Storytellers’ Anonymous

Privately Speaking: Anonymous Storytelling of Personal Life Stories. Real People. Real Life. Close to Home.

My story is one of elusion.

But I never forget my experiences; I choose not to awaken them. My behavior may be a direct result of such escapism. People who hurt the most often conceal the pain. From experiencing sexual abuse to finding my sexual identity, here is my story.

“There is no coming to consciousness without pain. People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own soul. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”                                                                       –Carl G. Jung

At 13,  I came to America when my mother decided it was best that I live with my father and his family, abandoning my childhood roots in the lands of Ghana and Liberia. My father never fully accepted my homosexuality. That spawned a tumultuous relationship between him and me.

Back home I identified as heterosexual. I never had same-sex desires or curiosity. I loved and enjoyed being with multiple women. I was the textbook “player.” Other men would hit on me. There was always neighborhood speculation but I never confirmed the rumors–because they weren’t true.  Even when I was molested by my older male cousins, over and over, I never thought…this is what I actually wanted.

I was 10. They were 18. I separated the abuse from my sexual identity even when it became a daily transgression. Sometimes the pain was unbearable — I couldn’t walk. But I wonder why I never stopped them. Why I never said no. These are questions I still cannot answer. Yet I don’t blame them.

Somewhere, somehow, America changed that. I don’t blame this country. In fact, I don’t know where to place blame, or if in fact my conversion to a gay man needs to be by the fault of someone or something. Being gay suddenly felt natural as I became more assimilated to American culture.

I ran away from my father’s home at 17 to live with an older white man I met online. I always sought older men. I attribute that to the weak patriarchal structure and relationship I experienced as a child. It didn’t make me gay, but I consider it to be one of many symptoms. I learned that my father and I are better being apart, though. It was there I experienced my first consensual sexual encounter with three other men. That was a catalyst for a life of promiscuity, drug use, and heedlessness. I stayed in this stranger’s home for three days until I called my mother who bought me a one way ticket to Maryland. Haven’t left since.

Sometimes I feel this lifestyle isn’t for me. Even the men I think I love run away. I wonder if they fear my brokenness or think I’m an imposter. Being a 25 year-old man who has never experienced a genuine relationship with another person that lasts more than two months is discouraging. It’s as if signs from God tell me I am unfit for love — possibly because I am loving the wrong sex. I’m not even committed to my own sexuality enough to either willfully disobey Him or to retreat to grace.

I am a religious hypocrite, even a dishonor to the homosexual community. Though an advocate, I cannot see myself marrying the same sex. Yet how reckless would I be to wed a woman and still sleep with men. I have a severe disdain for DL (down low) husbands — especially those who do not identify as gay. I used to date one. I met him in Lakeforest Mall. Our affair started with him quoting scriptures about homosexuality as a sin. But I digress. All in all my ambiguity leaves me restless. But my journey leaves me confident that my destination will have purpose.

Lovers motivate me, gay or straight. Their ambitions elevate my own. I yearn to love and be loved. This wasn’t intended to be a love story—or a lack thereof. I venture through life with many unanswered questions. I have yet to seek answers. My story is incomplete, and abruptly so. That is because it is ongoing.

Finding yourself is not easy. I’m still living. I’m still learning. I’m still exploring. I am 25 years old and I am not yet found. But I refuse to settle for things of the world to compensate for my happiness and self-fulfillment. They have proven to be hollow. There is more to life than that. That I know and deserve.   —END—

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