I planned to commit suicide last Wednesday by driving my car into an oncoming 18 wheeler. The driver of the truck would most likely survive, but I figured I would die quick and the pain of living would finally be over. Another plan was to buy a gallon of whiskey, down it, and pass out and die from alcohol poisoning. There were many other plans. I had just lost a promising job at a local catholic hospital where they said prayer over the intercom, and had crucifixes hanging everywhere, and had a chaplain for catholic, methodist, and Baptist. On the third day, I drank whiskey before I left to ease the mental anquish. I threw up on myself on the way to work. I tried to wipe it off with a cloth, but I reeked of alcohol and vomit. I started having a mental health crisis with memory loss and confusion as I walked into my new bosses office and sat down. She said hello and I could tell she knew from my slurred speech and the smell. She excused herself for a moment and I escaped to my car and vomited out the car door feeling worthless and hopeless. A disappointment to my family, again. I was overwhelmed with grief.
I managed to drive to the nearby Alcohol and Drug Council and surrendered my keys. A friendly, effeminate counselor talked to me and I was evalulated to see if I needed to go for the inpatient mental health. I lied about having suicidal thoughts, so they let me go home after I sat in the lobby for 7 hours.
I didn’t want to die, but couldn’t live with this pain. I made the decision to try one more time so I checked myself into the Burke Center (local mental health provider) the following day. The doctor doubled my dose of Sertraline(Zoloft/200mg 1 time per day), added Gabopentin (300mg, 3 times a day) for anxiety, and Trazidone (200mg/at bedtime) to help me sleep.
My reason for including the exact dosage is a necessary one. My Nurse Practitioner could only prescribe up to 100mg. I had been on that dosage for years, but apparently it was not enough to lift the chronic depression. I would imagine that some people would stop taking the sertraline because it didn’t seem to be helping and give up. I understood from the NP that only psychiatrists were allowed to prescribe higher doses. People don’t want to admit that they have a mental health issue that requires a psychiatrist. They would be considered crazy. Please stop this way of thinking. The Burke Center provides a psychiatrist to assess the patient via video chatting. The psychiatrists were kind and caring and listened to me. I didn’t care where they were located physically, I just wanted to feel better.
The first 2 days I did nothing but lay in bed and sleep. Then surprisingly, I began watching TV. A little at first, then more and more my interest in things on TV became apparant. I had not been able to watch TV for decades. By my 4th day, I was showered and dressed, teeth flossed and brushed watching TV shows, and feeling a sense of relief that I don’t remember ever having. I was still in pain, however, but the depression had eased and I felt motivated to do things. I was amazed! I was wanting to become a member of society again.
Turns out, I had been depressed all this time and had used drugs and alcohol to self-medicate. The low doses of anti-depressants didn’t work — not for years, but for decades. But why? What was the source? The reason for my depression had crossed my mind a few times before, but I didn’t want to entertain it. But here is the reason for my depression, and I suspect for many others, that has lasted my lifetime until it began lifting at the recent Burke Center admission. Please read carefully and consider the damage that the following causes.
I was indoctrinated into the southern baptist convention at the impressionable age of 3. The next few years I learned to hate those who are different and who don’t follow the bible’s law. Especially when it came to homosexuality. I saw films of them burning in hell. It was understood that Blacks were inferior, but fags were the worst. It says in the bible they should be put to death. The teachings hooked me. It was from the presumably knowledgable pastor at the time, so he must know what he’s talking about. I mean, he’s a man of god.
Then at about the age of puberty, I realized I didn’t find women sexually attractive. I fought with myself and said, NO, Jesus would not do that to me. If I am a fag, then god wants me dead. The guilt grew quickly. I cried incessantly after masterbating to male models in their underwear in the Sears Catalog. I tried to masterbate looking at the women’s bra models, but it was no use. I was a fag. I isolated myself and made very few friends. Most of my friends were girls and coaches would make fun of me because I hung out with girls and not the boys. I made one my girlfriend to make it look legit. I had a girlfriend in high school who loved me, but I left to go to college and didn’t care. How could someone love me? I hate myself.
