This Haunted House

Last night I told a friend that I was haunted and maybe that truly is the best way to describe it.

I don’t think I ever came out. To be fair I was forced out in an effort to force me back in but at that point the damage had been done. I spent another year in denial until I moved to Germany where I found the space to reinvent myself. I found the space to figure out how to be myself.

In college my life was a limbo. My entire life up until that point felt that way but college is where it all came to a head. Back then I referred to my sexuality as a spiritual stronghold, my battle with the flesh. People who knew were proud of me, proud that I boldly took a stand in the face of the devil for the cause of Christ. Proud, whether they knew it (whether I knew it) or not, that I hated myself. What they didn’t know was how often I cried. Every night. Not for days, not for months, but for years. I prayed God would make me different. And I did all I could to prove to him that I wanted to be different. There’s a joke among my friends about how many life groups I was a part of back then. Tuesdays, every other Wednesday, Thursdays and a few Sundays out of the month. I was a youth group leader, a small group leader for my campus ministry, I had an accountability partner and a mentor, I volunteered for the church nursery and babysat for a military family in the church whose husband was away in Afghanistan I believe. And of course, I read my bible. Morning, day, and night I read my bible. I even kept one of those pocket sized New Testaments in my backpack to read in between classes. I was giving, I was kind, and I was faithful. And with every life group, every moment I spent giving time to someone else, every scripture I recited, with every single day I had the audacity to inhale God’s clean holy air I wondered, “will this make me whole?”

It didn’t. And I did what every Christian does and I chastised myself. It had to be because I was self seeking, only looking to God for one thing, or my prayers weren’t genuine enough, or I didn’t truly accept Christ into my heart when I said that prayer, I wasn’t bearing my cross. Something, I don’t know what but something went wrong along the way cause you should be fixed by now. That’s what I told myself, you should be fixed by now because it’s been over fifteen years.

I’ve known since I was five. Grasped that it was an abomination or at least a really really bad thing God didn’t want you to be around six. And I lived the rest of my life to uproot the terrible thing deep down inside me that I’d found one day playing boyfriend and girlfriend on the school playground. Sometimes I wish I’d left it there, buried in the sand for someone else to find.

Caribbean families, I won’t say they mean well, I’ll just say they repeat what they are taught and act on what they believe. Needless to say, there were things said to me, around me and about me that informed my self perception. Made me afraid of myself, of the opinions of others what they would do to me if they found out. There was a constant nitpicking of the way I dressed and carried myself, reminders that I was too masculine in my appearance and way of being that always made me feel there was an ideal type of woman out there and I just didn’t make the cut.

So growing up was hard. Honestly, I don’t think I grew up. I just spread and dripped all over hoping I was the spilled milk God felt was worth crying over. Maybe he would clean me up, pour me into a cup where at least I’d have a shape. I’d have lines that went someplace, and a form that wasn’t a shapeless void.

College is where I thought that would happen but things weren’t always so cut and dry. Although I was a hero of some sort for denying my sexual desires, it still put Christian people off to even know the desires were there. I remember opening up to a friend and later that day she requested I stop hugging her since she felt it would be a temptation for me (it wasn’t). Others would find a way to add it into unrelated conversations to ‘see if I was still dealing with it’. I once applied to be a counselor at a christian summer camp, and after a horribly invasive interview in which the male interviewer kept asking sexaully inappropriate questions he decided I wasn’t fit to serve at the camp because I needed to wait until God totally healed me. I’d like to add that he accessed my contact information from my application to send me a Hallmark card with his cell phone number in it to call him ‘if I needed prayer’. And things like that happened often. You could sense there were people around you ready to exploit you because there was this ultimate sin you had looming over your head and it was far worse than anything that they could ever do to you.

And that feeling of exploitation wasn’t just with Christians.

As I said, college was a limbo. The world really is your oyster on those campuses. You can be anything you want to be.

But then again you can’t be.

Christian students were mostly popular among themselves in a world growing ever more liberal. I can remember getting into debates with professors, classmates and friends about my faith and the audacity I had to be open with it, share it even. That came with the territory and I was proud of myself. I still am even now as someone who doesn’t identify with any faith at the moment. I’m proud that I was willing to stand up for anything and be hated for it. But there was a weird aspect to it when it came to being christian around queer and LGBTQ+. Especially those who could tell I was struggling with my sexuality without me saying it.

As we’re learning, the queer community is becoming a more inclusive environment in the way that it recognizes the plight of certain individuals over others. For instance, the push now to protect and advocate for black trans lives who are brutalized and murdered every day. Causes that were still swept under the rug a few years ago by the very community that owes much of it’s liberation to Marsha P Johnson and Silvia Rivera, two trans women of color. But like I said we’re learning, and there are actions of love I’m privileged to see now that I wasn’t privy to then.

