Jackson Free Press

Dear Lord, I cannot take it anymore. I want to kill myself, but I cannot bring myself to do it. Please take me."

"Are you there, God? I cannot take this!"

"Mom, Dad, can you please hide the guns because I am so scared?"

All words spoken in my early 20s before I started my professional career. A summer where I could not sleep or eat. I lost way too much weight. I was very sad. Today, I would say I was in the middle of a total downward spiral into depression. My parents took me to the doctor, but with them in the room, I could not talk about it. My mom told the doctor I was having stomach issues. Stomach issues? "No, no, no!" I screamed on the inside.

No, God did not take me. No, my parents did not hide the guns and did not ask me a thing as to why I made this request. No, the depression was never addressed. You see, my parents, like many in the South, live by that rule of "If you do not talk about it, it did not happen." Yes, I am still here and thankful.

I told my mom the words in my early 20s—the words so many, especially in the South, find so hard to say: "Mom and/or Dad, I am gay."

Mom pretty much threatened me if I told my dad. I finally just took all that emotion and locked it up. I spent so much time being closeted.

At work, I had a pretend boyfriend. With friends, I brought my gay boyfriend to weddings and other social settings. Some friends that I told immediately turned into former friends. I talked to my old youth minister, and he actually told me to leave his office. "Is this God's love?" I asked myself.

The company where I was employed had an opening, which was a promotion that had my name written all over it. Everyone knew I would get it. My one competitor was nowhere near my experience level. The members of the interview committee assured me that the job was mine. I was called into the CEO's office, and I was so excited going down that hall. Once inside, I was told that I did not get the job. Members on the committee informed me that the CEO thought I was gay (never confirmed, mind you). Because I would be the public face of company, she said they could not have a gay representing the company. I actually confirmed this with her. She said I was correct. That brought me to my knees crying when I got home. "What is wrong with me?" I asked myself. I had to make a decision. My choices were to stay, to die a young death somehow or to leave.

I chose to leave the South and headed north. I found a community where I'm myself. I found a beautiful partner who is now my wife. Still, I come back to visit my family. While my siblings are amazing, my parents will never accept me. I have to stay anonymous here for my mental health, as I don't want the wrath of my parents. 
 On a recent visit to Mississippi, my dad kept repeating that the world is evil. He told me, "Gay marriage was ruining our country." I was holding back tears and felt angry. Looking him in the eye, I asked, "How is gay marriage hurting you?" No answer, and I walked away.

I finally went to a therapist in the last couple of years to learn how to accept myself and have worked on not caring what my parents think. I am finally starting to deal with the hurt that was caused all those years ago. I hope parents read this, and it changes hearts. I hope people will read this and know that we are humans with beating hearts—hearts that hurt. HB 1523 sets progress back years. It could cost Mississippi economically. More importantly, it costs the sons and daughters of Mississippi the most. Multiple studies have been conducted regarding the effects of homophobia on the mental health of LGBT people. They all say the same: It negatively effects their mental and physical health.

Gov. Bryant, I beg you to get rid of this bill. I know many have gone through or are going through what I did. Let the suffering end. Bring hatred to a halt. Let's learn from our past. Enough is enough, Mississippi.

The author's name has been changed by request.