How I Lost My Faith . VII - Heresy (continued)

The year 1984 proved to be the most pivotal of my life.  Everything changed for me that year, for better or worse.  My mind was awash with ideas and entirely new ways of thinking about the universe and my place in it.  That year I created the first draft of my own language and decided that a fantastic and potentially highly-lucrative project would be the creation of a massive astrological ephemeris in chart form.  The works of Velikovsky, particularly Worlds in Collision, were at the top of my reading list (I read a lot back then), providing me with a clear, thoroughly-researched and expounded scientific explanation of events recorded in the Bible as divine miracles, as well as a reason to avoid the teachings of Jehovah's Witnesses that I knew would bury me in guilt and shame, as they stood in stark contrast to Velikovsky's theories.

All of this was complete and utter heresy!

The Bible specifically condemns astrology as demonic, and the idea that the Ten Plagues of Egypt that led to the Exodus were the result, not of Divine intervention, but of natural forces at play during a near-earth collision with a comet was anathema to Jehovah's Witnesses.  So why, one might ask, would someone who'd been a spiritual and God-fearing boy from toddler-hood and who'd faced down religious intolerance on a deeply personal level at a very young age suddenly adopt a belief in the occult and unscriptural teachings that could not have been farther from "Bible truth" if the author had written with that intent in mind.

That's actually a very good question, one I've asked myself more times than I can count.  The answer lies in the fact that I've always been very spiritually-minded, and the growing void deep inside me needed to be filled with something.  I could not bear being reminded of the Bible's condemnation of my lifestyle, so I turned to the next best thing: the supernatural, or occult.  That's where astrology came in.  It helped satisfy, at least for a little while, the overwhelming belief that there is something or someone greater than ourselves from whom we all may utlimately benefit, something or someone in control of our—of my—destiny, as well as my need to "create" something with my own hands.

Besides, it wasn't like Velikovsky had simply pulled his theories out of his butt and had them printed.  He spent nearly a decade researching material for Worlds in Collision and Ages in Chaos and the sheer volume of footnotes and references (well over 1,000 in Worlds in Collision alone) made it something I determined to take very seriously.  Since most of his books were out of print, I searched local libraries until I'd gathered all of them and prepared to dive into his material with the same passion and gusty with which I'd previously studied the Bible.

Unfortunately, right about that same time—the summer of 1984—I made a rash of fiscally-unsound decisions that led to a complete change in circumstances, and not for the better.  I had reached a very critical cross-roads in my life and I needed to go somewhere, anywhere but the east coast.  

I decided to go west.  I'd never seen California (or anything west of Oklahoma, even), so one day I threw everything I could fit into my car, a 1985 burgundy Chevy Malibu, locked the rest in my apartment, and hit the road, my sights firmly set on the Pacific Ocean.  I took with me all of the library copies of Velikovsky's works; I would need them to continue my search for the real "truth."  Ironically, I also took all of the Watchtower literature I'd kept...and about $300-worth of gay porn.  

The contents of the trunk of my car were a clear reflection of the terribly-disarranged state of affairs that had become my life by the fall of 1984: heretical theories that eliminated God from the equation, Bibles and Bible-based literature, and boxes of pornography.  At the very least, one could say I was more-than-a-little confused by that point.  Who would I turn out to be?  I had no idea, but I endeavored to cover all my bases, just in case.

I basically fled the east coast with the intent of changing my name and identity and starting over from scratch.  Even though I've expressed that the first half of the 1980s was for me the best time of my life, in certain aspects it was a complete disaster.  By the time I turned 21, my credit was so screwed up it was a miracle I still had a checking account.  I had no real grasp on the notion of fiscal responsibility back then, and it cost me dearly.

So, in September of 1984 I hit the road, on what I considered to be the greatest adventure of my young life...one that would change the course of my life forever.

How I Lost My Faith . VII - Introduction to Heresy

In 1974, two men, Dr, John Gribbin and Stephen Plagemann, published a book entitled, "The Jupiter Effect."  Therein, they predicted that the world would experience a devastating cataclysm in 1982 as all of the planets in our solar system gathered on the same side of the sun as the earth and the combined gravitational pull of all these bodies would severely strain the earth's crust, causing a shift in the earth's rotation that would lead to global destruction the likes of which mankind (allegedly) had never before experienced.  There was a movie released in 1982, as well.