Queer people/allies weren’t as kind to the closeted folks, especially the religious ones. There was almost this infatuation with calling them out, bullying them into admitting something even they couldn’t understand. There wasn’t much patience or love, no genuine understanding that we’d gone years believing something about ourselves is deplorable and our opinion wasn’t going to change over night. It wasn’t going to change by them hurling backhanded words of sympathy like ‘You’re suppressed’. There was one young lady in particular who had a crush on me back in college. One night in my car she opened up about it and I naturally rejected her and it turned into a barrage of words exclaiming why my religion was a farce and it was the only reason I continued to live a lie. I realized then that all she wanted was my affection. She didn’t care about me or what it might cost if I were to come out. She just wanted to be right.

A lot of people at that time did. And I’m sure a lot of people who knew me back then look at me now and think ‘told you so’. And you did. You were right. All the berating and closet shaming all for the benefit to say you were right. It’s bittersweet to watch the love poured out to those questioning and afraid to come out because I wish I’d received that.

I wish the queer community knew back then that I felt like a monster. That it wasn’t as simple as letting myself explore my sexuality. And it didn’t feel simple with people bashing you for not being ‘proud of who you are’. Insulting you and grouping you with those who persecute the lgbtq+ plus community, not because you did, but because you dared not validate them or yourself. Which yes, is its own form of persecution, and the language of the bible has been used to justify deplorable acts against queer people no matter how softly its been recited but not everyone who’s a Christian is a persecutor. And not every restless growling thing locked away in a closet is a monster. I had reason to be afraid, to hide. There were costs to it. Traumas I’d inflicted on myself that couldn’t easily be solved by coming out. The amount of times I slept with a man to see if he could fix me. Laying there disgusted and disassociated from my body. And after several attempts and still feeling nothing going to the gynecologist and telling her ‘I don’t know, I just think there’s something wrong with it’. At 20 something years old, laying spread eagle on a cold surface thinking a gynecologist could fix my vagina. Coming out wasn’t going to make things easier, it made things harder. After a church and community I’d loved and considered my family disowned me, let me know I was no longer welcome and took it upon themselves to make and spread a church wide email about it so that I was shamed by handfuls of people until I finally just skipped town, after all this there was no comforting hug awaiting on the other end.

Just an ‘I told you so’. Just the vindication that you were right. I’m still wary of these people. People who are so overjoyed to see ‘how open minded I am now’, who could care less the hurt it took to even reach this place. People who knew what happened, but never asked if I was okay. You were just satisfied in being right.

I wish christians knew back then that I felt like a monster. There was so much vehemence towards sexuality, the posts about how gay people bring are the cause of just about every calamitous event in the world (Sandy Hook massacre or 9/11). I remember the Sunday service I attended after gay marriage had been legalized and for nearly two hours the pastor lamented on how the hearts of men were waning cold, how we needed to protect children from homosexuals and use the church to uproot their evils from the world. I remember going to the bathroom because I was so afraid for anyone to watch me cry. Watch the guilt that washed over me even though I’d yet to act on a single desire. The same guilt that washed over me everytime one of my friends got married and I knew deep down that would never happen for me.

I wish I could have articulated back then what it felt like to be a monster. What it felt like to always be somebody’s monster. The internal isolation, constant lingering of feeling alone was nearly unbearable. I lost myself. I lost myself trying to please Christians, my family and even God. To quote ‘Queer people don’t grow up as ourselves, we grow up playing a version of ourselves that sacrifices authenticity to minimise humiliation and prejudice.’ I did that. Played so many versions of myself that as an adult woman I spend more time trying to unpick the parts of me that are real and the parts I fabricated in order to protect myself.

So when I say I am haunted, I don’t think it’s just the pains and traumas of my past that follow me, it’s these versions of myself. 5 year old me, 12 year old me, college me crying at the altar for the fifth time that week. The me who stood up to an entire congregation but fell apart the second she got home. The me who blamed herself for a whole year after and continued to believe I was the cause of their hatred. The me barricading herself in a closet, and the me clawing at the door to pull her out. The me who just wanted someone, anyone to listen. The me who wanted someone to tell me that I wasn’t a monster. I’m haunted by every part of me that yearns for love I didn’t know to give because I had no clue where to find it.

I’m haunted and that’s the best way to describe it.

But I’m okay. Really I am, despite how all this may sound, I really am okay and being haunted isn’t inherently negative. I’m dealing with it all, expressing as opposed to suppressing. Loving each phantom as she appears, loving her until she finds rest. Growing. Actually growing into something with shape and form.

