at a loss
Before today, I've had my heart broken precisely one time. That experience crushed me and took me several years to recover. What was so devastating about that experience was that I lost hope. I felt abandoned. My faith in something I completely believed in was all but destroyed. Today, I feel the same way. I never thought Kerry was a shoo-in but I tried to remain positive without kidding myself. The reelection of Bush is a bitter pill to swallow but the defeat of gay marriage in many states has just completely demoralized me.
As I explained to my homo-fearing mother, allowing for gay marriage doesn't mean two dudes in wedding dresses are coming to a church near you. For those of you who can't wrap your brain around the concept of same sex pairings, put aside your disgust, your misunderstanding and your "I just don't get its" and think about the joy, the happiness, the pain, the fear, the thrill, the exuberance, the worry, the loss, the desperation, the adulation and every other feeling, good and bad, that you've experienced via the love of your life. Now let yourself contemplate just for a second that we feel the exact same things.
I don't necessarily think that anyone who voted for Bush or against gay marriage is a card-carrying homophobe. I do feel, however, that this vote helps validate the religious fervor and intolerance already directed towards us. As it is, some people think they're justified and right in being grossed out by us. I was raised Catholic and the last time I checked, there wasn't a Commandment, Beatitude or parable that said, "Blessed are they who shudder in disgust and hurl thine most scathing insults at a man who lies down with another man for those exhibiting utter disdain for thine homosexual neighbor shall inherit the earth and win favor with God." Yes, the Bible does pooh pooh the notion of same sex lovin' but it also gives equal time to the "ungodliness" associated with eating shellfish. In other words, as you take that grain of salt when devouring your shrimp cocktail, kindly extend the same latitude to us homos.
When I had my first lesbian experience, my girlfriend (THE EX) and I -- thanks to our respective Irish-Catholic and Southern Baptist upbringings -- had managed to convince ourselves that we weren't gay. We were just "two people in love" as we were fond of saying. But deep down I knew I wasn't an impulsive person when it came to such matters. When that relationship ended, I was left to explore just how and why I had "abandoned" my heterosexuality. I knew it wasn't just a one-off deal for me. When the relationship was in full swing, I never felt so alive and comfortable in my life. But the desolation and despair that followed was like nothing I had ever known.
She broke up with me through a letter. I still lived at home at the time so I holed myself up in my room and read her words explaining how scared she was of our relationship and begging me to understand why she found herself a nice, safe boy. In essence, she said our relationship was "wrong." Because this came from the person I valued and trusted most, I believed briefly that she was right and that maybe we did do something wrong and sinful. I was at a loss. None of my friends knew about the relationship and I couldn't very well tell my family so for the first time in my life, I fully opened myself up to prayer.
By nature, I'm not really very spiritual. I'm culturally Catholic but most definitely not spiritually. I don't talk about my faith very often because it's so intensely personal and complex. But I will today. Or least I'll try. It's REALLY hard for me to discuss this, especially in this format, because I don't want to seem like a flaky kook. And more importantly, I don't want to trivialize or gratuitously capitalize on a really defining moment in my life.
Praying wasn't a foreign concept to me. Like the good Catholic school product that I was, I could rattle off the Our Father and Hail Mary like clockwork. I never prayed with meaning or purpose though. My heart was never in it. In this instance, I just lowered all of my defenses and opened myself up. The moment I questioned if I was a sinner and that perhaps the devastating heartache I felt was punishment for my sins, I had the most beautiful, serene feeling wash over me. It replaced the despair and loneliness that consumed me. Up until then, I was cold and shaking and felt isolated and alone. But within seconds -- if that -- came the warmth. I felt like I was enveloped in a warm embrace. A visual I associate with this moment is being cradled in a large set of hands very similar to the ones I'd seen on prayer cards growing up.
This comfort came instantly. I didn't have to plead with God asking him to forgive me. It didn't feel like God was finally relenting and saying, "Oh, okay. I'll spare you the eternal damnation this time, you selfish hedonist, you." On the contrary, comfort was given to me generously. I didn't have to make offerings or vows that I wouldn't love another woman again. The comfort came anyway.
At that point in my life, I was agnostic. I didn't know if I believed in God but I kind of had my George Bailey moment and reached out to the possibility in my hour of need. And I do believe in God now. And I don't believe he thinks I'm a sinner.
