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Dear God, I hate seeing them like this. Everything was downright depressing. With all this shit storm that we’ve endured, surely there’s a light at the end of the tunnel?
It was our third day in Marbella. Blake left for the Middle East the other day which left us with Toby. Luce was supposed to arrive yesterday but moved it back when she learned Blake was going to be in town Saturday. She promised to fly with him.
Toby was utterly miserable and was drunk on a nightly basis. All he does is blabber about his life and complain about Lucy. Sometimes lovingly but most times he wasn’t so kind and forgiving.
We just finished our lunch on the terrace overlooking the magnificent Mediterranean Sea. The ten bedroom villa with tennis court, enormous pool and a helipad was purely breathtaking. It was Spanish architecture meets cool contemporary. There was a lot of glass and open space. The deep purple bougainvillea certainly made this sprawling dreamy house even more enchanting.
“Your therapist should be here in a few minutes,” I told Chad. “Are you ready babe?” I eyed his frowning face.
“No—but it is what it is. My last chance—what could go wrong? I hope this helps me. Will you go with me as an emotional support? It would help a great deal.”
“It isn’t your last chance, hon. It’s all up to you if you want it to be or not. If you wish me to be there then who am I to say no to my best g*y friend?” I squeezed his shoulders to give him assurance.
Dr. Lauren Murray was in her mid-sixties and had lovely cropped, salt-and-pepper hair. Her eyes would crinkle on the sides every time she smiled (a good sign). Her warm brown eyes made me feel instantly right at home. Chad looked a bit relieved.
After she finished with the basics, she started to probe Chad. “Let’s start with your childhood. How was it growing up with devoted Christian parents and being an only child?”
“It was okay I guess. Sometimes I would get pangs of jealousy when I saw other kids play with their siblings but my parents didn’t want another child. They said it was too much for them. One kid was perfect they said. I think they put too much hope in me because I was their only kid.”
I sat quietly looking at Chad and held his hand for encouragement.
“Did that hope turn into pressure?”
“Yes, it definitely did. If my grades were not stellar, they would make me study another hour or two before I could eat dinner. There was constant pressure for me to be perfect. They wanted me to join and help out our church and I did. I did all they asked of me….until I realized that there was something different about me.”
Dr. Murray listened intently and nodded her head indicating for him to go on.
“The bible states that a union is between a man and a woman. I think I was around seven or nine—I’m not so sure but it was around that age. I was a boy and I didn’t find any of the girls I knew cute…this was the age when boys my age would scope out girls and blush around them—but I didn’t feel of that. The only time I blushed was when I saw Jack Meyers. That got me thinking but I didn’t voice it out to anyone. I knew even at a young age my parents wouldn’t be pleased about that.
So, I went on with keeping it a secret. When middle school rolled in, my choices in music and clothing geared towards poppy female items. Music wise, I was an avid Madonna and Cindy Lauper fan. My clothing was flashy and fashionable and boys my age noticed the difference. The bullying started in eighth grade and lasted throughout high school. My locker would be spray painted with the word ‘FAG,’ ‘GAY,’ ‘SINNER’ and ‘HOMO.’ It happened on an almost daily basis so I got used to it. In our small community, everyone knew I was indeed g*y but no one ever mentioned this to my parents. People avoided it like it was the big elephant in the room. People from school stayed clear out of me. They thought being close to me would get them a disease or something. So, I was pretty much alone most of the time.
During senior year, I went home late one time because I was so engrossed with my photography project that I didn’t realize it was already almost six at night. I remembered rushing to the parking hoping my parents wouldn’t give me crap about being tardy for dinner. The parking lot was littered with the school football team. They just ended practice and were about to go home as well. One of them hooted and they all started calling me names. They waited for me to respond or show any reaction but I didn’t and kept on walking towards my car. Before I reached the handle of my car door, I was slammed so hard against it that my car window shattered. The impact made me lose consciousness. When I woke up, I was laying face-down on the gravel naked and had profane words written all over my body and a plastic bottle stuck inside my ass. I dragged my aching body to the nearest fountain and rubbed off the marks from my face and arms. I didn’t bother about my legs and chest because I could scrub it off once I got in the shower.
When I got home, my parents gave me hell for being late and irresponsible. I didn’t argue with them because they wouldn’t understand. Once I was in the shower, I bawled my eyes out and asked God why he made me this way, why he made me g*y. If he loved me, why would he put me in so much anguish and suffering?
The thought of moving far away occurred to me that night. I chose London because it was in another continent and they accept my kind more openly. I mean they allow same sex marriage, what could go wrong? The minute I left home, I felt free and the opportunities were endless, I was euphoric. For five years my life started to mold and took form in London. I learned to accept myself and started to love what I am. It was not about God’s hate why I am g*y. There was no point in blaming things that were out of my control. I realized that the whole point of my existence was to simply accept myself for what I am. And I did—until my parents called me after they learned of my “secret.”
The things they said were beyond what I could take. At one point, I almost convinced myself that their opinions didn’t matter an inch. But it did, deep in my heart, it frustratingly did. The only solace was to get drunk and get high on drugs. It worked for awhile and my constant gambling helped distract me from my life. The last call from my mother broke the camel’s back. Every bubble of feelings I had from back home resurfaced with two-horned vengeance. I was drowning but couldn’t tell anyone what I was going through. The night I decided to finish my life I had a moment of clarity and I felt at peace. It seemed to make sense then….that the only thing that could take away this burning pain and agony was to end my life. It was the perfect answer and I took it with joy.”