I’m okay, I just wanted to get it all out there. Say it and be heard.

P.S., please do me one this one favor today;

Love Yourself.

The Dissociative Properties of Blackness

The Rules :

When Using Public Transportation

When sitting on the train, always remember to remove your hands from your pocket so they can see you have no strange objects or weapons and so they feel assured you won’t pickpocket them.
Pretend not to notice if they shift two seats away from you or opt to stand up when you sit down. Giving eye contact will only make them uncomfortable and put you in the position of the aggressor
Keep books, phones or small snack items in outside pockets or in hand as to avoid opening bags and arousing further suspicion of your purpose on the train that day.
If you wish to stand, stand by the back doors or near the exit doors, never stand over them even if it is crowded. And when they stand over you peering down at you the whole way, disregard it and don’t look up (See 2. For why)
If a drunk or angry commuter verbally berates you, do not fight fire with fire in these situations. Present yourself as a pacifist or otherwise let those around you come to your defense. Do not show anger.

When Walking at Night

If it is you and one other person who is not a minority walking along the street, make every effort to be the one walking in front.
If you are behind, give them space. The repeated looks over their shoulder is because they are afraid
Walk on the opposite side of the street if possible
Do not suddenly break into a run or light jog to catch your bus/train. Know when and where you need to be and be on time.
If you are waiting for the night bus sit two seats away at the stop or stand on the far end as not to arouse suspicion
Wear gloves during the winter and keep your hands from your pocket
Do not assume they feel safer in groups, the rules still apply

General Tips/Advice

Always tip at restaurants. It will save the next customer of African descent from having a rude waiter who assumed they would not tip.
For those who are of Caribbean descent, find a way to make that known in a conversation. It will remind them of the places they’ve been on holiday and they will be much kinder to the you now that they see you as exotic
Do not show that you are offended when asked what part of Africa you are from
Be ready to explain yourself and every move you make
When shopping, it is helpful if you walk in and first ask a store representative a question about a product. It lowers your chances of being followed significantly.
Save small coins to pay for bags at the grocery store or any shopping place. They do not assume you are being environmentally friendly when you bring your own bag.
Do not be the first to bring up the topic of racism, otherwise you will be seen as complaining or unable to get past it
Do not be surprised if even White Liberals write off your experiences as just ‘Berlin Life'(or wherever you live). Only they define your experiences. Only they define racism
Smile often
Speak formally even in casual conversations
Above all, always be aware of how your actions, words and overall appearance makes those around you feel. Be aware of your surrounding. Do everything in your power to present a subtle, more refined version of yourself as to make them more comfortable in your presence.
You may remove your mask when you are home or privately amongst your own.

These are the rules. Well actually, these are just some of the rules to abide by as a black individual living in predominantly white spaces. They apply almost anywhere. You are constantly aware of them even if you choose not to follow them. You are constantly aware of new ways to improve your circumstance that require you to become a lesser version of who you are. And you are constantly aware that this is what enables you to survive.

But at times, even the fight to survive becomes a quiet surrender. A dying of self.

I’ve found myself in this position lately. Surrendering myself so much so that I begin to lose myself. And it isn’t until lately that I have become aware of the dissociative properties of blackness. I have been aware and followed some of the rules of being black in white surroundings all my life, but I have always had a community to go home to where I can safely remove my mask and disregard the rules.

Berlin is different.

The community of those like me is much smaller and more divided. I have one close black female friend as opposed to eight. There are few places that cater to my physical and mental needs. To my surprise, the Afro German community is harder to fit into. It’s not necessarily that there is a lack of solidarity, it’s just that language, culture and the black experience of being Afro German versus African/Caribbean American separates us. What I’m realizing is that I have never had to experience what it is like when you can’t remove the mask. What it’s like when the comforts of home are scarce.

I have never dissociated until now.

The best way I can describe it is feeling you’re in a bubble watching life happen around you. When I’m in that space, my voice becomes unrecognizable. The words I speak sound foreign. My body moves not as I will it to but as the surroundings demand. And when I get home the mask becomes less of a mask but more like skin grafts disfiguring who I am. Distorting the image I see when I look in the mirror. Days and weeks go by and I’m unaware of it. I lose motivation to write, to read, to create. I feel as though I’m performing an act at all times but the curtains never close. I feel as though I am reciting words from a novel that was written for me and not by me. I feel…but I don’t feel. Anything.

It is a strange and very real phenomena that happens slowly over time.

In becoming aware of it I have gained, but also in that I have lost.

