As I’ve been reading the coming out stories by those in the in the queerosphere, I find myself getting angry by reading their stories. I’m angry at their whining because they apparently have understanding parents who cared about them and they knew it.

I on the other hand had my mother immediately burst into tears and run away, then after my mother talked to my father she then came and told me, “Your dad won’t be able to speak with you for a while.”

After I was rejected from serving a mission, I decided to move out and go to school. My parents would come home screaming, crying, and slamming doors. I was called insensitive, bratty, stuck up, my parents claimed I would just leave the church and prostitute myself for drugs on the street corner (I heard that one three times—scenarios my oldest brother found himself in) they said that my plans to stay close to the church was just a farce, a cover-up for my true feelings of leaving the Gospel that I love.

I remember sitting in the computer room typing out blogs during the summer, I felt my life was falling apart, and then my parents would come home and rip into me. This went on until I invited my parents to the evergreen conference. That was happening for four months. FOUR MONTHS at least once a week.

So sorry if I get angry reading your stories of coming out and only finding your parents not really educated on the how’s and why’s of same-sex attraction.