed a picture of his boyfriend on his own desk. Straight people do that, too—with one difference, and that difference is attributable to society. Because of heteronormativity, we don’t question these pictures of straight co-workers. In the case of gay co-workers, two statements could be made in the heads of the beholders: "Oh! xyz is gay!" "Probably, he has sex with that other gay in the picture—possibly anal sex!" Meaning, the problem is not the picture but the triggers that are deeply rooted in our heads. These triggers can be reduced by more diversity.
  6. This was a really interesting year. Last year, just right before Christmas, I told my sister that she might not have a sister-in-law but a brother-in law... After Christmas I told my Mum as well. Since then the number of people I came out to expanded to nice round 10. These people form sort of my "inner circle", some gyrate closer to me, some further, but they are nevertheless my close friends. How was a year out? I tried to come with one adjective - the most appropriate would be "eye-opening". I slightly touched the local gay "pop-culture", the "meat market", I even spent a night in a hotel owned by gays and I saw their darkroom . I found out that there are many gays in the city, and I got to realize that they are all the same as "straight" people. Maybe more vain. But I can't be so negative. Everyone knows that I met here the love of my life, my SUPERLATIVE boyfriend about whom I tend to brag endlessly, so I have to control myself. Moreover, he's coming over tomorrow and he will be mine for almost two weeks! That's almost an eternity in a long-distance relationship. Apart of my personal life, I also found my first real job, considered quitting my Ph.D. and then reconsidered, met new people and expanded my horizons towards economy and accounting and I already have plans for future development... shortly it was not only one year out, but also one year in the middle of work, school, travel and LOVE I wish all of you who read this blog MERRY CHRISTMAS and a happy, successful, loving and placid new year 2011. Hopefully the new decade will bring us more happiness than the last one.
  7. ... even if the road is often long and painful. I may have shed a tear or ten while reading this article https://www.outsports.com/2017/6/20/15835374/ryan-ocallaghan-gay-nfl-new-england-patriots-kansas-city-chiefs
  8. Many of you will probably know that outside of my writing here and the small pile of pseudo-educational jobs I do, I'm also a political activist and one-time candidate. This is not a blog post to go on and on about my politics, but simply to set the context for everything else. Five years ago I helped pass an anti-homophobia and anti-transphobia school board policy, and since then I've had the distinct pleasure of watching people become less worried about anti-LGBTQ discrimination in my hometown's schools. Since then, other school board and countries have moved towards greater legal acceptance of LGBTQ rights and freedoms, but many youth still feel like they can't come out for fear of or familial rejection. I'm working with some of my activist friends in the real world to help create an anthology, based on the Chicken Soup books, that would showcase the lived experiences of ordinary LGBTQ people coming out in all aspects of their lives and showing that things do get better. I'm looking to eventually have 101 stories, just like the series I'm using as my template, and different sections where the stories could be found, such as coming out to parents, to siblings, at work, to friends and a few other sections that could possibly make sense. I'm the first to admit that my circle of friends is not terribly diverse, and that we also come from very similar backgrounds as activists (which I fully admit are not the same as normal humans. Our lives are much less joyful.) which may not resonate with everyone else. I'd be honoured to have people submit their stories, or if this is something the community wants to do together and publish, we can find a way to make that happen. I want this to happen, so it will happen; I'd like it to happen with the people I've met here, all the writers and the people who know how to spin a good yarn and help potentially use our writing gifts to help out kids. Thanks for reading, and hopefully thanks for your support.
