My queerness is a part of me. And my desire is to submit my whole self to Christ. Thus, why would I not hold up my sexuality to the fruit of the Spirit to test it? Perhaps I may see where my sexuality rails against the Spirit. Or perhaps I may see where the Spirit shines its attributes through my queer identity.
For the longest time I felt afraid about the locker room setting. Part of my fear and shame came from body-image issues, as I was the "fat kid" most of my life. Part of my fear also came from my same-sex attraction – the fear for potential arousal. I was curious how the other guys looked but also ashamed and scared to be around them or be seen in my nakedness.
I actually find myself decreasingly needing — or even desiring — touch with other men. It's not completely gone, mind you. But the need/desire is considerably less. This is a fairly new development. I'm still unpacking the reasons, but I have some theories based on how my male friendships have transpired the last decade — many of them imploding.
I've had at least a decade to process my sexuality, why certain men "do it" for me and why others do not. I've already written about what kinds of guys I'm attracted to and my cycles of physical and emotional same-sex attraction. But am I sexually attracted to men? The answer has become so clear over the last couple years: no.
One night, I had a sexual dream about one of the male cabin leaders. I didn't want my past to ruin the summer and my connections with the other male staff. On several previous occasions, telling my story had helped me break down some of the awkwardness I felt. So, I grabbed the cabin leader supervisor and shared my story with him.
The seemingly deepest parts of my life are on display for the world to see. And yet there are a few things that I keep close — secret — from those closest to me. Because I am afraid of being vulnerable with them. I'm not talking about "coming out" — I'm talking about the matters at my very core that influence my actions in ways few could ever imagine.
"God has placed us together for a specific reason — that the times, stories, and experiences we share are beneficial for each other," she said. This led to discussion about how community requires vulnerability. Even with a wide open invitation, I remained a silent listener in the community.
As a kid, I said a lot of derogatory things about LGBTQ+ people. I cringe at the things I remember saying. When I realized I was gay, all of that hatred that I showed to others turned in on myself. That realization drove me to reparative therapy. The logic makes sense: I hate gay people, I am gay — thus, I need to not be gay.
I'm queer. That is how I now identify my sexuality. And it's how I can best define my experience of gender, too. In my pursuit to grow more like Christ, I was setting aside part of my life as a mystery spot. How could I submit my sexuality to Christ if I didn't even know what it was?
A point came in our relationship when I realized just how dependent I was on him and just how one-sided our friendship was. For my own well-being, I needed to step away from the relationship. What follows is the lament and reflection I wrote in saying "goodbye" to our friendship.