I don't remember much of the specifics, but I remember being utterly enthralled by this theory.  I'd been deeply convinced since the age of 10 that this world was coming to an end, not by some chance alignment of the planets, but by the hand of God as He waged war against Satan the Devil at the batle of Armageddon, which, for Jehovah's Witnesses, was (and still is) always "just around the corner".  This "chance" alignment could simply be Jehovah's way of making it happen.

Of course, the world didn't end in 1982.   If it had, my life would likely have ended then, as well, as I was not even trying to be "one of Jehovah's Witnesses," which, back then, meant near-certain death for those outside of their organization.  Even though I was out of the closet and being my (real) self, I always had in the back of my mind the belief that someday God would destroy this wicked world and, even though I'd never survive into the promised "Paradise on Earth," the one that caused me to be so despicable in God's eyes—Satan the Devil—would himself be destroyed.  Somehow, I was able to glean a sense of justice from this conviction, and I wrote about it in a journal in the late '80s, in pretty much the same words: "At least I know that the one who caused me to be this way [gay] will himself be destroyed forever."

Sometime around 1982/83, I discovered a series of books written by one Immanuel Velikovsky.  The first one, published in 1950, was Worlds in Collision, wherein a startling new approach to ancient history and the Bible was introduced, and it was right up my alley!  Velikovsky proposed that events described in the Old Testament surrounding the Israelites' exodus from Egypt, the forty years spent wandering in the wilderness and events experienced in the time of Joshua's conquest of Caanan—interpreted for millenia as miracles from God—had actually taken place, but were not miracles.  Instead, they were the result of a near-collision of the earth with another, near-earth-sized celestial body: a comet ejected from the core of Jupiter that eventually settled into orbit around our sun and became the planet Venus.

This was complete and utter heresy!  Velikovsky took away the Divine nature of so-called miracles and replaced it with something that made complete sense to me.  The thoroughness and sheer scope of his research was virtually unheard of, at least by me, all but eclipsing that of the Watchtower Society up to that point, and the book, The Two Babylons, by one Rev. Alexander Hislop (begun in 1853 as a pamphlet and published in book form in 1919).  I have always been fascinated by researching and libraries, and had begun building one of my own—a number of volumes of which I still have today—so I devoured these books, and others like them, like candy.  I was all-but-obsessed with the means by which Jehovah God would cleanse the earth—even though I never believed I would actually benefit from it—and these books, The Jupiter Effect, Worlds in Collision, and Earth in Upheaval (also by Velikovsky), gave me many, many hours of enjoyable speculation as to the nature of what was about to strike the human race.

To this day, many of my favorite movies and TV shows are about global cataclysm and the complete chaos that would inevitably ensue: Armageddon, Deep Impact, 2012, Jericho, as well as alien-instigated devastation like that in Independence Day, Battle L.A., Battleship and others.  The more realistic the portrayal of devastation, the better.  It's not at all about the death and destruction, but about cleansing and rebirth.  We as a species are out of control and some kind of external intervention is required before we get it right, in whatever form it may come; I've always felt this way and feel so far more strongly today.  It is my understanding of the possible nature of that intervention that has changed.

Of course, the world hasn't ended yet.  Had Gribbin and Plagemann been right, human civilization would have been all but wiped out in the throes of catastrophic global upheaval.  Had the Witnesses been right about certain calculations based on certain Bible prophecies, Armageddon would have come and gone and this planet would have begun it's transformation into the "new (paradise) earth" two or three decades ago.  Either way, our world as we've known it should have ended in the 1980s, for better or for worse.  For me, however, it wasn't this world in the physical sense that ended that decade, it was my world...but more about that later.

During my four-year hiatus from Jehovah's Witnesses, I gave a lot of thought to the end of the world, but little-to-no thought about what I needed to do spiritually to have any chance of surviving whatever was coming.  I had no desire to return to the bigotted, homophobic elder body of the local Kingdom Hall, and once I moved to the D.C./Maryland area, I didn't think of them at all.  But I knew that, deep, deep down inside me, a void was opening up.  I needed more than bars and parties and sex.  Those were excellent distractions, but they held no substance.  I began searching for something meaningful and substantive to do with my life.  My job was just a job, and I had no real purpose in life.  So I decided to revive an early skill of mine, calligraphy.

