Alright, guys. Parts one, two, three, and four are here. Read them first. Trust me.
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I started at Sauk in the spring of 2014. I was taking Biology, Basic Acting, Intro to Theatre, and Voice and Piano lessons. At lunch on my first day, I ran into a friend from high school, Casper*. She introduced me to the group of people she was sitting with - the Zombie Club, as it turned out. Once again, I had found myself among the geeks and the gamers. For the first time in months, I felt at home again.
These people became my friends, as well. I sat with them at lunch. I joined them for zombie club meetings, which I definitely did not tell my parents about. They even invited me to Magic club. I dusted off my decks, unused since I had come home, since my parents believed they were the source of this "demonic influence" over my life and mental state, and had thus forbidden them.
Apparently, the magic players I had been up against at Olivet were very good. Because at Sauk, I kicked ass.
It was through these friendships that I came to know Thaddeus*.
Thaddeus was... interesting. He was the kind of person that exudes so much confidence that you can't help but like him and hate him at the same time. He was completely full of himself, and was constantly bragging. At the same time, his huge personality was somehow endearing. We started talking more and more, because we were kind of the weirdos at the weird kid table. So, we clicked.
We hung out quite a lot for the first month or two I spent at Sauk. We sat next to each other at lunch, we hung out after classes, we talked for hours. But, believe it or not, nothing ever happened between us. He had a girlfriend. I was still dating George. We were just friends, and that was that.
March 3rd, 2014. I had just finished a very long weekend running the sound board for the spring production of The Cat in the Hat: Live! During lunch, the entire table was full, except for a few seats down at one end next to some guy I had never met. Being the extrovert I am, I struck up a conversation. He seemed nice, and I had seen him a few times before, hanging around the table with his laptop, playing some kind of MMO RPG with his headphones on. I had thought about talking to him a few times, but I never wanted to interrupt - living with Brunhilda had broken me of that habit very quickly. Finally, here was my chance to talk to the mysterious stranger.
We started out with small talk, where I learned his name was Bear*, then moved quickly into language, both english and foreign. I was the resident "grammar nazi," so he invited me to edit a paper for him. He mentioned he was part Inupiaq, and that he had been trying to study the language. I immediately took that as a challenge, being the lover of languages that I am (I speak three, so far: English, French, and Russian). We clicked almost instantly.
That afternoon, when I left, he walked me downstairs and asked for my phone number. "I know you have a boyfriend," he said, "so I don't blame you if you don't want to give it to me." I admired his gumption and gave it to him anyway, then left with a smile. I mentioned it offhand to George, thinking nothing of it. He didn't mind. He was never really the jealous type, anyway.
I didn't see Bear the following day, but he did text me. The first thing he sent me was a picture of him with his cat. Which, admittedly, was weird, but I rolled with it. When I did finally see him on Wednesday, we jumped right back in with both feet. I brought a copy of The Cat in the Hat in French to read aloud to him, since he was so fascinated by my language skills. After we talked for a while, I invited him downstairs to a piano practice room to hear the new piece I had written for a musical I was working on.
I played him the piece, followed by all four movements of a piano suite I had written for George while at Olivet. He said it touched him "right here" and reminded him of his late grandfather, with whom he had been very close. We talked in that room for hours, about dreams and aspirations, about flying and fantasies and gaming stories, sitting side by side on the piano bench. In the midst of a story about a D&D campaign I had been in, he stopped me. "Do you want me to make a move?" I was shocked by his forwardness. "I don't know," I replied, before continuing with my story, the presence of his arm resting on the piano behind me suddenly heavy. As I stumbled through my narrative, his hand reached up to touch my cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as he turned my head toward his and gently pressed his lips against mine.
In that moment, I swear time stopped, and three very important thoughts occurred to me at once. First, that this was the first time I had ever kissed anyone except George. Second, that it was the single greatest kiss of my entire life. And third, that I didn't want it to end.
You know how sometimes, when you kiss someone for the first time, you feel fireworks? In that moment, my brain lit up like the Fourth of July. This is what a kiss is supposed to feel like. It threw me into incredible confusion. I thought I was in love with George. But, when you're in love with someone, should kissing someone else feel this good? I had been with George for over three years. We had been making wedding plans already. And here came this handsome stranger who blew me away with a single kiss.
Remember when I said my moment of clarity would come? This was it. Although, I didn't realize it at the time.
Bear, of course, was incredibly embarrassed. He started stammering about how if I didn't want to be friends anymore, he would totally understand, but he just had to do it, he just had to know, and he was so sorry, he would never do it again, if I didn't want him to.
