I'm actually shaking as I type this. I'm facing a fear I've had for a very long time: writing about what it means to be a middle-aged man who is gay, a member of the Mormon Church, who spent an entire childhood in severe abuse, married and divorced, but still closeted because of the repercussions coming out would have on me, my ex, my children, and particularly on my mother. My mom has been through enough. She is finally, after 70 years, finding happiness and love.

I'm not here to grind axes with a religion, the past, or any person. I'm here to write to give other LGBT people hope that their lives can be good and whole and happy even though their families and their religions may have condemned them. I'm here as a representative for every straight person whose family probably has a gay brother, son, uncle dad, or any other family member who may be gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender. I'm here to try to be a sane voice in a world of what seems to have an abundance of religious zealots and even unreligious zealots.

It took me a lot of years to let go of the brain washing and half truths. To conclude, finally, that things that haven't ever made sense are most likely never going to make sense because they're not true. That religious superstition is one of the greatest evils of the world, causing incalculable pain and suffering. That Satan is used too often as an excuse for our unwillingness to take responsibility in controlling our own egos. That God is not going to save our sorry souls from the consequences of our actions when you and I need so desperately to learn the lessons those consequences teach us. If there is a God, how would saving us from consequences we need to learn help us? It won't. If you want to be "worthy" to return to him, grow up and learn your lessons. Save your own self. Stop being a victim of everything. No more becoming a blubbering pile of "God, help me!" every time you feel victimized.

There are a few people who came along and pulled me out of abuse just long enough for me to catch my breath so that I could be thrown back into it. No one saved me from abuse in the end. But a few people saved my life in the moment I needed it. My church did not ever save me from my torture chambers. They turned their back and ignored me and my family. However, in their defense, the church gave us values and hopes that did make life better.

But I believe I see things more for what they are now. I see my dad for who he is now. He was that complicated mix of good and bad, which in my estimation would make him just about like every other human on earth. And so the church I grew up believing in is now the same to me. Complicated, contradictory, demeaning, condemning but also giving, loving and at times, even supportive. It's just that I no longer need anything from this church or any other, despite their cries of people like me being an outcast and burning in hell. And, to make it worse, the tears from religious family and friends claiming that they will never be able to see me again. What rational thinking would allow anyone to believe any of it? It just feels like the same manipulation and control that I have always experienced.

As a human being, I am the same person I have always been. I didn't decide to be gay. I remember being particularly attracted to men from as far back as I can remember. I wanted to be a good boy. A good Mormon dad and husband. I did everything I could to be that person. I rose in the ranks of the Mormon church to some high levels for a time. Being gay was a terrible, damned inconvenience that I would never choose for myself or anyone else. I couldn't be gay, because it didn't fit into not only my and my wife's plans, but also (I thought) God's plans for my future. I was on my way. I was sought after. And the more that happened, the guiltier I felt. The more I believed and worried that I wasn't what God loved. I was a reprobate to him, according to my religion, despite the fact that I never had acted out sexually with anyone but my wife. Yet, oddly, contrary to what my religion teaches—that a person such as I is beyond feeling spiritual promptings because of sin—I still feel inspiration as much as I used to. I still have new awarenesses and insights. None of that has changed because I am still the same person, with the same values and principles, the same ambitions. Even "gay" didn't change any of those things for me. The only thing that changed was that I finally started seeing things for what they really are. And I started to find peace. I feel more spiritually inclined than I ever have before. I just stopped letting any religion become the middle-man between God and me.

I stopped crying to God to save me, and I learned to save myself. I learned from my terrible experiences that there can be a positive benefit to anything, if we are willing to learn from it and not become a victim over and over again. I learned the universe is generous—that it gives us lessons again and again until we finally "get it". Once we do, we are free to move forward.

I believe that some of the greatest powers in the universe are in our own minds. I believe that you and I are a part of something wonderful, amazing and beyond our present comprehension. I believe in the goodness of mankind, despite the turns to evil that we all seem to make from time to time.

I hope what I write, although shocking and sad and enraging at times, will ultimately bring hope to all who may read.

Thank you.