As a late teen, I'd begun writing out parts of the Bible in calligraphic script, usually uncial.  It had been my goal back then to write the entire Bible this, an act of deep love and respect.  While the Bible was out of the question in 1983, my talent would find expression and it did in a big way when I discovered a book on "magical alphabets".  I cared nothing for the "magical" part, but became thoroughly enthralled with alphabets.  I remembered J.R.R. Tolkien's elvish alphabet from Lord of the Rings (which I'd read two or three times at that point)—and sparks started flying everywhere.  I found all the books I could on ancient languages and their alphabets and xeroxed a veritable books' worth of pages to pour over, and I dove head-first into the creation of my own language, one that no one would ever be able to understand—including, as it turned out, even myself!  

An ancient language with an ancient character set that no one can read!  Imagine: I could write out the Bible, artifically age the document, then bury it somewhere for archaelogists to find and puzzle over for years to come!  YES!

I compiled my own alphabet by mixing characters from many different alphabets from around the world, picking out the ones that seemed like they belonged together.  My first draft was beautiful and since I needed to something write about, the only thing that seemed worthy was the Bible, specifically the New World Translation used by Jehovah's Witnesses.  I had no interest in what it said about me and my lifestyle, just the text; I translated/transcribed the first three chapters of Genesis before I was done with that version of my language.  Of course, by the time I'd made it that far, I couldn't even read the first chapter, I'd made things so complicated.

While I had no desire to expose myself to the Bible's message about how bad me and my lifestyle was, I had a nagging desire fill the spiritual void growing inside me.  What could I do from which others could benefit?  I began exploring the occult and came upon an aspect of astrology I'd never before been made aware: the ephemeris, a chart outlining the positions of the sun, moon and planets for any given day of the year.  I was a whiz at mechanical drafting and decided to combine my interests into one enormous project: an ephemeris on steroids, one that showed the planetary alignment for each hour of each day, one month per volume—in graphical form.  It would bascially be an astrological chart for each day of the year, eliminating the need for creating such charts from scratch.  I knew it would be a massive undertaking, but I thrilled at the prospect of completing such a project. 

I had a goal, a purpose, a belief that there was something to astrology, if you really dug into the precise alignments and inter-relationships of the planets, and this ephemeris would be the ultimate tool for helping people find meaningful answers to the questions plaguing them, as well as myself.

To be continued...

How I Lost My Faith . VI - Hiatus

The years between 1981 and 1985 were hands-down the best years of my entire life.  I was free, I was OUT of the closet and did not give a damn who knew!  I was never all that obvious; I was never "queeny" or into drag or anything, but I never hid it, flirting with straight friends working at the mall and such.  I made friends very easily and was soon a regular at several of the gay bars in Washington, D.C.  It was quite an event among my friends and I when my 21st birthday finally arrived and I could finally drink rum and coke (legally, that is)!   I also discovered sex clubs where I could spend entire nights having totally-anonymous sex with as many men as I possibly could. 

I'm quite certain that it was during this period that I contracted the HIV virus, though I wouldn't know it for five or six years yet.

I was a very-well-read young man, and my studies with Jehovah's Witnesses had been so thorough over the decade since my family met them that I could generally reason circles around most people when it came to the Bible.  I had come to believe at my very core that Jehovah's Witnesses had "The Truth".  I knew enough about the beliefs of other religions, especially the Baptist Church, to believe with all my heart that the Witnesses had the only answers that actually made sense and were taken straight from the Bible, to boot.  At the time, I had no delusions in this regard: Jehovah's Witnesses were the only true religion and that's what I needed to aspire to be.  After my last encounter with a group of elders, however, I felt utterly abashed and knew that I could never live up to the image I'd formed of the "perfect Christian."

So I stopped trying, and avoided reminders of such things like the plague; any discussion about God and the Bible became anathema to me.  If I saw a preacher on the TV, I would quickly turn the channel; if I didn't, I'd find myself yelling at the TV, citing Scripture after Scripture in refutation of whatever nonsense the preacher was spouting.  Seriously, I would get extremely angry at these people, misquoting and misapplying the Bible, jabbering on about things they knew little-to-nothing about, and asking for money in return at every opportunity; it was obscene!  My friends learned to avoid such discussions and TV shows when I was around.

Now, there are many gay men and women who have always felt that God made them the way they are and so there is nothing wrong with being gay.  While I now believe similarly, such was not always the case.  As far as I was concerned back then, since my homosexuality was never actually a choice, it had nothing to do with whether or not God had made me this way.  Instead, it had everything to do with the environment in which I was raised: female-dominant, no father-figure—a classbook case of "environmently-induced homosexuality".  The nightmarish images/memories of certain events in my early childhood lent much credence to this conclusion, especially since, to this day, I cannot even begin to consider intimate relations with a 'female of the species' without getting nauseous.