I told him it was okay. I meant I forgave him. He thought it meant kiss me again. He did. I told him maybe that was enough.
My mind raced. My thoughts swirled. How did I reconcile these two realities - one in which I was in love with George, and one in which I shared the most passionate kiss of my life with an almost-complete stranger. Yet, this stranger, who I had known for a mere two days, felt closer to me than I had ever felt with anyone I had ever known in my entire life. I was more comfortable with him than my own family, and certainly than with George.
We talked for a while longer, and he held me for a few moments in his arms - which felt more like home than my own bed, before we returned, finally, upstairs to the cafeteria, where most of our friends were still hanging out. We had been downstairs for almost six hours. We tried our best not to look guilty.
This was the first time my faith started to really differ from my parents' faith. It was the first time that I allowed myself to be something my parents thought was essentially an abomination. It was a moment of acceptance - of myself and my right to have my own beliefs.
For the first time, My Jesus and My Mother's Jesus didn't have to be the same person. Just like Your Jesus might be different than My Jesus, and Your Mother's Jesus might be different from yours.
And you know what? That's okay.
[Continued in Part Six]
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I started at Sauk in the spring of 2014. I was taking Biology, Basic Acting, Intro to Theatre, and Voice and Piano lessons. At lunch on my first day, I ran into a friend from high school, Casper*. She introduced me to the group of people she was sitting with - the Zombie Club, as it turned out. Once again, I had found myself among the geeks and the gamers. For the first time in months, I felt at home again.
These people became my friends, as well. I sat with them at lunch. I joined them for zombie club meetings, which I definitely did not tell my parents about. They even invited me to Magic club. I dusted off my decks, unused since I had come home, since my parents believed they were the source of this "demonic influence" over my life and mental state, and had thus forbidden them.
Apparently, the magic players I had been up against at Olivet were very good. Because at Sauk, I kicked ass.
It was through these friendships that I came to know Thaddeus*.
Thaddeus was... interesting. He was the kind of person that exudes so much confidence that you can't help but like him and hate him at the same time. He was completely full of himself, and was constantly bragging. At the same time, his huge personality was somehow endearing. We started talking more and more, because we were kind of the weirdos at the weird kid table. So, we clicked.
We hung out quite a lot for the first month or two I spent at Sauk. We sat next to each other at lunch, we hung out after classes, we talked for hours. But, believe it or not, nothing ever happened between us. He had a girlfriend. I was still dating George. We were just friends, and that was that.
March 3rd, 2014. I had just finished a very long weekend running the sound board for the spring production of The Cat in the Hat: Live! During lunch, the entire table was full, except for a few seats down at one end next to some guy I had never met. Being the extrovert I am, I struck up a conversation. He seemed nice, and I had seen him a few times before, hanging around the table with his laptop, playing some kind of MMO RPG with his headphones on. I had thought about talking to him a few times, but I never wanted to interrupt - living with Brunhilda had broken me of that habit very quickly. Finally, here was my chance to talk to the mysterious stranger.
We started out with small talk, where I learned his name was Bear*, then moved quickly into language, both english and foreign. I was the resident "grammar nazi," so he invited me to edit a paper for him. He mentioned he was part Inupiaq, and that he had been trying to study the language. I immediately took that as a challenge, being the lover of languages that I am (I speak three, so far: English, French, and Russian). We clicked almost instantly.
That afternoon, when I left, he walked me downstairs and asked for my phone number. "I know you have a boyfriend," he said, "so I don't blame you if you don't want to give it to me." I admired his gumption and gave it to him anyway, then left with a smile. I mentioned it offhand to George, thinking nothing of it. He didn't mind. He was never really the jealous type, anyway.
I didn't see Bear the following day, but he did text me. The first thing he sent me was a picture of him with his cat. Which, admittedly, was weird, but I rolled with it. When I did finally see him on Wednesday, we jumped right back in with both feet. I brought a copy of The Cat in the Hat in French to read aloud to him, since he was so fascinated by my language skills. After we talked for a while, I invited him downstairs to a piano practice room to hear the new piece I had written for a musical I was working on.
I played him the piece, followed by all four movements of a piano suite I had written for George while at Olivet. He said it touched him "right here" and reminded him of his late grandfather, with whom he had been very close. We talked in that room for hours, about dreams and aspirations, about flying and fantasies and gaming stories, sitting side by side on the piano bench. In the midst of a story about a D&D campaign I had been in, he stopped me. "Do you want me to make a move?" I was shocked by his forwardness. "I don't know," I replied, before continuing with my story, the presence of his arm resting on the piano behind me suddenly heavy. As I stumbled through my narrative, his hand reached up to touch my cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as he turned my head toward his and gently pressed his lips against mine.