Today I left an interracial relationship because of this but let me make it clear that my partner was not toxic and I am not against interracial marriage, dating, and procreating (I don’t care to debate how this makes me less woke, in touch with my ancestors, or not truly black). In any relationship you have two people coming from various backgrounds and upbringings and you find a way to exist in each others spaces. In my previous interracial relationships we were able to find this common ground, but in this one we were just too different. And the differences became more apparent the more I became aware of my dissociation and the more I came out of it. It was no longer enough to have a few things in common. It was no longer enough that I was able to cross the bridge over into their world because of how often I had to do it in my daily life. They attempted to do the same but it is a hard process if you’ve never been put in that position before. On top of that there were major cultural and personality differences that separated us outside of race. In the end, it was the end. And that wasn’t an easy decision to make. It isn’t easy leaving a person when you become accustomed to the routine of each other. But they understood and respected my needs. As much as it hurt (and still hurts like hell), I knew in time I would only dissociate from them further and further until the relationship had soured and I grew bitterness towards them for things they couldn’t control. I left while there was still love to be had and memories to be cherished.

And I’m proud of that decision.

I’m proud of myself as I come into my own in an unfamiliar surrounding. As I no longer sacrifice myself for the comfort of others. As I create space to exist here, and welcome others to join me. I rise and inhale my blackness like black coffee grounds brewed in the morning. Slowly my voice returns to me and I recognize the words I hear when I speak. Slowly I am becoming myself again.

I want it to be known that in no way am I shaming Berlin neither do I regret my decision to move here. In many ways Berlin and its people have awoken me from a slumber I fell into years ago and have helped me unravel the many facets of who I am. But these experiences are real and persist just about everywhere in the world, and I want to shed light on it.

I hope these words enlighten those who want to understand and comfort those who understand all too well.

Most of all I hope today you can do me this one favor,

Love Yourself,

AFS

P.S.

To You,

To the one who loves strawberry ice cream on hot summer days.

Thank you.

For hearing me. For listening to my voice. For validating my feelings, emotions, and experiences. For attempting to find solutions and outlets for me so that we could mend the relationship. And for accepting that the only solution was that we go our separate ways.

If life is ever so kind as to allow our paths to meet again, whether it be in friendship or love

I’ll be standing at the crossroad with a bouquet of tulips in my hand

Waiting for you

Discouraged

I’ve been struggling for a while to write a new post. I haven’t been quite sure what to write about and I feared a lack of consistency would lead to this blog being forgotten.

But I’ve never been the type to write ingeniously. Everything I write comes from my soul. Somedays I write for hours on end based off one feeling or emotion, and then some days I write nothing at all. Somedays I just don’t feel the need to unwind.

But today I feel so heavy. So low. Today I need to unwind.

I woke up this morning heavy hearted as has been the norm for the past few weeks. Living in Germany is great but in many ways it has been hard.

Acquiring a visa has been one of the most tedious battles of my life and it still continues. The good news is I was offered a job that starts in March so my visa should come through by the end of this month. What’s difficult is that this job requires that I am certified in B2 German. I’ve been learning but the process is slow and arduous. German is very tricky grammatically, and I can’t afford language classes that would probably speed the process up.

And while I believe I will be able to learn and teach myself enough to pass the test without courses, there is the ever present fear that I won’t. What if I fail? Then what?

How will I make ends meet while I’m currently struggling for money?

I came to Berlin with a good amount of money saved up, but I left the AuPair family and have since used most of my money for rent, food, or transportation. And now I’m worried, maybe even scared. Maybe I should have stayed or just switched families. Yes I would be making no money and have no time to focus on my own projects, but at least I would have food and shelter guaranteed.

I have always been a person who works, saves and plans for the future. At one point in college I had five jobs and would still walk most places even though I had a car. If I had extra money left over at the end of the month, it always went directly to savings. I planned for rainy days that never came at times but here I am. Stuck in a rainy day with no umbrella. For the first time in my life I have 200 left to my name. No savings, no extras tucked away in the mattress. 200. I don’t know where rent will come from. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pay for insurance next month or my transportation card. I have a few babysitting jobs possibly coming up but there it is again. Possibilities.

I’m more discouraged than afraid though.

Discouraged because I feel like I failed myself. I failed people around me.

This week my mom called to tell me my cousin got in trouble with the law and landed himself in jail. He’s a good kid, he really is. Just a good kid with no real support and little opportunity because of that in my opinion.

The next day I called to see if he made bail and she hit me with more bad news. My dad was in a motorcycle accident that night and shattered his leg. I’m sure he’ll recover but how will he work? How will he provide for the family. We’re not rich by any means. I worked in my families business for many years to help ends meet. My parents work to the bone to provide for themselves and the family and it’s always just enough. And now my dad can’t work. My cousins and my Aunt recently moved in with my parents and siblings because they were just granted entry into the U.S. from Haiti. While they gather themselves, find work and learn English, my parents have been helping them out. I know God always makes a way but I can’t help but feel worried for them.