Since, in my mind, my being gay was not a choice and could not be genetic (hadn't they proven it was an illness?), it had to be due to the way I was raised.  That meant, somewhere in the back of my mind, that there was hope for me, that maybe Jehovah God could somehow, someday forgive me for what I was and that I could change—somehow.  However, since I could not reconcile my openly-gay, debauched life with what I'd come to believe was the proper image of a "true Christian," I shut that entire side of myself off and remained free and gay and completely out of the closet for the next four years.

That four-year hiatus was the best time of my life, a time when I actually liked myself and was genuinely happy, with few real cares and virtually no fear—a time spent blissfully unaware of the life-altering crises looming on the horizon.

How I Lost My Faith . V - Return to faith...sort of

In 2005 I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder and learned that the symptoms—mood swings, deep depression, etc.—usually kicks in during one's early twenties.

My return to the Kingdom Hall in early 1985 occured when I was 22 years old.  That return also marked the beginning of over 30 years of guilt and shame over being someone or something that Jehovah God could never approve of, and 30 years of bipolar episodes where, for six to eight months I would be the consummate Witness, only to give way to six to eight months of hanging out at gay bars, getting drunk and getting laid.  This pattern repeated itself ad nauseum until I was finally disfellowshipped in 2008.

But, despite the pain, I was convinced that the Witnesses had the "Truth" and I would eventually win out over my carnal side, so I kept trying despite my inherent weakness.  Because I was not yet baptized (not until 2001), the Witness friends I'd made in Denver showed, for the most part, exceptional patience and love and did their best to include me in activities, including, at one point, the chance to go door-to-door with them in their preaching work.  Back then, they allowed non-baptized Bible students to accompany them as "observers" (a practice they no longer endorse) and I took to it like a fish to water.  Unfortunately, the unwanted sexual cravings I'd kept buried during this time began to resurface and I left the company of the Witnesses for that of other gay guys, shutting down the spiritual side of me for the next six to eight months, until the pendulum swung back in the other direction, leading to my return to the Kingdom Hall again.

This pattern repeated itself over and over for the vast majority of my adult life.  Everytime I returned to "the Truth," I was certain this was the last time, that this was where I was supposed to be and I would move heaven and earth to stay there.  That certaintly always failed to last, and it got to the point a number of times that I wanted to end the struggle once and for all; I could not live like that any longer.

When I was diagnosed with AIDS in 1989, my outlook changed dramatically, and all the things I wanted to accomplish, especially getting baptized, suddenly needed to be done NOW.  I'd been told by my doctors that I only had two or three years to live, and if I wanted to insure my place in God's Kingdom, I needed to get baptized as soon as possible.  Everything had to be compressed into a very short time-frame and I was bound and determined to make it happen.

It did not, nor did I die as the doctor's had said I would.

How I Lost My Faith . IV - Confrontation

In 1981, before I graduated High School, I made friends with a young Witness whose father was an elder.  He and I got along great so I decided one day to confide in him about the struggle raging inside of me.  I did not want to be gay; I wanted to be a Jehovah's Witness and thought, with this young man's help, I could overcome my sexuality and become a loyal, faithful Witness just as he was.

Instead of keeping my confidence and helping me through the rough spots, he told his father about me.  This led to a confrontation with the elders that would alter the course of my life forever.

The "presiding overseer" of the congregation back then was the husband of the woman who'd studied the Bible with my godmother, and the children's book with me at age 10.  

When I was about 15, I decided to keep a diary describing in detail the struggle between my spiritual side and my carnal side, in very explicit language.  I kept this diary hidden, but my godmother found it after snooping through my desk (she later lied about where she'd found it, but by then the damage was done).  It was then that she and the whole family discovered that I was queer.  My whole family was made to read my diary while I was punished by being forced to do squats for hours (that was her favorite punishment, deep knee bends for hours on end).  Not long afterward, she took me to see the aforementioned elder to see if he could "fix" me.

I still remember a few details about that discussion, particularly his question to her, "Have you ever discouraged Tim from reading the Bible and the Watchtower?"  In an outright, blatant lie, she responded, "No, I've encouraged him to do so."  This after she'd thrown out all my literature and my Bible in the dump, which I'd retrieved in the middle of the night.  She lied, and he believed her "hook, line and sinker."  I don't remember much more of that particular conversation; I could thnk about is how she'd lied and the elder believed her every word.  That was wrong, but several years later, after my previously-mentioned friend had told his father about me, it got much worse.

