A Season of Winter

The consequences of being ousted by what used to be my home were brutal. "I set fire to my portrait just to see my face burn" became my focal point for much of my writing. I wanted to capture self-hatred through a contextual lens. They turned me into what they wanted to see: someone to rebuke so they could be ordained. I was handed a script in the form of a letter, then played the part. No miscounts, no missteps—just me and my infernal seclusion.  I felt conditioned to hate myself in full: from the silence I held wishing it were a man, to each spoken “I love you” I said to a friend. I looked down on myself with the same holier-than-thou eyes that they did, like some sort of abomination . So I put up my guard against the hollow masses surrounding me. There was, substantially , no heart beneath the armor.  In a literal sense, I went to drastic measures to become something original, drawn in any color but the ones they painted me with. I taught myself martial arts and adopted...

I have always tried to portray spiritual abuse in a profound manner, one that accurately contextualizes my experience. As I previously stated, I underwent ample spiritual coercion, most of it surrounding my identity. Upon the disclosure of my same-sex attractions, I was immediately abased. In an otherwise conservative community, I became the abnormality. Naturally, my attendance threatened their heteronormative ideals. My "struggle" did, in fact, contradict American-Christian values. I, a sixteen-year-old virgin, was called a "homosexual" by my pastor. Parents were encouraged to keep their children away from me. The Board of Elders sent out a statement defaming my character, including Scripture from Romans 16:17-18 which reads, "I appeal to you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and create obstacle contrary to the doctrine that you have been taught; avoid them. For such persons do not serve  our Lord Christ, but their own appetites, and by sm...