  9. Trials and Tribulations Chapter 3 is now posted. A story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. Trials and Tribulations
  10. I just published the first chapter of my first story ever. It's a coming out, coming of age story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. I would love for you to give it a read and let me know if you liked the chapter and would like for me to continue the story. I know I will make mistakes,but hopefully I will learn from them and not repeat the same ones If you liked it, please remember to click on the "like it" on the bottom right of the chapter. Consider it like buying me a drink for a job well done or a pat on the back. I will also offer a poll for your use if you if you're into polls Below is a link to the story. Trials and Tribulations
  11. Life's curves I don't know, I get so confused sometimes. I listen to people talk, read stories (fiction, i know) and like all stories there's usually a grain of truth in them. They do came from someone's experiences. Like it's been said, there's nothing new under the sun. Years ago I admitted to a friend that being gay scared me not because of what other people thought, since I had been through so much already by the age of 27 to worry with opinions not my own. It scared me because I never saw any older gay couples and I didn't want to die alone. I think the fear of dying alone made me reach out through the internet to feel close to more people since I was limited at home. Through all the chemo, radiation, and other crap I had to deal with, I was always scared of dying alone. I mean I knew my parents would always be there for me, but I mean that someone, that special someone. Yet the more I learn about life, the more I feel alone. I don't even know why I'm writing this. I'm not in remission yet, but I should be soon. So, I guess I'm getting better. There's still the bone marrow transplant donor to find and do. But, things are looking better again. Yet, I also see now that I missed out on so much as a teenager. I think I would trade my life today to have had a normal life as a teenager. Making all the mistakes and finding the new experiences. I guess I'm making a fool of myself. Tonight I set up most of the night reading a long story on nifty and envied the characters, even the sad ones. At least they got to experience life. I guess after so many years of battling my battles, I'm starting to become a little bitter over it. I do treasure my online friends, even some of the old guys that pretended to be teens before they either literally died from old age or disappeared. Life isn't always fair, in fact, it rarely is. But, I have to have the hope and belief that if you pour yourself into life, in the long run, it's all worth it. I am however real enough to know that's not always true. And it saddens me to see people have to deal with the worst life can throw at you. I wish the world wasn't like that. And like I said earlier, I dunno why I'm writing this, but here it is, raw, unedited me. Please, if you feel you can't take anymore, it will get better. There's nothing life can throw at us that we can't over come or find a way around it, it will get better. Nothing last forever, including the bad times, it will get better. Reach out to someone, talk to someone, share your feelings, it will get better. Never ever give up, it will get better. There are organizations that are there to help us through the bad times, it will get better. The Trevor Project is just one of those, reach out to them, support their work, it will get better. The Trevor Project
  12. So, in some news, an article was posted on The Huffington Post. We often hear the tragic stories of LGBT individuals, as we should. These suicides are indeed tragic and simply shouldn't be happening. "A world so hateful some would rather die than be who they are." However. I'm posting for a happier reason today. A story about a guy who had his dad unexpectedly find out he was gay. And then... something so kind.. so admirable happens. Warning... This story might just put a tear in your eyes! You can check out the story here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/levi-a-miles/my-fathers-unexpected-response-to-my-coming-out_b_3072636.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false
  13. Comicality has been posting a series of Gay short films recently and I for one have thoroughly enjoyed them. In my meandering around You-tube I came across this one I thought I'd share. I hope you enjoy it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60yDIrGvQog Let me know what you think! True/Lenny
  14. You know, we write stories about this kind of stuff all the time, but we never seem to share our thoughts and reactions within the lounge. I know the teens have their posts and threads on their challenges coming out, but as adults we also have stories as well on how we deal with coming out. I came out to all my co-workers in the last 2 days, prompted by Orlando and a deep desire to seek solidarity, it is like a high with no limit or restriction to finally be out to the people you know every day. Most people were supportive, others just shrugged and said "whatever". One fun thing I did learn is one of my colleagues and superiors was bi, which is awesome (She has a boyfriend, so I never knew that side of her). At the moment, it's huge high to have the truth out in the open. I am not sure if this is true for other people as well when you came out as adults to friends and co-workers. Of course, I know there are probably some tragic stories out there about friendships broken, jobs lost, and other problems over what comes out, when you come out.