In that moment, I swear time stopped, and three very important thoughts occurred to me at once. First, that this was the first time I had ever kissed anyone except George. Second, that it was the single greatest kiss of my entire life. And third, that I didn't want it to end.
You know how sometimes, when you kiss someone for the first time, you feel fireworks? In that moment, my brain lit up like the Fourth of July. This is what a kiss is supposed to feel like. It threw me into incredible confusion. I thought I was in love with George. But, when you're in love with someone, should kissing someone else feel this good? I had been with George for over three years. We had been making wedding plans already. And here came this handsome stranger who blew me away with a single kiss.
Remember when I said my moment of clarity would come? This was it. Although, I didn't realize it at the time.
Bear, of course, was incredibly embarrassed. He started stammering about how if I didn't want to be friends anymore, he would totally understand, but he just had to do it, he just had to know, and he was so sorry, he would never do it again, if I didn't want him to.
I told him it was okay. I meant I forgave him. He thought it meant kiss me again. He did. I told him maybe that was enough.
My mind raced. My thoughts swirled. How did I reconcile these two realities - one in which I was in love with George, and one in which I shared the most passionate kiss of my life with an almost-complete stranger. Yet, this stranger, who I had known for a mere two days, felt closer to me than I had ever felt with anyone I had ever known in my entire life. I was more comfortable with him than my own family, and certainly than with George.
We talked for a while longer, and he held me for a few moments in his arms - which felt more like home than my own bed, before we returned, finally, upstairs to the cafeteria, where most of our friends were still hanging out. We had been downstairs for almost six hours. We tried our best not to look guilty.
I did tell George about this, who was understandably upset, but George and I had a weird relationship dynamic. He was very much not the jealous type. Basically, I could kiss and cuddle whoever I wanted, so long as I didn't hide it from him. He was more upset at Bear because he thought the kiss was unwanted than because I had kissed another man.
Gentlemen, a word of advice: while this tactic may be convenient for your ladyfriend, and serve to prevent her from leaving you for another man, first, this really only serves to do one thing: make your girl feel unwanted. The fact that you don't care if she's cheating on you says to her that you don't even think she's worth fighting for. Second, if you need to let your girlfriend cheat on you to protect your relationship, is your relationship really worth protecting on the first place?
The following week was spring break. I didn't see Bear that week, but I did see George, who had flown in from Pittsburgh to visit. At first I thought I could still make things work with George, but by the end of the week, I knew, I had to end it. It was just a question of how and when.
I originally intended to do it at the end of the week, but I gave him stomach flu instead. Breaking up with him while he's puking his guts up just seemed... Unfair. I resigned myself to having to do it over the Internet.
Meanwhile, I had been texting Bear off and on, and had really connected with him. When I returned to school the following week, we were inseparable. He even came to the school, on a Tuesday, when he didn't even have class, just to see me. Admittedly, we spent quite a bit of alone time together as well. I'm not incredibly proud of that, but I had already left George in my mind. I didn't feel bad about it, at least.
Meanwhile, I had been texting Bear off and on, and had really connected with him. When I returned to school the following week, we were inseparable. He even came to the school, on a Tuesday, when he didn't even have class, just to see me. Admittedly, we spent quite a bit of alone time together as well. I'm not incredibly proud of that, but I had already left George in my mind. I didn't feel bad about it, at least.
Friday morning, I went on a hike with my best friend Venus*. She had the day off work, and it was a gorgeous day out, so we went out to a favorite hiking trail in Franklin Grove. When we reached the end of the trail, about three miles in, my phone started to ring. It was Bear. He asked me out to dinner at my favorite restaurant. How could I refuse?
He picked me up from Venus's apartment at 6. As we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and got ready to get out, he stopped and turned to me. He made a vow to me, that we would stay together, "through the thick and the thin, and the good and the bad, whatever may come, forever and ever." I repeated it back to him. Though I'd only known him three weeks, I already knew, this was a man I could honestly spend the rest of my life with.
Two months ago, I vowed to do just that.
That date was the first of many. The very next day, I had "the talk" with George. From that point on, Bear and I were always together, much to my parents' chagrin.
Two weeks later (don't judge me) we made love for the first time. What started as helping him pack his things to move into a new apartment turned into losing my virginity in the upstairs bedroom of his parents' house. I cried. It was embarrassing. I won't go into detail.
