There's been something that I can't get off of my mind recently. I keep thinking about last October. The pain. Parent vs. offspring. Me vs. them.
Why couldn't I have just been normal? Why did I have to be the different one? But I didn't want to live in a closet of lies, denying who I could be. I could have let myself be doomed to a life of loneliness, a life full of bad friends long gone, leaving behind holes for the depression to creep in. But I decided to be that different speck. I was going to stand up for what I wanted to believe in. I didn't want others telling me what I should want to do. It was hard. So hard. Being brave is certainly not the easy choice. They fought back. They forced their rules onto my life harder than ever. I found temporary ways to escape them. But I knew I needed something more. Something to scare them off my trail. I needed an Ultimatum.
Anyways, I really like to write in metaphors. Let me explain this in normal terms, not therapeutic metaphorical elegance:
In August I finally told my parents that I was totally, completely gay and didn't want to be in their church anymore. They got SUPER ticked at me, and forced more rules on me than ever. I found ways to avoid them, I took really long jogs, and took a temporary job so I could be busy at work on Sundays. But I decided I needed a more permanent solution, so I forced an ultimatum in front of them. I told them that my life was hell following all of their rules, and I would much rather be dead, if that would mean my freedom. I told them that I would commit suicide in the next 2 weeks if they didn't give me my religious freedom. In a few days, they caved.
I just can't help but be both scared and proud of what I did. I'm scared that I hit a point in my life that I was ready to die, and ready to do something about it. But at the same time, I'm proud that I fought my own personal war for religious freedom. I must say though, the best thing I found through this was hope. Even though I suffer from chronic depression, I know that however I feel about life right now, at least I don't feel as terrible as I did. I feel myself thinking what the next 3 1/2 years will bring. I find myself coming up with 9 instances in those past years I've wanted to die. But I haven't yet, so that's something.
I'm sure depression will finally take me in the end, but let's see if I can contribute something to the betterment of humanity before that happens.
(Note: I am kind of crazy. But don't you dare send me to a therapist. I've discovered a strange condition in which I am a shark. That also sounds crazy. But, no, I'm a business shark with therapists. I twist the truth and put whatever spin I want to on the situation. I'm very, very good at it.)
