My name is Tanner. Right now, I'm an 18 year old ex-Muslim gay atheist living
in Cape Town, South Africa.
I grew up in a very large, devout Muslim family. My immediate family (mother,
father, two older brothers, one older sister) were not really religious but,
like almost all the Muslims I know, would never question Allah or his "perfect"
messenger, no matter how much they silently disagreed with them.
Being the youngest, and also a rather introverted boy interested in books and
nature rather than cars and girls, I was always seen as the odd one out;
however, it was never a problem as long as I went to mosque, prayed
occasionally and went to Madrassah (Muslim-school held for an hour every day
after "normal" school). I have always been a creative and inquisitive person
and, when I learned (at a young age) that you "cannot" question Islam, I took
to art to express my concerns. I wrote stories and painted and drew and
listened to blasphemous music such as black metal, all in an attempt to step
outside of the bubble of Islam. For that is truly what it is: a giant bubble
that attempts to make all within it impervious to the reality of nature and
life.
I hit puberty early, and matured faster that my male peers, and when I realised
I was attracted to the same sex, I knew I was in trouble. I had never felt such
fear in my life. I pushed all the questions and doubts I had aside, locked them
away in a dungeon, and turned to and pleaded with Allah, beseeching him to help
me overcome this "evil" of homosexuality. I became insanely devout. Dedicated
my time to worship and prayer and reading about the beauty of Islam and Allah
and Muhammad. There was a brief period of time when I was 15 going on 16 where
I wanted to drop out of school so as to pursue a lifelong path of dedication to
Allah. In hindsight, what breaks my heart is that my parents were happy for me,
they WANTED me to drop out!
And then, like all major emotional changes, it happened suddenly and with no
warning. One night I was praying to Allah and asking him to forgive me of my
sins (as I would do every day, five times a day, which leads me to wonder: how
much sins can a teenager possibly have?) and the next I was in bed, crying,
bleeding from self-inflicted wounds in my wrists. I had been deceiving my
family, my friends, myself, into believing that I was truly happy. The part of
me I had locked in a dungeon years ago had grown and had broken free. But I
couldn't let it out! Becoming... that monster... would mean an eternity of
hell-fire as determined by the benevolent, just Allah. I pushed it down. It
took so much will power to restrict my true identity that I had no energy for
anything else: no energy to smile, eat, study, nothing. I had sunk into a black
pit and I couldn't see myself escaping.
I woke up each morning furious, cursing God and then immediately seeking his
forgiveness. Then, one day, I realised I had been talking to myself for all
these years. Only me. No god. I cursed god and didn't ask his forgiveness, and
I remember feeling my heart race. Had I just become an Atheist?
My parents had never had a happy marriage, but it was right about at this time
that it all just went downhill. My brothers were recovering drug addicts, my
sister was seeing an abusive boyfriend, my parents were on the brink of a
divorce - what kind of a shitty son would come to his family at this time with
the news that he is gay? "They can't deal with this as well. And neither can I.
There's only one thing to do."
So I attempted suicide.
I remember waking up in hospital and feeling nothing but pure, unadulterated
rage. Rage because these people - these doctors and the ones who called
themselves my family - had robbed me of the one chance I had at being happy! I
was tired of being a mere shadow of myself, wasting away in an unwashed pool of
misery and defeat. I wanted it to end! "F**k god!" I screamed. "F**k god! F**k
you! F**k all of you! I shouldn't be here!" I remember vaguely my mom sitting
next to my hospital bed praying in Arabic. My eldest brother was there as well.
No-one else, except for the doctors and nurses.
"I shouldn't be here!" I screamed until I succumbed to sleep.
Fast forwarding:
I came out to my parents a few days later, both that I am gay and an Atheist. I
assume they were so shocked about my sexuality that they never registered my
Atheism. They still treat me as if I'm Muslim. The word gay isn't mentioned
around the house. I focused on myself this year (my last year at school) and
became one of the top students at my school. I got in to study Theoretical
Physics at the University of Stellenbosch. I am openly gay but, around my
family, a closet Atheist. After I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and
depression, I tried to establish a good support structure of friends. It has
helped, but every day my situation at home gets worse. An abusive father, and a
whole family who looks at me like the clever son who f**ked up and ruined his
chance at success ("success" being "Jannah" or "Heaven") - I can't wait until
January when I leave to university. This year has been a battle. A tough one
that I fight every morning when I wake up, battling the mental demons and the
physical ones. I've come close to suicide again, but I managed to talk myself
out of it.
I've never told anyone this story before, and I feel so much better after
typing it all out.
Roland.
Toronto.