If I encounter a person trying to make the religious argument against homosexuality, I always comfort myself in the memory of my beautiful, little moment. But it still breaks my heart when the source of my comfort is weaponized and used against me by people who just.don't.get.it.
As I explained to my homo-fearing mother, allowing for gay marriage doesn't mean two dudes in wedding dresses are coming to a church near you. For those of you who can't wrap your brain around the concept of same sex pairings, put aside your disgust, your misunderstanding and your "I just don't get its" and think about the joy, the happiness, the pain, the fear, the thrill, the exuberance, the worry, the loss, the desperation, the adulation and every other feeling, good and bad, that you've experienced via the love of your life. Now let yourself contemplate just for a second that we feel the exact same things.
I don't necessarily think that anyone who voted for Bush or against gay marriage is a card-carrying homophobe. I do feel, however, that this vote helps validate the religious fervor and intolerance already directed towards us. As it is, some people think they're justified and right in being grossed out by us. I was raised Catholic and the last time I checked, there wasn't a Commandment, Beatitude or parable that said, "Blessed are they who shudder in disgust and hurl thine most scathing insults at a man who lies down with another man for those exhibiting utter disdain for thine homosexual neighbor shall inherit the earth and win favor with God." Yes, the Bible does pooh pooh the notion of same sex lovin' but it also gives equal time to the "ungodliness" associated with eating shellfish. In other words, as you take that grain of salt when devouring your shrimp cocktail, kindly extend the same latitude to us homos.
When I had my first lesbian experience, my girlfriend (THE EX) and I -- thanks to our respective Irish-Catholic and Southern Baptist upbringings -- had managed to convince ourselves that we weren't gay. We were just "two people in love" as we were fond of saying. But deep down I knew I wasn't an impulsive person when it came to such matters. When that relationship ended, I was left to explore just how and why I had "abandoned" my heterosexuality. I knew it wasn't just a one-off deal for me. When the relationship was in full swing, I never felt so alive and comfortable in my life. But the desolation and despair that followed was like nothing I had ever known.
She broke up with me through a letter. I still lived at home at the time so I holed myself up in my room and read her words explaining how scared she was of our relationship and begging me to understand why she found herself a nice, safe boy. In essence, she said our relationship was "wrong." Because this came from the person I valued and trusted most, I believed briefly that she was right and that maybe we did do something wrong and sinful. I was at a loss. None of my friends knew about the relationship and I couldn't very well tell my family so for the first time in my life, I fully opened myself up to prayer.
By nature, I'm not really very spiritual. I'm culturally Catholic but most definitely not spiritually. I don't talk about my faith very often because it's so intensely personal and complex. But I will today. Or least I'll try. It's REALLY hard for me to discuss this, especially in this format, because I don't want to seem like a flaky kook. And more importantly, I don't want to trivialize or gratuitously capitalize on a really defining moment in my life.
Praying wasn't a foreign concept to me. Like the good Catholic school product that I was, I could rattle off the Our Father and Hail Mary like clockwork. I never prayed with meaning or purpose though. My heart was never in it. In this instance, I just lowered all of my defenses and opened myself up. The moment I questioned if I was a sinner and that perhaps the devastating heartache I felt was punishment for my sins, I had the most beautiful, serene feeling wash over me. It replaced the despair and loneliness that consumed me. Up until then, I was cold and shaking and felt isolated and alone. But within seconds -- if that -- came the warmth. I felt like I was enveloped in a warm embrace. A visual I associate with this moment is being cradled in a large set of hands very similar to the ones I'd seen on prayer cards growing up.
This comfort came instantly. I didn't have to plead with God asking him to forgive me. It didn't feel like God was finally relenting and saying, "Oh, okay. I'll spare you the eternal damnation this time, you selfish hedonist, you." On the contrary, comfort was given to me generously. I didn't have to make offerings or vows that I wouldn't love another woman again. The comfort came anyway.
At that point in my life, I was agnostic. I didn't know if I believed in God but I kind of had my George Bailey moment and reached out to the possibility in my hour of need. And I do believe in God now. And I don't believe he thinks I'm a sinner.
If I encounter a person trying to make the religious argument against homosexuality, I always comfort myself in the memory of my beautiful, little moment. But it still breaks my heart when the source of my comfort is weaponized and used against me by people who just.don't.get.it.
posted by curly mcdimple @ 4:08 PM :: permalink :: ::
