So I decided to test my coming out with one member of my family, the one I am closest to.
I told this person that I was bisexual and that I had found someone online that I was interested in. I said that I had made plans to meet that person face to face within the next week.
The reaction was worse than I expected. She had a panic attack, didn’t sleep that night and called in sick the next day. Finally I was able to reassure her a bit and this is what she said to me:
“You can do what you want with your life, but I don’t want to hear about it. Anything that has to do with your bisexuality, I don’t want to hear about it because I will never understand it. You can talk to me about anything you want, but not about that. It makes me panic and it makes me sick. I love you and I cannot stand it when you say you want to meet new people, possibly for sex. Nothing could hurt me more. I am here for you, and you can do what you want with your friends but don’t tell me about it. I don’t want to know because it hurts too much.”
I was surprised to hear that this person does not want to know anything about my sexuality and my private life. I actually thought she was interested in me, but it is clear that she is not interested in this part of me. And maybe it’s a good thing. I feel free now. Free not to come out to my closed-minded family.
It also makes me question the maturity of Christian heterosexuals. The fluidity of their own sexuality scares the hell out of them. Just like it used to scare the hell out of me.
If they wish to act as if sexuality does not exist, fine. I can do that. So if they ask me what I’m up to, I shall say this: “I’m meeting new people. Nothing sexual can happen because sexuality does not exist. It only exists between a man and woman who are married. Anything outside of this is sickening, perverted pornography. Keep your blindfolds, I don’t care, but I’m walking out because I had enough of this shit.”
They won’t know what the hell I’m talking about. But I will smile.
I spent a good part of my life thinking that I would die soon.
Why? Where did this idea come from?
Let’s take a walk down memory lane.
My father. He would often speak about the “end of the world.” He would read on the subject and leave his books lying around the house. I remember one book in particular: The Vision by David Wilkerson.
Wilkerson was an American Christian evangelist. I think I was 13 years old when I read his book The Vision. My father was a firm believer that the Second Coming of Christ was going to happen soon and that we should therefore prepare ourselves for the afterlife and not bother making long-term plans to attain temporal success in the material world.
I was a naive, impressionable boy. My dad’s way of thinking had a profound impact on my thinking. I expected the end of the world to happen any day. I thought more about my death than about my life. I wonder how normal this was — if it was a good thing or a bad thing as I was growing up.
I know one thing. It greatly affected my mindset.
I watched my peers as I grew up and could not understand why they were so preoccupied with the things of this world: school, money, career, prestige. I was concerned with something quite different. My father used to say: “The most important thing in life is your relationship with God.” I believed him.
Today I wonder. What am I trying to prove with my blog? That I have a relationship with God? Am I just trying to impress my father? Am I trying to convince myself and others that this life is unimportant? Maybe this life is more valuable than I think.
My father died in 2004. The end of the world did not happen during “this generation,” as he used to say. He was quite certain that he would live to see the Second Coming of Christ. He didn’t. Or maybe he did, on some other level of consciousness. I don’t know.
Living as though the end is near… does it push me to live fully or does it depress me? I think it does both. It makes me ponder, for one thing. It makes me turn inward. It makes me introspect. It turns me into an introvert. It makes me think that perhaps the end of Daemon will never come… or that it came already.
I never printed my book.
I completed it over 10 years ago but never printed it. I don’t even want to reread it.
I cannot believe how much time I wasted writing that book.
Here’s a brief explanation:
After I gave my life to Jesus and became a born-again Christian, I started writing a daily spiritual journal. I was convinced that God was in my life and that he loved me. I was extremely motivated.
I wanted to write about how wonderful God was, and how he was blessing me. But to my surprise, my life as a Christian unfolded as a perpetual series of curses. It seemed that nothing was going right. Every time I tried to love someone it would turn against me and every time I tried to do God’s will, it would backfire.
The words written in the bible always turned out to be deceiving and false. There was either something wrong with my life or there was something wrong with the book. At first I thought it was me, of course, because I was not allowed to question “God’s Word.”
It was impossible to deny my own life, so the only thing left to question was my religion.
I was keeping a spiritual journal, hoping that one day this journal would be the proof of how God blesses one person’s life. But my journal turned out to be some kind of horror story about a guy who is in a relationship with a god who does not keep his word!
My diary was supposed to be a proof of God’s love, but after 18 years of reporting all the ups and downs of our relationship, this journal turned out to be documented evidence that the god I was serving was a genuine asshole.
I was not pleased.
Thank you, space lady. At least you tried. You’re the first humanoid in the universe who attempted to rescue me besides Jesus. Both of you failed. I’m starting to think that I am unsavable.
Jesus said I was not Christian enough to be a member of his gang, according to his so-called earthly representatives. Jesus never could speak to me directly, ever since they duct-taped his mouth, sealed his words and closed his book.
Then sexy lady came along and did her best. At least she could speak to me freely. Her voice had not been hijacked by the pope’s minions, like poor Jesus. The problem with her rescue attempt was probably a lack of experience. To start with, her craft was much too small and she didn’t bring any food. I never would have survived the trip back to her home planet.
There was a third abductor who showed up in 2012 after I sent multiple unanswered calls into outerspace. I have hope in this guy. He is blue and misty and he did manage to beam me up into his cloud-ship. But then he brought me back down, saying I wasn’t “ripe” enough. As if I was some kind of fruit or something. He did promise to come back and get me later, so as of now, my hope is in him.
He keeps in touch regularly, this is what I like most about him. He didn’t just leave me there hanging like the two others. I should write more about him because he’s a really cool alien. He’s my best buddy actually. My knees get weak each time I receive a text from him. I’m hooked. He’s got me. Even if in his eyes I’m nothing more than a fruitcake, I would probably let him eat me anytime.