The Day I Stood Up

Below was my second written material that was published on positivelite.com.  I wrote it as a continuation to the first one that was previously published on the site.  I thought it was important to explain how I managed to abstain from meth by that time, which was around August of 2015.  By the time that it was published, I would've been over a year sober, because my last use at that time was around Jun or Jul of 2014.  I'll write more about what was happening to my life around the middle of 2014 that provided a conducive situation for sobriety, at a later time.  For now, here's what I wrote on positivelite.com.

I'm adding #bestfriend-A as a tagline for this entry to highlight that the friend I write about in this entry, the one who volunteered with me at the Pride Parade, was my best friend "A", someone I have known since junior high in the late 90s.  She's someone I admire for their individuality, kindness, wisdom, and humour.  She's one of the people who always made sure I was included within her circle of friends, and defended me from anyone who was ever mean to me in junior high and high school. Love you, A!

I wrote this under a pseudonym, Miguel Torres

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The Day I Stood Up

 

Contributor’s note:  This is a follow-up to my first contribution which was first published here on positivelite.com on August 19, 2015.

 

There’s a point in the video for the song “Not Ready to Make Nice” by the Dixie Chicks where all three members stand up in unison and dust themselves off.  Whenever I remember June 28, 2014, I also remember that image of a person dusting himself off.  It was the day I last got high on crystal.  Here’s the full story of what happened that weekend:

I had been getting high for days.  After shooting up and, later on, jerking off to porn, as was my ritual, I got up from my chair Saturday night, turned off the computer and went to bed.  I woke up Sunday morning to find out that I was late for my volunteer shift as a parade marshall for the Toronto World Pride parade.  I had several missed calls from my friend with whom I had volunteered with.  I quickly showered and took the subway to the parade staging area.  Of course, i made sure to cover up my track marks with make-up before I left.

This wasn’t the first time my friend and I had volunteered for Pride.  When I first came out to my friends in the early 2000s, volunteering for Pride was something I got to do with them.  It became sort of a tradition.

So throughout the afternoon, she and I herded participants into the parade.  At one point, I received a text message from my sister-in-law asking how the parade was going.  I responded by inviting her, my brother, and our parents to come out and join in the festivities.  My family and I have lived in Toronto for 20 years, and I’ve been out as a gay man to them for the last 15, but I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing Pride with my family.

My friends were different.  They supported me from the time I came out to them.  We’ve gone to a number of Pride celebrations over the years.  This time, I was really hoping that my family would come join in.

But to my dismay, they didn’t come.  I thought, “This is the problem.  This is what I need to deal with.”  If I wanted to move on from my addiction, I needed to address what was really bothering me.  I come from a very religious background.  I grew up in the Philippines attending a Baptist church.  My family used to say that I should be a Pastor when I grow up since I can recite many Bible verses.  I was a good christian boy.  

Like many filipino immigrants in Canada, my family found kinship with others in a filipino congregation.  Growing up gay and a devout christian in a new country wasn’t easy.  For years as a teenager, I believed that I sinned every time I had thoughts about other guys.  It wasn’t until a year after my HIV diagnosis, in 2007 when a boyfriend took me to one of Metropolitan Community Church’s Sunday service that I realized that it’s possible to reconcile my spirituality and being gay.   Realizing that they didn’t have to be two separate facets of my life was a titanic shift in my perspective.  I no longer needed to choose between the two.

It was also around that time that my family hosted a party at our home to celebrate my parents’ wedding anniversary.  The guests were mostly from the church.  As is customary, the Pastor took a few minutes to say something.  More like a mini sermon.  The only thing I remember him saying to us who gathered that night was that “a marriage is only between a man and a woman.”

What hurt me most was seeing my parents, seated beside the Pastor, were nodding in agreement.  I should have said something.  At the very least, I should have stood up and left.  But I sat there in the audience, in shock.  I couldn’t believe it.  How dare he?  In my own home!  I was pissed.  Although, years later, I realized that maybe I was more mad at myself for just sitting there doing nothing.

The fact that my family still went to a church that did not welcome people like me, hurt.  I thought that they were siding with strangers, rather than standing tall and proud with me.

And so, whenever I got high, my mind would think about the hurt.  These thoughts repeated over and over in my drug-addled mind while at the same time, I would hallucinate about snakes crawling around me.  Every time.

I was tired of it.  And so after the parade in 2014, I went to my parents’ place.  My brother was also there with his wife.  As we ate at the dinner table, I spoke up.  I told them how I felt that night in 2007 when the Pastor stood in front of everyone and spilled misinformation about what it’s like to be gay.  I told them that it didn’t matter to me where they chose to go to church.  What mattered to me was what they thought of me.  Whether I have their acceptance or not.  In that conversation, I tried to explain to them that it wasn’t my choice to be gay, despite what their church preaches.  Yes, there is a contradiction between what their Pastor says about being gay and what I say about being gay.  But, I reminded them that I’m the gay one, and so I asked them, “If you wanted to know how a car engine works, would you go ask a dentist, or would you go ask a mechanic?”

That discussion I had with my family that evening was a rollercoaster ride of emotions.  My brother surprised me that night because he stepped in a number of times in the conversation when it got heated.  Whenever I felt that I wasn’t getting through to my parents, I looked to my brother and sister-in-law for help.  And helped they did.  They would translate what I was saying to my parents in words that my parents understood, although we were all speaking in filipino.

In the end, though, I did get them to understand that it wasn’t my choice to be gay.   There might have been more issues for me to bring up, but I thought it was a good start.  Besides, that was the root of the problem anyway, I thought.  I believed that if they understood that it wasn’t a choice, then all else would fall into place.

I went back to my apartment that night feeling like I was walking on clouds.  It might have been the after-effects of crystal, but I really don’t think so.  I felt that I finally had what I had been waiting for all these years: my family’s understanding.  They finally heard me.  I still had some crystal around in my apartment but I didn’t touch it.  What did I need it for if I already had what I’ve always wanted?  Tired and emotionally drained, I slept like a baby that Sunday night.  No snakes this time.  After ten years of using crystal, I finally had enough.  I flushed what was left of it down the toilet the next day because, at last, I felt at peace.   I stood up and dusted myself off.