I'd been attending meetings pretty regularly during the first half of 1981 and had made some good friends.  I remember one family in particular; they'd invite me over pretty regularly and we'd have hours-long dicussions about the Bible.  I was very knowledgeable by then and could talk about Bible prophesies on a level most could not.  I felt very at-home with them and everything was fine for a while.  At some point, they asked me why I wasn't baptized yet and all I could tell them was that I was working through some stuff and hoped to be baptized in the near future.

One day at the Kingdom Hall, the husband asked the presiding overseer what it was that was holding me back.  Instead of keeping my confidence, the elder told them that I was a homosexual and might not be good association!  That's when I discovered that my young friend, to whom I'd confided my struggle, had told his dad, and subsequently would have little to do with me.  After the next meeting, I confronted the elder who'd betrayed my trust.  He, my "friend's" father and myself met in a room at the Hall and he proceeded to tell me, "We've been watching you.  We've seen you passing notes around [a complete, blatant lie].  We could 'mark' you as bad association but we haven't yet."  At that, I lost control.  I accused him of betrayal, reminded him of the conversation a few years earlier with my godmother, when he completely ignored me and believed everything my godmother'd told him.  I remember crying profusely and being completely devasted.  These were people who were supposed to help me overcome my weaknesses and become a loyal, faithful Witness of Jehovah; instead they falsely accused me of wrongdoing and threatened to mark me in the congregation as unfit for association.

I left the Kingdom Hall that day utterely distraught...and remained gone for the next four years.  I wanted nothing to do with the Witnesses at that point, so when I had the chance to move away from home, the first place I moved to was a house with two other gay guys.  

It was then that I came fully out of the closet and fearlessly embraced my homosexuality with a fervor.  I discovered the gay scene in Washington, D.C. and the rest, as they say, is history.  For the next four years I was myself, someone with self-respect and dignity, and I had a blast!

During that time, circumstances led me to Denver, CO in 1984.  I was homeless for the first three or four months, then got injured on a day-labor job.  That winter, 1984/85, I found myself in a flea-bitten hotel in downtown Denver (thanks to assistance from Welfare; this was apparently the best they could do for me).  Something snapped one day and made me realize that my life had taken a turn for the worse; I needed hope, and friends, so, on a cold, snowy Sunday I found the local Kingdom Hall and walked over a mile through the snow to get there.

Thus began the roller-coaster ride that would define my life for the next 30 years or so.

How I Lost My Faith . III

I was introduced to Jehovah's Witnesses by my godmother at age 10.  She'd started studying the Bible with an Elder's wife and took some of us with her to the Kingdom Hall.  I was fully aware spiritually even at that tender age and what I heard from these people was music to my ears, and it gave me a feeling of hope such as I'd never known before.  That was in 5th grade, the year I befriended Michael, who would later betray that friendship.

In sixth grade, Michael and I diligently studied the Bible using the Getting the Most out of Your Youth book.  One of the chapters of that book dealt with homosexuality and how wrong and immoral such a lifestyle is to God.  This was the first big wall I'd run into regarding the feelings growing inside me, and Michael was there to help me win this battle, which was tantamount to a war against me and Satan, good and evil—a war that would rage non-stop for the next 30 years.

About this time, I discovered, thanks to Michael's mother, the 1975 Yearbook of Jehovah's Witnesses which dealt at great length the moral battle the Witnesses waged in Germany against Hitler's regime during WWI.  The stand they took of civil disobedience (i.e., refusing to say, "Heil, Hitler" or involve themselves in any capacity with his political engine, though it meant thousands would die in concentration camps alongside Jews, homosexuals and others.  The latter were slaughtered for who they were; the Witnesses for what they stood for.  (This has been recognized and championed by historians the world over.))

The following year, my friendship with Michael continued unabated.  We even shared a locker together, for a short time.  For, as our friendship grew stronger, my godmother's new-found intolerance suddenly appeared on the scene.

