I am not ashamed to say that I spent today in bed. I’m depressed.
I tried my little releasing ritual, but there was no magic bullet there. Still, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years of having this disease, it is that this too shall pass. I will feel better. Who knows maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up right as rain.
I feel alone. I feel worthless. I feel ashamed of my sexuality, and this after 11 years out of the closet. I feel ashamed of how I use my sexuality.
I’m tired. I’m sick of fighting. I’ve got layers of internalized self-loathing that are only beginning to surface.
I’ve stopped walking. I’ve stopped meditating. I say only the most rudimentary prayers.
Ugh. I can feel myself sliding into the pit, and I refuse to go easily. If I’m going to be depressed, then people are going to know about it.
I can tell you exactly when this started. It began with the comments of a friend on a social web site. I’m gay, and this friend posted a link to an ex-gay therapy group. The whole idea of ex-gay therapy has been widely discredited, but the post sent me into a tailspin of old tapes playing from my childhood about abhorrent homosexuals. The problem is that I can’t shake them. This time, they’re playing repeatedly. They make me feel worthless and actually sub-human.
I’m so sick of homophobia I could vomit. I’m sick of hating myself.
So, do I jump in the lake and revel, or do I jump and drown?