Queen of the Closet

 

        As a child, it was undeniable that I was different. I would always do this thing where I would flail my dainty hands around in the air as I ran around playing tag with my friends. Growing up, that distinction became even more evident. I surrounded myself exclusively with girls (with the exception of a few friends from church) because I was intimidated by being friends with other boys because they liked things I didn’t like. What was I ever going to talk about with them? Monster trucks?? Yeah… No thanks. So instead of going outside of my comfort zone, I brought my comfort zone to myself. 

My divergence from the norm really began when I was going into freshman year of highschool. This is when I began to truly dig into my individuality and I had finally come to the big realization of “Oh, I like boys.” And it was the scariest realization that I had ever had in my entire life. So now I had to deal with hiding this and highschool? It was a lot to handle to say the very least.

My deviation was nothing instant. I didn’t wake up one morning in something that you’d see me wear today. Unfortunately, what you’re about to see is a horrific representation of my wardrobe up until mid-freshman year. 

        If you know me today then you know that I would NEVER be caught dead in a pair of Old Navy straight fit loose jeans. This was normal for me up until highschool. I barely even noticed the war crimes I had committed against fashion, (I’m allowed to be dramatic, look at those outfits again) little did I know that soon my wardrobe would be experiencing some changes.

It was halfway through freshman year when I came to a conclusion that I was uncomfortable in the clothes I was wearing. I wanted to wear more feminine outfits but saying that out loud wasn’t really an option at the time. So I went for the next best thing. I went home and I asked my mom if we could go shopping… and shopping we went! I began to explore styles I wasn’t familiar with. I leaned towards tight fit jeans, three-quarter sleeve shirts that cling to the skin, and of course… cardigans. 

I only got enough clothes to put together a couple of outfits but it was more than enough. I was able to start going out and feeling more like myself. What I didn’t know is that this was only the beginning. Finishing freshman year with great grades was not the priority at the time. As a matter of fact, I failed most of my classes miserably (especially Algebra and Science.) 

That summer was my second year at our church’s Southern Baptist retreat for youth groups. I remember standing next to my best friend in the pews while the band was playing a song that I can’t remember the name of for the dear life of me. The lyrics repetitively recited two phrases that echoed so loudly in my head that it made me burst into tears and fall to my seat. Kali was always the first at my side when I was going through something like this. I knew that she had my back when I was vulnerable so I had no problem losing my shit in front of everyone. 

        “Break these chains…” 

        “Shatter these walls…” 

        The lyrics were almost deafening as they rattled in my brain. After my complete emotional breakdown, I took the three people I trusted most out to the front of the church (all three obviously women.) It took a moment but I finally blurted it out. 

        “I’m attracted to men.” I said. Kali showed me so much love. Valerie showed me so much compassion. The third was a person that I looked up to more than anything. I loved her and respected her to no end. I can remember her telling me that she had these feelings too when she was my age. She thought she liked girls too but it was only a phase. It gave me some hope. I thought that these feelings would go away and I wouldn’t have anything to hide anymore. WRONG.

        We went back to church after camp and I publicly stated at the pulpit that I was attracted to men but that I would be living a celabit life dedicated to God. I think back now about how much I looked up to some of the people in that church. I remember people telling me that they were proud of me. How could an adult tell that to a confused adolescent? The part that breaks my heart is about the third person that I brought with me at camp when I came out. I look back and I still have so much love in my heart for her but I could never bring myself to reach out through all of the pain and speak to her again. Hearing her voice alone would probably break my heart in half.

        Adjusting back into life when sophomore year began was exciting. I had thrown myself into doing so much with the church that I had easily ignored the temptation of other guys up until I got back to school. Now that I was back, I had to slip back into the closet. All of those feelings I rebuked in the church came rushing back and this time I had someone to talk to about it.

        Over the summer I grew very close to one of my childhood friends whom I regarded as family. Her name is Glissenda and we were inseparable and spent just about every waking moment together talking about reading, writing, or just doing crazy things that teenagers do. I feel like she always knew that I was gay. I think it was obvious when you weren’t looking through the lens of religion. I remember I slept over one night and she and I were laying on the floor while her two brothers were asleep in their beds next to us. I told her that I’m gay and we talked all night long. She told me things that she had never told anyone before and I did the same. 

        Like all things do, eventually this came to light. My parents found out and this time so did her family. I was being forced to come out of the closet for a second time and to be honest, it wasn’t as big of a deal as the first time I came out to my mom on the living room couch. So I did exactly what was probably expected and I turned to God and I put on the act of being “cured” once again. 

