Every LGBT persons, out and closeted, learnt to hate themselves by several means. Some, from religious grounds, parents mentoring, and torments from peers. Others, the realisation that they have a different orientation from other children. I don't want to talk personally, but generally, from everyone's angle of sight. But, however, I will put down instances related to me, which I suppose most of you will identify with.
At the age of thirteen, my mother had always preached to me to be "against" gay people, as they are all going to burn in hell. She knew I was affiliated with gay people in some way. The way I talked, walked, acted, and everything. She didn't want me to be gay. She said gay people die very quickly. She said their anus tears. She said Dangote was gay, that had 2 wives and many husbands. She said they kidnapped young boys and take them to Dangote's house for marriage. I wasn't surprised. She asked if I wanted to be kidnapped by Dangote's men, but I bodily disagreed. I wanted to go with Dangote's men. But don't like myself gay.
The incident that happened in my secondary school, which I had once talked about, about a friend who came to my house and started talking my girlish attitude in school. I was beaten for that. Severely beaten, and was deprived of having friends. My mother continued to preach to me about the goodness of God.
We relocated to Surulere in 2010. In 2012's Ramadan period, my father was just recovering from a vicious accident, or probably before then. So, I was sent on an errand to get stuff for dinner, as it was almost time to break. I went getting those stuff, without my phone. My phone was very small, useless phone, but could check porn sites and do 2go. There was no security code. I was just there. As I got back, trying to settle down from the stress, my father asked if I usually prayed. Of course I did! Then he asked my mum if she could believe the sites I had been on during the observation of the sawm. He did tell my mum, and she couldn't believe it. I wasn't beaten. No, I wasn't touched. But my mother began her preaches about gay people. How God despised them, and how isolated they will be when they died. I didn't like myself. I was nuts! I wanted to try murder. I had a 2-day-old boyfriend on 2go then. I instantly cursed him and told him he would die soon. I deleted him afterwards. My mum didn't stop, though. My brother's ex-girlfriend came another day, and she told her all about what happened. Since then, till she and my brother broke-up, she called me "my gay brother-in-law."
Flash back to 2010, when my cousin stayed with us. I did not know what Twitter was. He opened an account for me and told me how it functioned. I wa exhilarated that I had an account. But, who knew what I did while operating that account? Well, you guessed right! I was spewing and swearing! I was soliciting for God against gay people. All that came into me was "swear for them!". I was bittered. In one part of me, I knew I was cursing myself, but I continued. I also used to pledge to God that the very first I have sex with a man, let me die hard and in pain. But it never did happen.
In 2013 was the very first time I had a physical contact with a man. We did not do penetration, but there was a contact. It was also during Ramadan, that year. It was suiting, but all full in regrets!
I lied that I was going to mosque that night, so mother told me she needed someone to reach the ATM stand for cash. I agreed to assist, as I knew I was going to meet somebody. It wasn't funny. I left home, like I was going to mosque, then took another route to wait for the person. I waited for about 30minutes, shivering. He eventually arrived, and then we headed for where he stayed. He wasn't alone. His brother was with him. But I never knew what set-up was then, and thank God it wasn't. We got to his place and did all we had to do. During our pleasure, my mum's number rang on my phone. I was scared. I quickly had to leave. I eventually bursted out, sad and shivering, in haste, trying to meet up. It was like three missed calls already. And the next time she would call, I picked and told her I just rounded up praying at the mosque, that I was headed to the ATM. After she dropped, I began to run. I ran and was saying in my heart, "kill me now, Lord. I have betrayed you. It is my promise to you not to have sex with a man. Kill me now, Lord. Let me suffer for this. I want to die and go to hell." I repeated these till I got to the ATM. Getting to the ATM, and slotting in my card into its required space, I waited, shivering ,for the information it had to display. It displayed them, and I pressed them according to what it ought to be. When it was time to print, it hung. And then my hands were already hung over my head. It was a busy road. There was no one I could call. I began to flourish in shame and guilt. I felt remorse. I thought God was already there to take my life. My mum called at that time, and I told her that her card had been stuck to the ATM, and it won't come out. She shouted at me, telling me to get a security man there. But during the call, the ATM ejected the card. I wasn't happy yet. I said "Thank God. What next?"
When I got home, I couldn't attempt withdrawal anymore, my mum asked where the money was, that she had gotten alert by that time she dropped the last call. I was frail. What's happening, I wondered. I was still bothered about my first man-to-man contact. My mum showered insults upon me, and then she forgot about it.
I was now thinking broad. Tears began to evade my face. I started praying in my heart. I started to renew my pledges to God. I told him I didn't want to be gay. I cried all night and slept.
I moved on. I began other days with "God I am not gay", and ended them up with "so help me God."
But feeling for guys never ended. And hating myself never stopped broadening.
I will tell more of my self-hatred story later on. Please, read, view, share, and let me know how you grew up feeling different and self-hating. Thanks. Till soon.