After she stopped studying the Bible with the Witnesses, she became very opposed to my association with Michael and my desire to become a Witness.  On one occassion that has stuck firmly in my mind ever since, she found and threw out my Watchtower books and magazines, including the Yearbook I'd borrowed from Michael's mom—as well as my Bible.  At that, I grew thoroughly incensed and that night, I snuck out of the house and across the road to the dumpster and retrieved my books—and began to hate my godmother even more, who'd blasphemously disposed of a holy Bible and Bible-based nourishment.  It was then that the lessons I'd learned from that Yearbook began to come into play.

I began to view Ginny as a Hitler-figure, and myself as a martyr, who would resist until his last breath.  Ginny made me get my own locker at school: "Do not come home [from school one day] until you have your own locker."  She also said once, "You can be a Witness all you want when you turn eighteen, but while you're living under my roof, you will not be a part of that cult.  Michael is to you what Jim Jones was to Johannesburg!  They're a cult!"

I complied with the locker demand, but my determination to worship my God, Jehovah, would never be quenched and my voice would never be silent!  I had my own "concentration camp scenario" and I would die before I complied with her wishes!

I was only twelve, but I'd found a hope, a future and full spiritual life ahead of me and nothing would interfere with my achieving that goal!

However, all the while my sexual orientation was striving to assert itself.  I was convinced that my homosexualtiy was a direct result of my childhood—no father figure to speak of and dominant women in control of every aspect of my life, to the point that, to this day the idea of being intimate with a woman is utterly repulsive to me.  

For the next twenty years or so I believed this: it wasn't my fault and I was not born this way.  That's what I told each of my counselors/shrinks over the years, that I did not want to hear, "Just accept yourself for who you are and give up on this rigid belief structure."  That's exactly what the Witnesses said they would say, so I looked upon such advice as demonic propaganda designed to draw me away from Jehovah.

There were many struggles throughout my teen years, but when I turned eighteen I did exactly as I'd promised and moved out.  The response I received when I told my godmother only served to strengthen my resolve: "You're just doing this to spite me!"  She didn't get it.  You see, both of my older brothers had stayed at home until at least the age of 20; I was the first to assert my independence at the earliest possible moment. 

Oddly enough, the first place I moved into was a house owned by two gay guys.  I'd only had one or two encounters up to then, but this move opened up a lot of new doors—gay-bar doors, to be exact, but that's another story...

That brings us back to 1981, when I would experience homophobic bigotry from the very ones who were supposed to care for my "soul."  This will be the subject of Part IV.

How I Lost My Faith . II

My introduction to Jehovah's Witnesses occurred when I was 10 years old, in 5th grade.  In 6th grade, at age 11, I came face-to-face for the first time with with my true identity.

I had a "girlfriend" named Melissa from about 3rd grade to 6th grade, and had in mind the thought of growing up, getting married and having children of my own; only they would be cared for in a way that I'd never experienced myself; the 'cycle of abuse' would be broken with me!  All of that changed one day in 1974 when I saw the inside of the boys' locker room after gym class and one of the students came out of the shower showing off what he had going on "down there."  That image burned into my brain and awakened a part of me that I didn't even know existed; but I knew from that moment on that I was "different."  It wasn't until the following school year, 7th grade, that I learned the feelings I'd been having had a name, "homosexuality," and that such feelings were wrong, unnatural and "abhorrent to Jehovah."  Thus began an identity crisis that would plague me for the next 30 years or so: how can I claim to worship Jehovah God while, at the same time, having homosexual thoughts and feelings for some of my classmates??

I was one of those kids who got picked on and bullied nearly-incessantly from 4th grade until my senior year (it got so bad once in 5th grade that I picked up a chair intending to hit smash it into one of my tormentors' heads; this happened only once more in 7th grade, though I never actually hit anyone—though not for lack of trying, mind you).  Interestingly, though, I was only rarely teased about being homosexual; I was targeted for the simple reason that I had a very short fuse and would inevitably respond to taunts by throwing a temper tantrum.  There was one incident in high school, however, when someone did revile for being homosexual (or, as I was about to find out, "a faggot").  It was one of the most profoundly-devastating moments in my young life.

Right after my introduction to the Witnesses in 5th grade, I met a young Witness named Michael whom I'd seen at the Kingdom Hall one night.  He and I became fast friends, practically inseparable for the next several years.  Sometime around 8th grade, he transferred to a different school in a neighboring town so we rarely saw each other through most of high school. One afternoon, though, while waiting for the school bus, engaged in conversation with Michael's girlfriend-at-the-time, Kathy (who hadn't transfered), Michael came to pick her up, saw me talking with her and stormed up to me screaming, "Get away from my girlfriend, you faggot!"

