Michelle Bachmann decided she wants to be President of the United States of America. Supporting her in this run at the White House is her loving husband Marcus. Marcus, a PhD in clinical psychology, operates a clinic where allegedly homosexuals can become heterosexuals, a fact Marcus has denied. Some wonder what Marcus Bachmann’s investment in the myth that people can change their sexuality is. As for myself, I really tried to deny that I’m attracted to men. It didn’t work out for me. This is my story.
I recently told how I crossed paths with Neo-Pentecostal Charismatic Church as a shunned outcast in the 1990’s high school environment of a North Dallas suburb. I told that story so I could shed some light on how painful it can be to grow up gay and to be on the outside looking in. So full of fear while growing up, I chose to skip things like school dances, talent shows, pep rallies and even the prom because I thought it preferable to spend my time alone than to risk further taunts like “Faggot” or “Fucking Faggot” or “Cock Socker.” I instead spent a lot of time watching television alone in my bedroom.
So when I arrived at the youth group meeting that fateful night, I found an entire room full of smiling faces who glad to see me and welcomed me into their little midst. I found it strongly appealing. Desperate to hold onto this happiness, I wanted to fit in. I decided to do whatever it took to stay welcome in this place.
“Being gay isn’t God’s plan for you”, they said. What I heard was that I could get out from under the oppressive weight of all the bullying, name calling and violence that had forced upon me because of my orientation. Who wouldn’t want all of that pain to stop? For a long time people had told me that this was a flaw about me. Something I shouldn’t be. Now this same message arrived with a solution. “Don’t be.”
My mother was uncharacteristically reserved on the topic, most likely some sort of DADT policy she and dad had agreed upon. My father expressed his unhappiness about it but it didn’t come up often at home. Like a giant queer elephant in the room. What are you staring at?
My older brother had told me once, “one day people will all just be people and we won’t even remark on this topic” which was about as good as he could manage through his severe introversion. I found that statement very Zen. Detached but unhelpful. Like most of his presence in my life. My older sister ran away from home when I was nine. Still not available for comment, this position works well for her to this day.
I made the decision any exhausted and unloved teenager would make. I decided to step towards the hugs and acceptance they offered even if this carrot came with a pretty lousy stick. I swallowed this story and began to believe it with all my heart. At the same time I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I renounced witchcraft, turned in my tarot cards and candles. I made a commitment.
It was wishful thinking of me to hope that news of my sudden conversion experience would somehow grant me reprieve from the name-calling and threats I endured every day at high school. In actuality things got worse. I had previously maintained an extremely low profile. So low in fact my attendance had been called into question more than once. Suddenly now there was news on me. The gossip spread like wild fire across the dry mesquite wood brush that lines our highways. “The fag is trying to pretend he’s straight.”
Heartbroken and not wanting the buzz I was on ruined, I spent a great deal of time with the youth group leaders. I was eighteen and they were twenty-something students from a local bible college. I did the only thing I could think of to do. I dropped out of high school and pretended it was so that I could go to this school.
The cutoff for admissions was coming soon, so I hurried over to the education center and got a G.E.D. with all the pregnant girls that had the misfortune to be preggers before the condition could land one a gig on MTV. I did not worry about my grades. They were shit. Untreated ADHD coupled with constant personal threats at school weren’t lending themselves to any academic success so I saw little to lose.
Applying to this Bible College involved completing an admissions folder. Here’s an excerpt from one of the admissions forms:
I included a page and half explanation on how it was that I had become “saved from the sin of homosexuality” and that I hoped it would not bar me from entrance into their school. It did not. I was accepted under the condition that I attend a special ministry called Living Waters which is a part of Exodus International. They only met in Fort Worth so I was required to make that boring hour long drive every Tuesday night.
Living Waters meetings, for me, consisted solely of singing a ton of Dennis Jernagan music. Dennis is a sweet guy and I don’t wish him any ill will. He’s got a HUGE family and I can see he has a lot to be grateful for. His manipulative music and my emotional state were a match made in heaven.
I think that what happened for each person at Living Waters was determined by reports given to them from your “spiritual leaders”, like your pastor. I never experienced anything at those meetings but yet another Bible study and even more praise and worship. My days were filled with those already so it wasn’t that big of deal.
I was considered ‘low risk’ because since my conversion there hadn’t been any incidents. This means that I hadn’t acted on any homosexual impulses. Having grown up ADHD it was normal to me to hear that I was the problem and that if I could just not do what was going through my mind I’d be OK and accepted. I was able to act straight on the novelty of the idea alone for some time.
People found me somewhat of an oddity around campus but I didn’t carry a stigma. It was like breathing fresh air. To tell the truth, the life of a repressed homosexual at bible college was easier than being a semi-closeted one in high school. I made friends easily. Everyone walked about in an extremely pleasant and cheerful mood most of the time. If you’ve seen Big Love and you remember the goody-two-shoes character Heather, you would understand. It was an appealing and attractive life. Everyone smiled and told corny jokes, something I still enjoy today.