Then I called to see how things were going and I was hit with one final piece of bad news. My grandma has stage 3 breast cancer. She went in for a regular check up and they found the abnormal cells in her body. My grandma has worked every day of her adult life, to this day she still works. A few years ago she started her own orphanage in Haiti and works to provide for those kids. She made the decision to come to America by boat with 8 children while still pregnant just for the chance of giving them a better life. She is one of the hardest working women I know and I question life when situations like these come to people like her. I remember when I first started traveling the world back in college, I had saved up enough money to go to London and other parts of Europe. When I told her about it she was in awe almost, she said “Wow, you’re going to big places to do big things.” It was just a trip but at that moment I realized what a big deal that is for her. She came from Haiti with nothing but her children and now her granddaughter is college educated and traveling the world. She probably never imagined things like this. Things I have taken for granted. And after all of that, all those years of work and struggle, and giving. After all of that, she now has to confront cancer head on.

Although these things are out of my control I feel that being in this situation only makes matters worse because I am no help to anyone around me. I have a job that starts in March, I was signed to a modeling/people agency last week that I’ll begin working for in late February so right now none of that helps. Those two opportunities won’t even matter if for some reason the foreign office decides not to grant my work visa. And that’s a possibility. I’m paying rent, paying for health insurance, registering myself where I’m supposed to and one person having a bad day or simply not feeling like it can deny my visa without any reason. That worries me.

I had this idea to come to Germany to establish myself, establish my projects and return back to the states once everything was sorted and able to make money on its own. Deep down I still have hope but that hope is fading if I’m being honest.

So I’m discouraged. I know Christians are quick to say you shouldn’t be because God is on our side and what not but honestly that’s a bunch of bullshit we say to make ourselves appear stronger than we are. Or just appear as good faithful Christians who know how to recite generic Joel Osteen holiday cards better than we can the actual Bible. I get sad damn it. I get hurt. I get discouraged, I feel low even when I should feel high. I may be depressed. If God didn’t know that there wouldn’t be entire books in the bible expressing sadness (the book of Lamentations), Paul wouldn’t have admitted anxieties and fears that he had while walking with Christ. Half of the Psalms David wrote would have no meaning if he never felt the things I feel. That poor pastor in California wouldn’t have committed suicide if he didn’t go through pain so here it is.

Here is the unwinding.

Here I am saying I’m lost.

Here I am saying I’m struggling.

Here I am saying I need help even though I am unwilling to ask for it.

Here I am saying I am afraid.

Here I am in tears as I write this.

Here I am.

I am Discouraged.

But that’s all for now as they say. No matter what happens in your day, please do me this one favor:

Love Yourself.

Sincerely,

ASF

Happy New Year

I’ve run out of time to finish telling you about 2018.

I was writing part three last night but ended up having a small pre New Years party with some friends. Three Hennessey and Cokes later it remains unfinished in my Google Docs while I lay in bed nauseous making a mental note to myself that there’s a reason I stick to beer and wine.

It was a disappointing feeling at first, leaving it unfinished. I’m a person who starts a billion projects and many I haven’t seen through to the end. I don’t always finish what I start and I hate that about myself.

But that’s the thing. It is finished. After tonight there will never be another 2018. Everyday that has passed I will never see again. I could scramble to give you a recap of year 2018 so you’re not left with a cliffhanger but unfortunately you will have to hang in there for a while. In general you know it was a rough year, but if God spares me this last day I’ll get to see the start of a New Year.

Think about that. Really think about that. A new set of 365 days. Do you know just how much your life can change in a year? For a second let’s reconsider year 2017 (go to previous posts if you haven’t read it yet) my entire life changed physically and mentally. Yes it was terrible but think about that, my life changed in 365 days. Actually it was one day that changed it all. And from that one day an entire year was affected. It’s more amazing than tragic when I consider that the reverse is possible. With the knowledge I now I have, the power I’ve found within myself and confidence I refuse to smother, I can change the 365 days ahead of me and every single day is a 24 hour chance to do just that.

Studies say it takes about 21 days to create a habit and about 90 to form a lifestyle. In that short amount of time you could make a significant impact on your life. In 365 days you can develop about 17 different habits and 4 different lifestyles, really for a second think about that. The opportunities aren’t necessarily endless but they are available. They are possible.

