It's been quite some time since I last wrote to you guys, and I'm hurt. Very hurt.

Something's happening...I need to take control. I'm going to tell you all about my past. There was a time in my life, when I hated myself.
Literally. I despised me myself and I.
Depression set in so deep, and as usual I swindled everyone around me. Bulimia. No one knew. No one ever fathomed that I had this illness.
I couldn't control anything anymore. Not my grades, my sexuality, my fighting parents, nothing.

Then I said, "I can control my weight."
I recorded every morsel I ate. I excercised excessively at only eleven years old, I was worried about my life, until it drove me down a spiral of fear and rejection. I threw up things I ate. I would leave the dinner table, and lie to say I had a stomach ache, or that the food was too rich...
That was never the case. Never. It was always purging and puking.

Only now, years later am I coming to complete terms with it. I was only eleven. ELEVEN.
In seventh grade, it continued, but not as much. The sickness had a mind of its own. I fabricate nothing.
In eighth grade, I knew it wasn't healthy and that I had to stop. But I still hated myself. I was a walking, talking tub of lard...forcing myself to get thinner.

Couple that with sudden deaths in my family, I was in for it. I couldn't hold anything down.
I'd go to the bathroom for hours at a time, not even spitting up food but crying. Just crying all by lonesome.
I was sick of being called fag. I was sick of trying to make myself straight by having oral sex with a girl I knew...

It was the end of my eighth grade year. I starved myself even more. On prom night, I finally ate something, then spit it up moments later....I was lost in darkness. In ninth grade, I avoided eating at all costs. I would steal food and hide it or buy just to hide it, and make it look like I had eaten it.

Anorexia set in. I forced myself to hate myself, to make myself skinny. My pants sizes began to drop, I told my folks I wasn't hungry during breakfast, i picked at my dinner, and I went to the restroom during lunch....

I needed help. I know my parents wouldn't have understood. I sought help. I consulted an online counselor, who helped me through it. One time I almost had a panic attack in school.
Even now at sixteen in the Eleventh grade, it's day by day, but my mind won't let me forget it. I don't even remember the name of the counselor.

My eating disorder days are bad realities,not bad dreams. How could I have been so rash? So quick to dig a grave for my body?

In a labyrinth
Walking tightropes
Between two different worlds
Of humanity and savagery
It destroys me
And Defects my happy delusions
I've come to come conclusion
That collision is soon to come
Give me your strongest scream
Not your feeble dreams
Feed me your darkest truths
Not your unbidden lies
Shadows that ooze and drip
Upon the walls
Shroud my solid epiphany

As I sit here in the bleak, darkness of my room I can hear them. They are the Invaders. They speak in loud tones, of other things, yet I know inside they are cursing my existence, because I'm gay. I feel so alone. I've met others like me, with habitual similarities and compulsive differences. I feel eventually torn from them, when I say my father is a pastor.

Yes he is a member of the clergy. The clergy who claim they hear God's Laws and possess the right to condemn homosexuals, transsexuals, all who defend them, and the like. He is apart of the Order, that says "religiously educate our children" but then say, that their God does not favor religion. He is a supporter of a House that says "God hates fags...you people are sick and unnatural and hell-bent..." but then turn around to say, "Jesus loved and affirmed everyone he met..."

Can be begin at least to leave the dogma? Can we begin to leave the conclusions to our deities and think critically? Can God hear us? Is He really omnipotent, and omnipresent? Does life exist? Does God exist? These are questions I've pondered for so long. It maddens me!

Yet when I ask, my father replies "have faith." How can I have faith, when faith is what I'm questioning? How can I have faith, when I'm pondering the existence of this God?

These are questions that can never be answered. God is one of the great mysteries of our world, and I can continue no longer to take what the church gives me, and accept it without thinking first.

"Those who make you believe absurdities, will make you do atrocities..." VOLTAIRE

Perhaps I'm crazy. Perhaps there is some devout LGBT Protestant reading this, who objects to my questions. Perhaps there isn't. Hate is a form of energy. It swirls all around us, and can become as strong or stronger than love.

It is far better to think, than to believe firsthand, and this is what I've been doing since I turned eleven, when I turned away from the homophobic dogma. This is what I have to say.

Luv,
Jay