This is how the indoctrination method works. It’s psychological high-jacking. Get’m while they are young and defenseless. Teach them to hate as early as possible. That way, if they turn out to be fags, they will suffer on the subconscious level and it will most likely lead to their detriment, or at least a life of mental anguish and suffering. If they turn out straight, then they have already learned to hate fags, so they are good to go. The men who are gay and try to live an inauthentic straight life are usually the ones most violent and aggressive toward other gay people. They bash fags because they are secretly gay and were forced to swallow the hate pill at a young and impressionable age. They never experience authentic happiness because they were brainwashed as soon as they were old enough to be cognitive or reach the ‘age of reason’. The seed of hate is planted as soon as this occurs. It is an incredibly sick, systematic method used by theological haters and bullies to further their cause of oppression and delusionally believe they are doing gods work. They are proud of the evil outcomes. Some are charlatans. A charlatan is a person falsely claiming to have a special knowledge or skill. A charlatan is a fraud. They do it for the sense of power and the money collected. Religion is BIG business and it’s tax free. So now, throughout their life, every time the gay person sees a church, a ‘Jesus is Lord’ sign in the yards, televangelists on TV, billboards, church marquees, the ‘higher power’ in AA and NA…anything regarding god, they are subtly reminded of their depravity and worthlessness. It is a self-perpetuating process of intended oppression on society and it negatively affects gay people the most. It is overwhelming to even think about the amount of human suffering it causes.
During all of the stages of my life, the depression and self hatred was always there in the background. It was the foundation. I was in and out of relationships with men of all types. I was a sex addict and alcoholic but would not admit it to myself. The promiscuous sex made me feel better about myself and helped buffer my depression.
In about 2009, I entered a relationship with a meth addict. I didn’t know at the time he was a user. But from recent experience, I now know I was given what’s called a booty bump without my knowledge. A rock or shard of meth is inserted during penetration of the anus without the reciever knowing. It burns for a bit until it is absorbed by the colon. Then an incredible rush of dopamine occurs, causing an extreme feeling of pleasure. This partner introduced me to group sex and allowed other men to drug me without my knowledge. I knew I felt more energetic, but didn’t know why. He got violent one night and tried to throw me off of a 7 story balcony. At the time I thought he had just gone crazy. Subsequent to that, another one attacked me from behind and bashed my face into a car mirror, cracking a rib.
Eventually, meth was offered to me. I got hooked on smoking from a bong because the following morning I felt rejuvinated and was thinking I had found the fountain of youth. I wanted to share this with my friends because I felt indestructable. This is why I don’t blame the partner who let those men drug me. He didn’t know better because he was a victim too.
Bathhouses, book stores, and online hookups continued and I most always had my loaded meth pipe and torch lighter with me. I would attempt to quit, but would cycle right back around. I was out of control. I still worked hard at my job and appeared normal, but I was far from normal. Well, except for all of the other gay men in my condition. I would hear of a hookup that I had previously had sex with, was found dead. Reason unknown. So many others I never heard about. STD’s run rampant. I was committing slow suicide.
The meth would turn ugly after several weeks of use and I would become delusional. I would think Jesus and the devil were in me and telling me what to do. I would drive South or North wherever I was told and end up hitting the bottom and sometimes being taken to a mental health facility or spend time in a county jail while violently detoxing from meth. I would surrender everything to Jesus, even my clothes, and get picked up by the police. Eventually, I just wanted someone to kill me. Is this all there is? Pain and suffering? My immediate family was a mess because of my antics. My brother estranged his family.
Now for the good news. No, GREAT news. No, INDESCRIBABLY GREAT news.
Since my depression has lifted since the Burke Center, my confidence and mental aquity is returning in small increments. Where I used to lay in bed all day in a coma, I work from sun-up to sun-down and actually enjoy it. The depression tries to sneak back in at times, but now that I know the source, I can easily dismiss it and let it go. Where before I could never go up and talk to people, now I walk right up and stick out my hand and say hello. Facebook would make me anxious and paranoid. Now I love being able to be in touch with so many friends and aquaintences. Before, I had isolated myself because I always felt bad, physically and mentally. That foundational burden of depression has lessened enough to allow the good things to come through. These are things I have never felt, like happiness and contentment. Even though I still have physical pain, I can easily handle it. My mind is getting stronger, as well as my zest for life because the cycle has been broken.
Another incredible change is that I no longer crave sex, drugs, or alcohol. Before, I used them only to self medicate and ease the pain of the hate seed that had flourished all those decades in my psyche. My goal in my recent Inpatient visit at the Burke Center was to be happy and content. For the first time I am authentically happy and content. I grunt and groan alot but my smiles are now genuine.
A happy and content life is possible. You may be under the delusion that you are happy, but if you have never felt the real thing, then how would you know. You have been robbed of your rights to a happy life . Take care of your mental health NOW. Take advantage of these mental health facilities that are available, sometimes free if you have no income. Get the dosage of anti-depressants high enough so you will know what good really feels like.
Life is Good… No, Life is GREAT! I want you to feel what I’m feeling sans the meth, alcohol, and depression.
the definition of gay is ‘lighthearted and content’. Sounds like happy to me.
Thank you for reading.
Last modified: April 27, 2018