I was 17 when I learned that there was such a state as homosexuality and that homosexuals had their own bars. I was at once fascinated and frightened. My curiosity would not let me alone, so one afternoon I went to a dark dirty little bar and got picked up. In the midst of the thrill, it seemed that my whole being was accusing me of being the filth of the earth. I ran away after that experience, but two months later I went back. I never thought to go to confession or to get any help from anyone.
I was a homosexual, and no one could
help me except someone who shared my experience. That was the way I thought,
and so I began to seek out those who were the same as I was. I became a regular
at the bars that catered to the younger crowd, people with whom I thought I had
more in common.
In college,
I discovered the wonderful world of drugs: LSD, uppers, downers, marijuana, and
anything else I could get my hands on to silence the noise in my head. I went
away to school, but I would spend weekends with friends so that I could go to
the bars. The bars were my life.
Needless to
say, my grades suffered; I was a barely passing student. College was one big party,
so I continued in it for seven years, until it was getting ridiculous for me to
remain. With the drugs and the hiding of my sexual activity from my family,
things were not really grand. Depression was a constant friend. I did not like
myself, but the drugs and alcohol kept me from thinking about my situation too
much – except in those rare moments when I wanted to kill myself.
I decided
to go into hotel/restaurant work where the responsibility was nil and the money
for a single guy was pretty good. An additional asset was that it was primarily
staffed by gays with whom I could feel secure. I could also have the freedom to
travel and work in different places around the country.
Being
inclined to experimentation, I began to indulge in the more perverse forms of
sexual activity. I did anything to please any possible lover. As time went on,
it seemed that the gay culture as a whole was progressing in the same way. I was
trying to keep up. This was my life for years; I was going from bad to worse. I
was always looking for what I could never find, for it only existed in fantasy.
The worst of the matter was thaI could not stop, as much as I tried. It seemed that
my life was beyond my control. I began to hate myself for my inability to stop.
No matter where I went or what I did, I could not escape the gay culture. It
had me firmly locked in its grip. Sex -- or the search of it -- preoccupied my
time entirely. Life had no meaning for me anymore. I felt that I could not have
any normal friends without using them, nor have any friends who were not worth
using.
Death was becoming very attractive to me, but my Roman Catholic upbringing
would not let me do any violence to my life. I began to emotionally withdraw
into myself, occasionally picking up a prostitute to fulfill a fantasy.
I really
wanted out of this life. One day in 1987 while waiting on my boss´ s wife and
some of her woman friends, I caught bits and pieces of a conversation they were
having about apparitions, the Blessed Mother, and a place called Medugorje. Not
knowing what they were talking about, but eager to find out, I began to give
them excellent service to try to understand what was going on. When her husband
came in to say hi to them, I swore to myself that no one was getting any more
food until someone told me what this was all about. I cornered my boss outside
the room and asked him about Medugorje. When he told me about the messages from
the Mother of God, I immediately began to put all of them into action.
Not having
been to church in 23 years, I went out and bought myself a rosary and from that
day on began praying it and praying in church for three hours every day. That
day was the last day that I touched any drugs, permitted myself any sexual activity
or, except moderately on special occasions, took any alcohol. I stopped
watching television and began in earnest to study my faith. I read about
meditation and began to practice it. Within two weeks, I moved back in with my
parents; I gave them back the son I had killed so many years before.
Shortly
after that I received the grace of a “conversion experience.” Some call it
being “born again.” Whatever you want to call it, I was introduced to the Lord
of the Living. I became alive in my heart. I knew what it meant to love again, and
I wanted only to live the messages of the Blessed Mother at Medugorje. I have
been going to Mass and receiving Holy Communion daily these past five years.
Every day I spend time in adoration before the Blessed Sacrament and pray 15
decades of the Rosary. Where once there was only self-indulgence, now there is
a life of prayer.
At the
Courage International conference in 1990, I became convinced about the merits of Courage, and
afterwards I was instrumental in getting a chapter started in my own city. I am
still going strong and looking for ways to get the message of Courage out to
all the gay areas. My love for Jesus Christ keeps growing.
There was a
time in my youth when I was in love with life, so to speak. Now I have found
the Author of that life, and I am the more deeply in love with Him for the life
He gave back to me and the power He gave me to say no to the life I used to
live, but now detest. I thank Him for the Blessed Mother´s apparitions that
gave me the way back and showed me how to keep that freedom. I look back on the
life I lived with deep remorse, as it was 23 years of living a LIE. But thanks
to Jesus and Mary, I am now living the TRUTH and loving every moment of it. My
prayer is that I might do all I can to help others out of that lifestyle.
Courage is one way, and we who are members of Courage need to help each other
find ways to reach out and help our brothers and sisters struggling with
same-sex attractions.
Pat – New
Orleans