I remember being utterly speechless and thoroughly confused.  Here was one who I respected above all others—who'd helped me study the Bible during lunch breaks, helped me face religious intolerance and opposition at home and tried to help me overcome the homosexual feelings I'd been struggling with—calling me a "faggot" in front of dozens of classmates!  I was completely humiliated.

That was my first encounter with that level of homophobic bigotry, and it came from one I'd thought was a "brother in Christ," a fellow worshiper of "Jehovah God."  As devastating as that encounter was, it was not the last or the worse that I'd experience from fellow worshipers; the next encounter would be far worse and would expose to me for the first time the horrifying level of bigotry against homosexuals on the part of elders whose role should have been to help me overcome my weakness and build up my faith in God so I'd have the strength to do so.

What happened with the elders at the local Kingdom Hall in 1981 would help change the course of my life forever.

How I Lost My Faith . I

I was a god-loving, god-fearing child who attended Sunday School at a small Baptist church near the elementary school I attended for as far back as I can remember.  I would stand on our picnic table in the middle of our adjacent field and belt out religious and patriotic songs I'd learned in church as loud as I could, not caring one way or another whether the neighbors could hear me.

All that changed one Halloween when I was seven or eight and discovered that the preacher was allowing people to celebrate this "most pagan, Satanic of all all holidays"—inside the church!  I clearly remember being utterly appalled at seeing ghostly hangmen in the cemetery and witches and monsters running amok through the church (I can still see clearly someone dunking for apples and a monster staring through the window).

For the next two or three years I began to read books on evolution, and since my "God" had let me down, it seemed like the second-best source for answers to questions I could not yet fully articulate.

Now, I'd been trick-or-treating every year like most kids up to that point, but it  never struck me as counterintuitive to be preaching about God and angels and Paradise, only to turn around and promote a celebration of His eternal enemies—in His own house, no less!  Even at that age, I felt moral outrage over what I considered to be utter blasphemy.

Two or three years later, at age 10, I was introduced to the teachings of Jehovah's Witnesses and discovered logical, Bible-based answers that made sense to me at the time, such as "it's not my fault that I wet the bed!  I can stop blaming myself!  It's Satan the Devil's fault!" 

I distinctly remember making that statement one day to my godmother after a Bible Study with an elder's wife.  It was the first time I can remember ever feeling free of the guilt and shame that had been growing inside me—virtually from infancy—over my perceived inherent badness or evil.  

I was only ten; it would be another seven years before I would feel that kind of freedom again.

A Conundrum of Mammoth Proportions

For the vast majority of my life, I have prided myself on the neutral stance by which  I've lived regarding politics.  This was due, in very large part, to my firm belief that, as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, my loyalty lie with my god, Jehovah, and His "Kingdom" government.  To take sides in human political affairs was tantamount to treason, as I'd already pledged my allegiance to that heavenly government.

Now, things are not so simple.  I am no longer part of the Watchtower organization and have no personal relationship with a god, regardless of the name used in reference to him.  After learning many, many things about the actual history of this planet and civilizations that have lived and died upon it, I now have extreme difficulty in justifying such belief.

So, with no religious arguments at my disposal, I've chosen to continue my neutral stance, only this time for my own reasons.  I've learned about the powers-that-be that are running this country and this planet, and such knowledge has empowered me to non-involvement based on principle:

I cannot, in good conscience, contribute by my vote to the 

propagation of a thoroughly-corrupt system.

However, I do live in this same system and am directly affected by the decisions of those in power.  

This election cycle—unlike any others in my life of which I am aware—is the most important, pivotal moment in US history, and the repercussions will be felt clear to the country's core for decades to come.  With the exception of the Bush v. Gore race, I've paid more attention to politics this year than at any time in my life, and it has become glaringly apparent that this country is tottering on the edge of chaos.  If Romney gets elected, everyone on welfare and disability, every gay man and woman, every woman faced with life-threatening and life-changing decisions, everyone on the edge—or already over the edge—of poverty: we are all screwed!

I am on disability, and I'm gay, and I'm sustained by Social Security at below the poverty level (a trap from which there is no escape for me)...all of what makes me who I am is anathema to Romney and his ilk.  

Is it possible that, if I don't vote and Romney wins the election, I've essentially put a gun to my head?