        It was junior year and I was determined to convince everyone that I loved that these vile feelings had left me. So what did I do? I got a girlfriend. I hoped and prayed that if I spent enough time with her I would magically become straight (SPOILER: It didn’t work.) We were together for about three months give or take. More than anything, we were close friends. I cared about her and I knew that's what mattered most. Eventually, we both came to the conclusion that we were much better as friends. It was also probably obvious that I was gay now that I had come out twice.

        It was February 6th of 2016 (the year I graduated from highschool) that my older sister took me down to Orlando to visit Disney World. I took some really cute selfies and downloaded a horrible gay dating app. I chatted with a young guy a couple of years older than I was and gave him my number. We talked all the time and eventually we made it official and I was showing my closest friends my new boyfriend. This was my breaking point. I finally asked myself a question that I never thought about before because I had never really talked to anyone like this.

        “Why can’t I love who I want to love?” I wondered. Why did the church forsake the way I was born? It wasn’t long until I told my mom that I was dating someone. I made sure to wait until after I had a job and graduated highschool to say anything about him. I had even moved in with my sister next door paying a really cheap rent for a mini studio. 

        After about a year of talking to this guy in Florida, things broke off in a bad way. I was heartbroken and I didn’t know who else to turn to. I ran from my house all the way to the person I looked up to most (Yup. That third person from church camp.) I sat down in her living room and I spilled the beans about everything. I needed comfort and reassurance. This was entirely unexpected to her though. She (as my mentor) had no idea what had been going on the past year. I had kept it under wraps so well. 

First she consoled me and assured me that it would all be okay. She seemed to be more comfortable with the fact that I was gay now and even made a joke about calling her if I ever saw a cute guy so she could help me resist the temptation. I went home that night feeling so much better. My broken heart had a band-aid over it and I felt like there was a light at the end of this dark tunnel.

For years I had always been active in the church. Ridiculously active. I organized youth group gatherings at least twice a week, checked in on all of my friends regularly, I was part of the worship team singing at the front of the church as well as running the soundboard in the back. I had been one of the “Children’s Church” leaders for quite a few years and always enjoyed volunteering to help with the annual Vacation Bible School. During the last four years, I had built a safe and stable home within the church and I knew that nothing would ever happen to harm that. That’s what I thought anyways.

The Sunday after the breakup, I went to church and my mentor took me into a separate room. I was asked if I was going to continue to live a homosexual lifestyle. I wasn’t sure how to answer this. I had just been in a relationship with a man for over a year and I wasn’t prepared to go back to being in the closet. Not again. Not a fourth time. 

Then the unthinkable happened. I was removed from the worship team and soundboard duties. I’d no longer be able to help with Children’s Church and just about all of the things I had invested myself in were ripped away from me in an instant. Until I was ready to turn completely to God and away from my sin, I wouldn’t be a fit role model for the younger people in the church.

I was infuriated. My heart was shattered into a billion pieces. This was everything to me and it was suddenly gone. I ran out of the side door of the church and ran home in tears. As I mentioned before, I never spoke a word to my mentor again and I doubt I would be able to without all of these horrific feelings exploding within me. 

What was ironic is that not even for a single moment was I ever upset with God. In fact, this entire situation brought me closer to Him. Now, I don’t want to say that the God I know today is the God I learned about in the church. I know that He isn’t. The actions portrayed by those who followed that God were acts of fear and deep-seated hatred of homosexuality. Hate the sin and not the sinner, right? That’s a crock of shit, honestly. 

There is no room for hatred when God is in your heart. It’s simply not possible. There is room for unconditional love and that is what I have been basking in since I left that church. I don’t go to church anymore nor do I have any interest in going to church again. Thinking back, I only remember everyone showing up each week for a few hours to put on a mask that said “I’m fantastic!” when in reality, everybody was just putting on their Sunday act. That’s not to say that all churches are this way. In fact, there are a number of churches that I’ve learned about from friends that were life-changing for them. This just isn’t a change I need in my life. 

Do I regret spending so much time in the church? No. Not at all. I’d do it all over again if I could because it made me exactly who and what I am today and it gave me the courage to be able to type what you’re reading right now. Some of my closest friendships resulted from the time in the church. Even today, I know I can bring anything up to Kali and she’d have my back in a second and I’d do the same for her. 

I love myself. I love that I have a personal relationship with God that I don’t need to explain to anyone else. But more than anything, I love that I got to spend so much damn time in the closet because I came out with some killer fashion sense but I’d never even think about going back in there again. But I will forever and always be the…

Queen of the Closet.