What was interesting about this was not that I felt guilty, but that I didn't. In fact, I felt more guilty about not feeling guilty than about the sex itself. About that, I was sure. I loved him, deeply, and wanted to share it with him. I had no regrets, and that was the strangest thing. While I agonized over how my parents would react if they ever found out, deeply ashamed, not of my actions, but of disappointing my parents, I felt no remorse for the actual act. I was content.
Despite numerous assurances - from my parents, family members, every pastor I'd ever heard preach, every youth leader I'd ever spoken to, every conference and speaker and Christian writer I'd ever heard from or read - that losing my virginity outside of marriage would be a painful and devastating event, after which I would lose everything - my boyfriend, my faith, my very relationship with Jesus - and no one would ever want me, I found myself shockingly unhurt and still-loved. My world didn't come crashing down. No lightning bolt of judgment came down from the sky to punish me for my horrific wrongdoings. Not only did Bear not leave me, he married me a little over a year later - something Purity Culture had assured me was absolutely out of the question.
Nonetheless, I spent days crying into Bear's shoulders, as first the shame of disappointing my parents crushed me, followed by the realization that I should never let anyone make me feel ashamed of something that doesn't bother me in the slightest. It was through this that I realized my parents had been using shame as a control tactic for a very long time.
Suddenly, it was all so clear. Everything my parents had ever wanted me to do, they coerced me into doing by pushing shame and guilt onto me in the form of bible verses and "Angry-Jesus". A "B" in a class went from "above average" to "failing" in the eyes of my father. The decision to drop out of college went from "completely normal" to "working at Walmart for the rest of my life." (For the record, I have a very good job as a News Anchor for a local radio station, which I had already been working for several months at the time.)
What was interesting about this was not that I felt guilty, but that I didn't. In fact, I felt more guilty about not feeling guilty than about the sex itself. About that, I was sure. I loved him, deeply, and wanted to share it with him. I had no regrets, and that was the strangest thing. While I agonized over how my parents would react if they ever found out, deeply ashamed, not of my actions, but of disappointing my parents, I felt no remorse for the actual act. I was content.
Despite numerous assurances - from my parents, family members, every pastor I'd ever heard preach, every youth leader I'd ever spoken to, every conference and speaker and Christian writer I'd ever heard from or read - that losing my virginity outside of marriage would be a painful and devastating event, after which I would lose everything - my boyfriend, my faith, my very relationship with Jesus - and no one would ever want me, I found myself shockingly unhurt and still-loved. My world didn't come crashing down. No lightning bolt of judgment came down from the sky to punish me for my horrific wrongdoings. Not only did Bear not leave me, he married me a little over a year later - something Purity Culture had assured me was absolutely out of the question.
Nonetheless, I spent days crying into Bear's shoulders, as first the shame of disappointing my parents crushed me, followed by the realization that I should never let anyone make me feel ashamed of something that doesn't bother me in the slightest. It was through this that I realized my parents had been using shame as a control tactic for a very long time.
Suddenly, it was all so clear. Everything my parents had ever wanted me to do, they coerced me into doing by pushing shame and guilt onto me in the form of bible verses and "Angry-Jesus". A "B" in a class went from "above average" to "failing" in the eyes of my father. The decision to drop out of college went from "completely normal" to "working at Walmart for the rest of my life." (For the record, I have a very good job as a News Anchor for a local radio station, which I had already been working for several months at the time.)
The emotional abuse**, as I was later able to identify it as, was primarily the work of my father. My mother, although not really preventing the abuse, was also not really contributing and may not have realized what was happening. For that reason, I consider her mostly blameless in this. My father, however, is a master of making you feel small and stupid, no matter how certain you are of your position.
This became especially evident that summer, when I decided I couldn't take it anymore, and tried to move out. I won't go into detail, but if you'd like to read about the experience, I wrote a brief post about it shortly after the incident.
The short version of the story is this: I packed up my things and moved out. My dad called me back to the house to get the title for my car, which was in his name. He then proceeded to spend two hours viciously abusing not only myself, but Bear too, who had come with me for support. He spewed insults and scriptures, trying everything he could to split us up, even going so far as to point out that I had kissed George (*gasp!*), and shouldn't that bother him? He told us we were stupid, that moving in together was sinful, that 95% of couples who move in together before marriage get divorced (which is false). He tried scare tactics and shame and ultimately, blackmail. The final straw, which forced me to move back home, was my car. Although the car was purchased with money given to me in the form of savings bonds, which my parents had cashed without my permission, somehow the car had still ended up registered to my father, along with the insurance. He used that fact to force me back home, knowing that without my car I couldn't work, couldn't go to school, couldn't so much as run to the grocery store for a gallon of milk. I was helpless. I had no choice.
