I’m Gay. And I’m Sorry. (I’m not sorry I’m Gay.)

This is what I want to say. What I’ve wanted to say all summer.

You know, or you don’t. You care, or you don’t. You can read it, or not. It’s your choice.

But I need to say this: I’m sorry. And I’m gay. (And I’m not sorry that I’m gay.)

(Sidenote: This is an old draft that I wrote in July 2014, just recently found it and published it.)

I am sorry that it’s taken me ten years to be brave, ten years to sort out my head into the right place to talk about it, ten years to trust my friends and family to believe me when I say that it’s been hard, a painful journey, a journey filled with pitfalls of lies and heartbreaks and truths and mirrors. I should have trusted my amazing friends with the truth a long, long time ago. You have always been my safety net, you’ve always caught me.

I don’t need to detail it all. I’ll say this: about the same time that guys start being attracted to girls, I wasn’t. I was attracted to guys. That insane tug of the stomach that happens when an incredibly attractive (physically, mentally, spiritually, or all three) member of the opposite sex walks by…

That. I don’t have that.

Well. I do. But it’s for guys.

In ten years, that hasn’t changed.

And I’ve lied my ass off.

But, didn’t Matt Drappa talk to me about some girl that he fancied? What about whatsherface who he never denied being attracted to? What about that time we discussed relationships in detail and he had stories of heartbreak?

THIS is why I started the post with I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, really sorry, that I lied SO much.

All my adult life.

But no more. I’m speaking up. I’m done with being silent.

I cannot take even another day of being responsible for the deafening silence that fills the pews of the Western church providing no comfort whatsoever to those who have no idea what to believe about themselves, about God’s love or about whether its even a life worth living.

I’m on a journey.

We all are.

Let’s take it together, with honesty at its very core. Because without honesty, we might as well be dead. I should know. I’ve not been honest, and it’s killed me.

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