Is Obama any better, and would we be better off?  Obama has his dark side, too, as evidenced by his putting into law expanded war powers for the president and continuing practices enacted by George W. Bush.  These things are anathema to me.

Regardless of what I do, the choice, from my point of view, comes down to the "lesser of two evils," and that is definitively Obama.

There's also the matter of local elections, whether for people, laws or amendments.  The closer to home these get, the stronger the need for change.  Those elected in our local communities have a far-more-direct influence on our individual lives than Washington, D.C.-bound elected officials.  By not voting, am I preventing my voice from being heard regarding what I need in my life?  Would my voice have any impact whatsoever, and if not, then what's the point??

There are a number of issues on the ballot this year that directly affect me and my friends, like legalization of medical marijuana and equal rights for the gay community.  I am part of that community; I was part of it when I was a Jehovah's Witness, even though I suppressed it for decades and largely ignored the needs of the gay community at large.

As a Witness, one is discouraged from having opinions about political issues, and one certainly does not express any when among other Witnesses.  But I do have opinions which I readily express in conversations with friends, but have never expressed by political action of any kind.  And there is no longer any other government to which I owe fealty, "heavenly" or otherwise.

I am now faced with a conundrum of mammoth proportions:

Should I stick to my principles of non-interference/non-support of a corrupt system, or ignore them for the sake of my voice and that of my friends and family? 

The jury is still out...

Velikovsky and the Search for myself - Pt I

I have spent at least 40 of my 49 years of life believing what others said I should believe.  My early childhood led me to the belief that I was inherently flawed and would never amount to anything, no matter how hard I tried.  My teenage years were rife with conflict, both within and without, as I began to adopt a Bible-based belief system that was diametrically opposed to the new realization that I liked guys instead of girls.  I was told to believe that such a thing was unnatural and demonic, and would bar me from ever having a relationship with God, "Jehovah," and gaining "everlasting life in Paradise on earth."  I was deeply convinced of that outcome, despite the fact that my being gay at no time felt unnatural to me.  But I believed in the Bible so strongly that I was willing to kill off one whole half of myself in order to conform to what I was told was "The Truth."

In 2005 I began a years-long process in therapy (with Belinda B.) to uncover what was at the root of my addiction problems.  That same year, I was diagnosed with 1) PTSD, 2) OCD tendencies and 3) Bipolar II Disorder.  The latter began, ironically, in 1985...the same year, at age 22, that I revived my association with Jehovah's Witnesses after a four-year hiatus.

As my sessions with Belinda progressed, she spoke more and more about finding one's "personal truth" and that there was no "one truth" to fit all.  I had a tremendous amount of difficulty with that concept, as I'd always been taught that there is, in fact, only one truth, that of the Bible as presented by Jehovah's Witnesses.  My truth was their truth and there was no other.

It wasn't until seven years later, in the summer of 2012, that I finally understood what she'd meant, and this is where the writings of Immanuel Velikovsky enter the picture...

This account is continued and expanded in the series, "How I Lost My Faith".

Demerol - What cost??

I've written a bit about how I became addicted to Demerol and how I avoided rehab by embarking on a self-developed (with my doctor's help, of course) program of withdrawal, a process which took over a year.  I've also indicated that a price, or "cost," I paid for my addiction.  So, just what was the cost?

For one thing, Demerol has cost me time, in that it wipes out short-term memory to such an extent that I've lost months of memories.  At one time a couple of years ago, I was speaking to a friend about what I thought was an event that had taken place the year before, only to find it'd taken place five or six years before, not one.  That was my first real indication as what the Demerol was doing to my mind.

For another, Demerol has cost me my dignity and sense of self-worth, not to mention my reputation in the eyes of some.  When one is in the throes of such an addiction, all manner of self-control goes out the window; all you can think about is getting the next shot, and to hell with the consequences.  In this way, it is little different from crack or meth.  The biggest difference is that this addiction is far more public; sitting in the ER waiting for the nurse to call me back exposes me to everyone that comes into the ER, including doctors and nurses---and desk clerks who think they've got you all figured out, even though it is none of their business.

I already have self-esteem issues; struggling with Demerol addiction (when the shots weren't really for pain control) completely eroded what little confidence remained in myself.

Those are a few of the "costs" of this particular addiction.  Fortunately, I'm no longer enslaved by Demerol; I only get it now when I actually need it, as determined by Amylase and Lipase blood levels (which I'll discuss in more detail later).  Now I can focus on more important matters, such as what to do with the rest of my life...