Why it Matters (Pt. 2)

When I could receive internet connection, I remember spending time reading the posts of someone I had met at camp four years earlier.  His writing expressed vulnerability; of being honest with himself, and others.  He wrote on coming out, his struggles with faith (by-the-way he was originally on track for seminary) -- a lot of nuances that were uncomfortably open and "shocking" to innocent me at the time.  At first, I thought, "That will never be my life".  Yet, his writings gave me a different perspective. They allowed me  fanciful thoughts of a different life that could be possible.

Freedom.

Being yanked out of Peace Corps service threw me downstream without a paddle.  I had little to my name, shoulders burdened by loss, confusion, and doubt, and no particular place to go.  So, I did as any good gold-miner would do, and headed for Oregon.  I began to dig a new life; a new identity.  I discovered a few diamonds amidst a lot of coal; friends who expanded my world and opened my eyes to new bubbles of existence.  They didn't know my past, though I did divulge some, but helped me discover who I was, and what I could become.  I stayed up reeeeeally late to go out with coworkers and play 'dare or dare'. I went naked hiking/sunbathing with Alex, Travis, and their friends.  I went on biking adventures with Megan and Justin, and listened to Jacob's intellectual rants about philosophy, art, and music.  I, for the first time, witnessed a committed, loving [gay] partnership, up-close and for the first time through Chet and Craig.  I went on dates. I had my first kisses. I met a boy, who, inadvertently, showed me what it feels like to fall for someone.

Love.

It's 2015.  A week ago, a ruling was given that again changes the possibilities and the potential course of my life.  I've pondered endlessly about the sacrifices people have made before me to make, what I will someday get to enjoy, a reality.  It's a different life then I was expecting, but it is a good one.  When I asked myself, "Why should I continue to write?"  I think back to that lost, broken and confused, twenty-something in Africa, reading years-old blogposts from someone that I met one time.  I remember what it meant to hear someone's vulnerability and be able to relate. To find hope.  So, if my words can help just one person on their way to the happiness, the pride, and freedom that I have found in being alive, then that's why

It matters.

Why It Matters (Pt. 1)

I have tended towards being an open and honest human for the majority of my life.  I don't like to hide things, or at least haven't since I graduated high school.  Most of my friends and family will tell you that I divulge (or seek to discover) the deepest parts of myself more often then maybe warrented.

However, there have been many secrets I have kept from select groups of people for long periods of time:

My being bullied through out my primary, junior high, and high school years,
My suicide attempt,
My sexuality,
My depression,
My loss of faith,

Not because I was never willing to discuss them, but because I never felt they were important to share unless directly asked...


I lay in the sun.  Trying to recover after experiencing another crippling panic attack from trying to walk to the market to buy groceries.  I couldn't get past the second road marker.  "Iwona will be here tomorrow, seeing a familiar face will help--she'll talk some sense into me," I thought to myself. Iwona was a Peace Corps Volunteer, like myself, but seemed somehow hardier.

Tougher.

This was the fifteenth panic attack in the last week, since moving to site. I needed some form of peace-of-mind.  I entered my closet and picked up the copy of Jesus Calling my mom insisted I bring with me.  I had tried several times earlier to read the bible I had brought but it's words were too dry, to cerebral.  I needed encouragement;

Conversation.

I remember in church being constantly told that American culture was too ernest, too productivity-centred, too noisy, to hear God's voice.  That I, as someone seeking to Hear, needed to find time to be  still, quiet--seeking.  This was the perfect time to truly listen for it.  Kilometres from 'civilisation', minimal distractions, and open sky.  So, I did.  I prayed, I sat in silence, I wandered in the wilderness. Sought peace and the Voice of God, and found;

Silence.

It was devastating. My faith had been a cornerstone of my life for so long.  It kept my chin up when I was continually punched in the gut, and name-called, and isolated relentlessly.  It guided and focused my healing process after losing hope.  It exposed me to the injustices of the world and gave me reason to push for change and the future.  It also made me cry myself to sleep at night; praying that I could be someone, something, different then I was; wishing beyond wishes that the roof would fall in on me so that I would no longer exist and find peace from the internal turmoil that was me vs. what the bible said people like me were.

Sinner.