So if you’re the type to make New Year’s resolutions, make them. Expect to fail at them, but try again. Or don’t, maybe try something new. Or make new resolutions in March just because. Try the new gym down the street. Cry when you’re sad, laugh when you’re happy. Watch a movie when you feel lazy and don’t beat yourself about it. Have a productive day. Quit the job you hate, I promise you there is another one waiting even if it’s below your pay grade, sometimes you just need to start fresh. Buy nice things and live in the present. Save money and plan for the future. Shave your head and grow your beard. Take a selfie. Disconnect from social media. Start a Youtube channel. Try religion, or try to understand why you walked away from it or never believed. Be afraid. Conquer your fear. Find yourself. Then lose yourself. What I’m getting at is take advantage of the opportunities that will come your way. Even go as far as creating those opportunities for yourself.

Yes, the unforeseen can and will happen. I am certain you and I will face trials, tragedy and the likes this year but that’s life, pain is inevitable. Honestly, pain at times is a pleasant reminder that we are still alive, sensing, breathing, and feeling the world around us. As I like to say, how would we know what love is if we never experience hate? Pleasure if we never feel pain? So yes, pain will come and with it will come empathy for others who have suffered like you. And before long I promise you so will healing.

In knowing there will be joy or pain, success or failure in whatever you do, there is nothing left to do but the thing itself. I thought my message for new years would be more specific, maybe about forgiveness or persevering through troubling times but the greatest lesson I’ve learned through it all is to live through it all. There is nothing better and nothing more that people can do other than just live and do good while they live. Find satisfaction in whatever you do and accept each day, good or bad. Life will teach you the lessons you need to learn along the way, you just need to be present when the lecture begins.

So live. That is my New Year’s resolution for you. That you live and live abundantly.

It’s raining fireworks here in Berlin. I must be getting old because I find it to be a nuisance now, but I do need to go out and enjoy these final two hours of 2018. Hopefully we meet again next year.

That’s all for now as they say. Until next time please do me this one favor today, and everyday in this new year:

Love Yourself.

Sincerely,

ASF

Year ’17: The Worst Year of My Life Pt.4

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that you can’t vent to everyone. Sometimes not even your best friends.

Maybe a month had passed, I still hadn’t gone back to the church as the pastor wanted me to. It was a fucked up system and I knew going back would drive me to kill myself even more. I could picture the sin being the center of my church existence as a guilt that people would always see looming over my head. What else occured in my life would be of lesser significance, it only matters if I’ve gotten rid of this thing inside of me. Above all else I was embarrassed, a feeling I rarely ever feel as an extrovert. But I felt it. Humiliated. Ashamed. I felt it.

But I hated being the outsider, feeling shunned out from the community. The pastor’s wife had been my friend and mentor, she knew about my same sex struggles before this had happened, and after this all came out she never spoke another word to me.

It was lonely but more than anything I was angry. There was a part of me that wanted everyone to feel pain, physical pain. I hated them. I had a dream once that I had beat some of them nearly to death and when I woke up I was sad it wasn’t true. It’s like I was going through the stages of grief and this was anger. Rage even. I expressed this to my best friend, I told her how I would imagine myself walking into the church with a gun, that I now understood how an ordinary person could snap. I told her everything I felt including how at the same time I felt all this anger, there was a deep desire to disappear. I just wanted to die, each day was becoming unbearable and all I could think of was killing myself.

About three days later she called to say she didn’t want me to come around her, her husband or his daughter whom I adored. She said until I could get my thoughts of suicide in order it was only necessary for us to talk over the phone. She had to protect them from what I could do to myself. I wondered if it had more to do with my anger, but she assured me that it wasn’t, she just couldn’t put up with how sad I was all the time. Usually I bounced back from hardships and this time I wasn’t getting better and she couldn’t be there for me anymore.

I blamed myself again. It wasn’t enough that my mistakes were keeping people at bay, now it was my grief too. Later I realized how messed up that was. My best friend abandoned me when I needed her most. Although she assured me that once I got myself together things would be fine between us, we never saw each other again.

I ended up sending an email to the pastor, his wife, and my ex’s parents. I don’t remember much of it but I told them they were careless and malicious people. Then there were parts that I do remember and looking back it was a clear picture I was losing it. Losing my mind. Some words were just nonsense. On one hand I’m proud that I wasn’t afraid to call them out on their shit, but saddened that I let them see how much it all affected me. Let them see me broken.

There was a night I became so desperate I called the girl even though I knew I should stay away. I had convinced myself that she must be in despair and we both needed closure, or to talk and find a way to escape it all. My cousin had warned me a few days prior against reaching out to the girl. She said “If someone truly loves you or even cares for you, they will stop at nothing to contact you. If she cares about you anymore she would have tried to reach you by now and she hasn’t”.