Campus moral code required that we “sideways hug” when boys would hug the girls. I still do this today as it’s a very useful means of showing affection without having to rub your junk on people or have their bits all over you. It involves putting your arm around someone from the side and squeezing them over to you while saying “sideways hug.” We all sort of laughed about it when we did it. For me it was pretense to think I might sinfully hug a member of the opposite sex. Let’s be honest; I wasn’t lusting over dudes but that did nothing to start me desiring the ladies. Nobody ever asked me about getting attracted to women. It just never came up.
The men’s dorm was a converted Howard Johnson hotel that had seven floors and rooms on either on either side of the single hallway. There were teeny tiny bathrooms in every room. We bunked two and three to a room. My room had three of us. That’s one bunk-bed and one single bed. I had two roommates, best friends from Oklahoma who shared the bunk bed. They were also extremely fucking hot. I’ll have it known I never saw them naked and not for lack of opportunity. Like I said, I was really trying to be straight. But they were extremely attractive and it’s not that fact that we were all pent up that made them so hot. It was all the tan muscles and shirtlessness they had going on. Not that I noticed. (I did notice. I was in denial, not dead)
We weren’t supposed to masturbate. At the start of each semester all the single men would be called into main meeting hall, which was basically a giant concert venue with a large stage and plenty of seating, and the Dean of Men would address us. I’m sure he said a lot of things about being like Christ, being the Light of the World and such like that. He also covered the “shalt nots.” Masturbation was on the list of no no’s as was “social dancing”, alcohol use, illegal drugs, and attending strip clubs. Pressure would begin to mount.
Now I really wanted this all to work, as I had more friends now at school than I had ever had. After some time I began to experience wet dreams. Pressure continued to mount. My sleep would be filled with erotic images. Being unconscious I could do nothing about them. It’s probably a good thing I had a single bed.
You know how when you find out that two of your friends are from Oregon you think, “Wow, I should introduce these two. They probably have a lot in common. They could probably talk for hours about moose or something.” That’s a great idea for you and your regionally related friends. Don’t do this for your “ex-gay” convert friends because it’s like lighting a fuse.
Someone introduced me to Chris. Chris sang on the Praise and Worship Team, had good taste, sharp wit and a thick head of dark, curly hair with wondrously blue eyes. He was good looking and he knew it. He was mesmerizing. Chris was either in the closet or trying to not be gay too. We were quickly inseparable. Eventually the late nights in Chris’s dorm room over a long winter break got later and later until I started spending the night over.
The gal youth group leader and I, somehow or another, became close. It’s remarkably easy to maintain a Godly relationship with no premarital sex when you’re not really sexually attracted to the other person. People began to hint that we should get engaged. Someone appeared with a ring and I bought it from them for this purpose.
One night, as we were asleep, Chris and I somehow ended up snuggling. Snuggling led to dry-grinding, a popular Christian past time. Before God could smite us or wake us up, we ended up getting off together. We felt bad about it but we weren’t able to stop. It happened several more times. Chris vanished at some point, I think he had family issues. It could have been the racking guilt we both carried.
Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and I told the gal I was engaged to what had happened, but that it was over. She was understandably upset. She went to the Dean of Men at the school. Somehow I came out of it with a warning because I had turned myself in. Chris was given three days to move off campus. He didn’t speak to me for years.
Our engagement to marry was later called off. We had been attending premarital counseling with our pastor. He asked us if we could postpone our marriage. We had been together less than a year. He said if it was meant to be that it would wait for us. I felt like he was “in charge” as our spiritual leader, so I agreed. The gal started crying. She took the ring off and handed it to me. Our pastor slid over in-between us on the sofa and held her as she cried. I sat there confused and alone.
I found out later that this woman I was engaged to had stood to inherit a sizable amount of money upon marriage. Her parents, having won the lottery, had placed a large sum into a trust. She may have been in a hurry to get married. I was not her first engagement, nor her second. I can’t imagine how this situation hurt her but I suspect a sham marriage would have been worse for everyone. I thank God, in all sincerity, for how things worked out.
I stayed in school and I was also still active in our local church. The pastor’s wife had at one point previously asked me to start teaching Sunday school. I had not had any experience with children previous to this. Spending time with these brilliant and loving children was the bright spot of my life. I could almost see God’s love coming down from Heaven and refracting off these children. It warmed me up.
One day the Pastor called me in and asked me to take a seat. One of the Elders was present.
“Son…” he began with his Mississippi drawl. “Son, we’re having a hard time telling the parents that you’re not going to hurt the children.”
I felt as if all the air was suddenly taken from me.
“Wait, what? Are you serious?” I asked, feebly. I felt empty, instantly empty.
“We’re not talking about stealing or selling drugs here. This is homosexuality. This is huge.”
“Do you even know what you’re talking about? Clean is clean!” I pleaded with him, referring to having been washed in the blood of Jesus. His decision was final. I wept freely. There were tears everywhere. All down my dress shirt and all over my tie. I remember running out of the church office in my dress shoes and into my car.
I started to run that day and it began with a pack of cigarettes.