  15. Just gonna leave tissues on the side table for people who need it. This is why coming out is so important and that we live our authentic truths. https://www.outsports.com/2017/6/21/15851730/gay-pride-fathers-day-son-micah-porter
  16. Dear all GA members, Now that Prince George has been born we now know that we will have another king after William, Prince George is very young at the moment but when he reaches his teens how do you think the royal family would react if he turned out to be gay. I know that it is much easier for gay people to come out of the closet in this generation and more in the future, but what if a member of the royal family came out and said he was gay. please send feedback and comment, yours, scotty 94
  17. This is a really very moving coming out video... Not that Troye Sivan didn't ping on my gaydar from the moment I first watched one of his videos, but all the same. Well done, Troye!
  18. Juno is one of my favourite movies, and the main reason for that is that the lead actress charmed me so completely from the first second. I've been a fan of Ellen Page ever since, so I was a little extra overjoyed when I fount out, no more than 15 minutes ago, that she's come out and joined the ranks of proud out queer artists. Also, her coming out speech made me weep buckets. It's a little long, but it's totally worth the watch. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XJkZf7KhjA
  19. Cute story. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6TEwb82LeM&list=TLt-vMNqTOtrI82bGqJawncuHtZEgERpeS
  20. Sam Smith is the most recent of celebrity who has come out as gay. I'm betting that by the end of 2015 at least four more celebrity will come out as being gay. I'm amazed that recent development and a better understanding of the LGBT community has caused an uproar and encouraged more famous face to internationally come out. I just hope that in the future more people will feel confident enough to come out, and be happy with themselves and there sexuality.
  21. 6 Things I Need My (Gay) Son to Understand By Patrick Roth (Huffington Post) 1. You Are Bound by Nothing. Your future is limited only by your desire to succeed and work hard. Want to be a star athlete? Work your ass off. Want to join the military? Aim high. Want to be president? Go for it. Being gay in America no longer prevents you from doing anything you want to do. You just have to want it bad enough and work for it tirelessly. Don't be afraid of failure; it often teaches us far more than success ever could. Live authentically. 2. Being Gay Is a Big Part of You, But It Isn't All of You. Yes, you're gloriously, fabulously gay! Your sexuality influences just about every aspect of your identity, but you are not a gay young man. You are a young man who is gay. You are not my gay son. You are my son who happens to be gay. If you get married, it won't be a gay marriage, just a marriage. Oh, and for the record, I want grandkids. Don't think being gay lets you off the hook on that one. It may define you, but it isn't the sole definition. One day I hope it will be as irrelevant as your eye color. In the meantime, know that while there may be those who give you grief because of it, far more will not give it a second thought. 3. Know Your History. You are fortunate to live in a loving, accepting environment where the fact that you're gay is irrelevant at home and largely unremarkable at school. It hasn't always been this way, and it still isn't easy for everyone. There was a time not long ago when being openly gay was not just detrimental to success, it was potentially deadly. Countless numbers of men and women have fought for the relative safety and comfort you enjoy today. The modern gay rights movement, from Stonewall to Windsor, cost a lot of people real blood, sweat and tears, and it isn't over. For many people around the world, being gay is still a deadly proposition. You need to honor those who came before you by fighting for those who will come after you. 4. HIV Is Still Deadly. HIV/AIDS may seem like some obscure bit of history that only older gay men have to deal with. It isn't. Young people account for nearly a quarter of all new HIV infections. Don't be complacent. Treatment has gotten much better, but people still die from AIDS. Don't think it can't happen to you; it can. Don't be afraid of sex, but know how to keep yourself safe and always assume anyone you're with could be carrying something. He may not even know it. You are responsible for keeping yourself healthy. Play safe and get tested regularly. 5. Understand the Difference Between Lust, Love and Friendship. Men, by and large, will eagerly participate in sex. Know that just because a guy is willing to get naked with you, it doesn't mean he is interested in anything else. Frankly, it doesn't even mean he's gay. Also, don't assume a guy wants to get naked just because he's friendly. There will be men who think you're cool or funny or whatever, but it doesn't mean they want to get physical. They may just want to be your friend. Work to understand the difference. One day, you'll find someone who is all those things and he'll feel the same about you. Don't settle. 6. I Love You. Last, and most importantly, I love you. My love for you is unquestionable, unconditional, and unending. Never forget that.
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