But I reached out anyway. And unfortunately my cousin was right. She sent back a text message that ended with “FUCK OFF!”, she said I had done nothing but bash her parents even though they prayed for me, and I was clearly the only one hurt by it all. She regretted everything between us and told me never to reach out to her again ending it all with “FUCK OFF.” Then her father texted me and told me to stay away for good, he said the email was bizarre and I had no right to come to their house before. And my best friend had made the church aware of ‘my plans’ to kill their family and the pastor.

That’s still the most devastating part. The way she twisted my words behind my back. It’s one thing for people to know you’re gay, but for your best friend to convince them you were a homicidal maniac is even worse. In their minds they now justify any wrong they’ve ever done to you, and are probably glad they got you out before you could do any harm. She was the church favorite, she was perfect, so of course everyone believed her. And that’s when I knew I would never win, it would only get worse. So I gave up.

And I left the next day. I didn’t say anything back, didn’t tell them it was a lie. Nothing. I quit my job and made the 8 hour drive home, but not before picking up a dog from the shelter to keep me company. I had read somewhere that they help with depression.

When I got home I explained to my parents why I had come back. And that was my coming out story. That’s how I told them I was gay. And in a way it was a blessing. My parents are Christians but seeing how hurt I was they told me they loved me no matter what. I had known I was gay since I was 7 and at 21, the moment I feared most, telling my parents, turned out to be the most comforting experience thus far.

I had never told my bestfriend that I left or that I knew what she did. She called a few days later and I was sure would try to explain herself because no doubt the family would make sure to let the church know I had contacted their daughter. But she didn’t know. I was actually quite shocked by her words:

“Happy Birthday”.

July 11th. I had completely forgotten.

But I didn’t say thank you. I asked her if she had actually spread that rumor which took her by surprise. She asked me how I knew and that question was all the answer I needed. I cut the friendship off, she sent an email later saying everything that I was feeling and experiencing was my own fault. I sent a kind email back, but later sent one that expressed how I really felt which I’m unsure she ever read. And 2017 continued to drag me along full of misery and depression. I’m not even sure if what I experienced can be called depression. I still look back and think it would have been better to have died than to experience the loneliness and sadness I felt.

Maybe I’ll speak more intimately about that later.

How do I feel about it all? I’ll say something brief but it would take more to dissect and describe my assessment of this part of my life.

But in short, as I write these I’m realizing how unfortunate these near last two years have been, so many memories I haven’t stirred up in a while. I had a 12 hour panic attack after finishing this piece and I’m well aware there will be much time and patience needed before I repair the damage done. No, I haven’t forgiven them. Forgiveness is a discipline in many ways. Because we never forget, no matter how much you would like to forgive and forget as they say, it is impossible. So we must teach ourselves to forgive every time we remember, a skill I haven’t mastered as yet. If there’s anything I want is my name to be cleared. I’m gay they’re right about that, but I’m no murderer. Maybe you can find a way to justify everything else, but I didn’t deserve that.

But in time I’ll show you how I grew from it.

You see, there will be many times in life where we’ll feel like this. That we’ve been buried, like a body left to rot. But really, we’ve been planted, like a seed meant to grow.

But now you’re up to speed. And now I can continue with the ass kicking of 2018 before 2019 comes around.

But that’s all for now as they say. Until next time please do me this one favor today:

Love Yourself.

Sincerely,

ASF

Year ’17: The Worst Year of My Life Pt.2

I started to feel the pressure and it weighed heavily on me.

The more people asked questions the more guilt I felt. Some nights I spent hours praying for answers, begging God to make me straight. I had read articles of Christians who had overcome it and there was nothing more I wanted.

But at the same time she was all I wanted.

After a few months we finally shared our first kiss. I left class and went straight to her place to chill for a bit. I felt the moment coming on and I was nervous as hell. I kept talking and I could see how annoyed she was that I wasn’t being as forward as I had talked up the day before. But then it happened. It was incredible at first, but then guilt washed over like a flood. So much so that I told her we should have no contact for a while because I felt like I was the one to blame. She had never had feelings for a woman before. I was the one dragging her down a dark path I had paved.

The no contact didn’t last long, soon enough we were back at it again. And again people took notice.

One day the head youth pastor approached us and asked if there was anything between us. Surprisingly he was very kind, he just extended his prayers and help if we needed someone to talk about it with. Even though it felt good to get it off my chest, another burden came in its place. If he could sense it it wasn’t long before the whole church would.

And that’s when I decided to leave. I’d always wanted to spend a semester abroad and there was no better time to leave than when I needed to escape myself.