Honestly, I still haven't forgiven him for that. Just the thought of being alone with my father for even a few seconds gives me anxiety the likes of which I haven't had since Olivet. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him, and while I've allowed myself to accept that and move on, I still shrink into nothing when he tries to lecture me. I've been so trained to accept that what he says is true, and I'm just too stupid to know any better, that I can't find the words to argue with him.
Coming to terms with the emotional abuse led me down a long path of self-forgiveness and reevaluation, regarding my belief system, my self-image, and even my relationship with Bear. Suddenly, I didn't have to live up to their expectations all the time. I realized that I was free to make my own decisions, and that is both freeing and terrifying.
This became especially evident that summer, when I decided I couldn't take it anymore, and tried to move out. I won't go into detail, but if you'd like to read about the experience, I wrote a brief post about it shortly after the incident.
The short version of the story is this: I packed up my things and moved out. My dad called me back to the house to get the title for my car, which was in his name. He then proceeded to spend two hours viciously abusing not only myself, but Bear too, who had come with me for support. He spewed insults and scriptures, trying everything he could to split us up, even going so far as to point out that I had kissed George (*gasp!*), and shouldn't that bother him? He told us we were stupid, that moving in together was sinful, that 95% of couples who move in together before marriage get divorced (which is false). He tried scare tactics and shame and ultimately, blackmail. The final straw, which forced me to move back home, was my car. Although the car was purchased with money given to me in the form of savings bonds, which my parents had cashed without my permission, somehow the car had still ended up registered to my father, along with the insurance. He used that fact to force me back home, knowing that without my car I couldn't work, couldn't go to school, couldn't so much as run to the grocery store for a gallon of milk. I was helpless. I had no choice.
Honestly, I still haven't forgiven him for that. Just the thought of being alone with my father for even a few seconds gives me anxiety the likes of which I haven't had since Olivet. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him, and while I've allowed myself to accept that and move on, I still shrink into nothing when he tries to lecture me. I've been so trained to accept that what he says is true, and I'm just too stupid to know any better, that I can't find the words to argue with him.
Coming to terms with the emotional abuse led me down a long path of self-forgiveness and reevaluation, regarding my belief system, my self-image, and even my relationship with Bear. Suddenly, I didn't have to live up to their expectations all the time. I realized that I was free to make my own decisions, and that is both freeing and terrifying.
It was among all of this that I came to terms with something very important about myself:
I am bisexual.
At time of writing, I've only told a handful of people - seven, in total, to date. I denied it for a very, very long time, but somewhere in all of this soul searching and self-discovery, I realized I was denying something that was a very important part of my past, and possibly my future.
Before you start asking, and preaching, and commenting, know this:
- Yes, my husband knows.
- No, nothing you say is going to "change my mind."
- It's okay if you don't believe in "alternate sexuality." You have a right to believe in what you want, just as I have a right to disagree with you. This does not mean we can't be friends. This does not mean I hate you or you hate me. This simply means that we have a differing opinion on something, and that is okay. What is not okay is trying to guilt or shame someone into changing their beliefs to match yours. Please respect our differences.
- Yes, Jesus still loves me, and I still love him.
This was the first time my faith started to really differ from my parents' faith. It was the first time that I allowed myself to be something my parents thought was essentially an abomination. It was a moment of acceptance - of myself and my right to have my own beliefs.
For the first time, My Jesus and My Mother's Jesus didn't have to be the same person. Just like Your Jesus might be different than My Jesus, and Your Mother's Jesus might be different from yours.
And you know what? That's okay.
[Continued in Part Six]
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*names have been changed for privacy.
**If you believe you are suffering from emotional abuse, or abuse of any kind, please don't hesitate to seek help from a trusted source. Confide in a loved one, seek therapy, whatever you need to do. Emotional abuse, specifically, is very difficult to identify, and must be handled on an individual basis. What is right for me may not be right for you. The most important thing to remember is this: your opinions, your thoughts, your beliefs, they are valid. No one has the right to tell you who you are. You are you, one hundred percent, and no less.
**If you believe you are suffering from emotional abuse, or abuse of any kind, please don't hesitate to seek help from a trusted source. Confide in a loved one, seek therapy, whatever you need to do. Emotional abuse, specifically, is very difficult to identify, and must be handled on an individual basis. What is right for me may not be right for you. The most important thing to remember is this: your opinions, your thoughts, your beliefs, they are valid. No one has the right to tell you who you are. You are you, one hundred percent, and no less.
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