My plan was almost complete but in a turn of events I ended up staying with her family for about a week just before my flight date. During those few days we were sexually intimate. The first time with a woman for either of us. After that there was no way to seperate us, even after I had left.

On New Year’s day, the first day of 2017, the night before my flight I asked her to be my girlfriend and for the first time were official. I think it was a way for either of us to secure that the other would still be there when I came back. Even so we were back and forth, in and out of being in a relationship while I was away. Faith was the number one reason we pulled away.

And I needed her badly during that time. I had chosen to study in Hong Kong and my dream student exchange experience turned out to be a lonely four months in a country where people coughed when I walked past, afraid I had contaminated the air with AIDS. Some never called me by name, just ‘Africa’. There was even an incident when a few students pulled on my hair during a student photo and posed making faces behind my head. I ended writing a letter to the student body about the racism on the campus and it ended up going viral at every University in Hong Kong. The University I was attending extended an apology but at that point I was over the whole exchange.

And everyday I thought about her. We Facetimed daily but I missed our usual routine from before. I hated that I wasn’t there to celebrate her 19th birthday, it all started to feel like one big mistake. I wondered if I should’ve stayed. I had planned to move to Germany after Hong Kong but I felt that becoming a distant reality. In spite of my travel plans, I had arranged a flight home first to surprise for her high school graduation. I’d sent her a letter for her birthday and when I asked what she wanted for graduation she said the only thing she wanted was for me to be there.

So I arranged to be there just in time.

Strangely enough I had this feeling I wouldn’t make it. I read once that the soul knows all. It’s always attuned to the world around it and can perceive what’s next. It just takes our bodies a while to catch up.

I wish my body had caught up sooner. Cause I never made it to that graduation. And what came next I had never dreamed of even in my worst nightmare.

But that’s all for now as they. Until next time please do me this one favor today:

Love Yourself.

Sincerely,

ASF

How 2018 Kicked My Ass Pt.1

2017 was worse. Far worse. That was the year I had my heart broken, was publicly humiliated by the church I once loved, my best friend spread a horrible rumor about me, I became too suicidal to work and ended up moving hours away back home to live with my parents. But thats a post for another time.

2018 has kicked my entire ass left cheek to right cheek non stop for damn near 365 days.

Anybody else?

I’ll give it to you in pieces

In January a good friend of mine was killed in a drunk driving incident and while I thought there is always light after dark, it only got darker after that.

My friend and I were part of a pretty close knit Christian young adult group. At the time I really valued them because they were the friends I’d made after having to come back home from the hell I left behind in my former city. It was great but if I’m being honest, the friendships were shallow, barely Christian, and mostly filled with gossip. But when you’re reeling off of heartbreak and sorrow, even the lightest glimmer shines like gold.

One night we all smoked a joint together. It had been my third time smoking in my entire life and it was certainly my last. Pretty quickly I started hearing sounds that I knew weren’t there, feeling intense and painful sensations and before long I was screaming help me. On the car ride home I began saying that this friend who had passed was saying ‘hi’. Unfortunately it was her former boyfriend who drove me home. They dropped me home without my parents knowing and my mother woke up to me screaming that I was having a heart attack. She called the police but had to hold me down because I started reaching for their guns. When they managed to strap me down and transport me to the hospital, I remember the doctors and nurses standing around saying “And this is why you don’t do drugs”, and laughing at the way I was convulsing and throwing myself around. I don’t know, maybe it was pretty funny.

After getting the 7,000 dollar bill I went back to the group and everyone switched up on me. No one wanted to talk to me. I felt low and my depression came in a wave like never before so I admitted myself to a mental hospital and admitted I had thoughts of killing myself. They ran some tests on me and found THC and Benzodiazepine in my system. Benzo is one of the main ingredients in Xanax. Upon telling one friend this it was related back to the whole group that I accused them of lacing the weed. They then spread a rumor my mother gave me a few pills so I wouldn’t get in trouble when the police came. Of course when confronted no one admitted to it, instead said I was lying for attention and probably faked the entire trip. Looking back now, those were the worst people I could have invested myself in. And while it was a painful experience, it ripped me away from toxic Christianity and toxic people who I’ve now learned to spot the type from a mile away

So I left that group, and the whole church. Even when they saw me in public they avoided me, and with everything that had happened in 2017 I didn’t see a purpose in staying. Florida had grown into a sore spot for me so I left and moved to Berlin, which is where I’m writing to you now.

And thus begins the story of the hottest summer in Berlin’s history, and the summer I spent working for a shitty and racist German family.

But that’s all for now as they say. Until next time, please do me this one favor today:

Love yourself.

Sincerely,
ASF