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Dark Light: A confused state.

Short story By: caliginouslight
Gay and lesbian



As am I growing up, I'm realizing how confused I am as a human. Facing a battle through Christian values and beliefs, which I hold at heart, and the human that I am. I hope to continue on this later, describing the emotions that I face as a confused individual.

Please continue to come back and check up, as I will continue to add different parts my narrative. Thank You, please leave comments.


Submitted:Apr 4, 2012    Reads: 93    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Standing between light and dark, I look ahead and ask myself, "Who am I? What am I? Why am I? Where am I?" There are so many things that I would like to ask my God. But, who am I to question the Supreme Being, the supreme creator of all. I stand in between light and dark; my head is bowed then it's looking straight ahead. Back and forth, my head is bowed, then looking straight ahead.

I've been brought to a world without a choice, without a will. I've been forced to stand in between dark and light, with conviction. I can't help but to be pulled by both forces. I'm being tugged from both sides, without an apparent affinity for either. Why?! Why?! Why?! It makes no sense. I know what is right. I know what is the truth, yet I'm inclined to the wrong, to the lies. I'm being tugged; I'm being tugged.

Oh, father, how unworthy I am to call you such a heavenly name. God of Israel! Please, hear my cry, I want to please you. I want to make you happy, but you don't come down to pull for me. Please, forgive me for saying it that way, but you are more powerful then the dark. Yet, the dark can pull me from you. I don't want to upset you. I don't intend to act to displease you. I just do. I do it out of innate instinct. And, sometimes, I don't believe that I can control myself. Oh, God, you have given me your spirit, but I don't even know how to utilize it. I pray, but I feel that you're just listening. And, as you listen, and I ask you to pull me from dark, dark tugs even harder. And, dark consumes me, but then light comes. Light makes me feel guilty because it knows the truth and what is right.

I have no control of this battle. It's the inner me and outer me against each other. God I have no control. Or did I? And have lost it? I've committed sin in which I cannot take back. I can only be pulled and pulled, closer to dark. But, that's not where I want to be?! Why then? Why then do I allow dark to pull me? Do I not give light chance? There's definitely something not right. It's the human me. The human me favors dark more than light. And, the human me has more control. How God? How can I fight myself? How can I try to sacrifice what is "me"? I didn't ask to be "me". I didn't choose to be "me". I am what I am out no apparent reason.

I am condemned in this life because of what people would think of me. And, I am condemned in the after life because I have an orientation and desire, which is unnatural and ungodly as you speak. Yet, I am living now, to bare the thought, to bare the pain. I didn't choose this. I didn't want this. I didn't think of being this. I am this in spite of myself. And, I am condemned in both lives in spite of myself. And, I have been brought to bare this belief, which I hold at closest. God help me.

The Beginning of an End

Where do I begin? So, I was conceived by my mother in the year 1992. To be more exact, the dead were arising on my birth. Irony, I must assume, that I was born on the day of dead. So, it must have been set. I was born on the day dead as a signfication that I was predestined for death in both worlds. Because, in reality, those that don't cease this world, must stay to later on inherit their condemnation for infinity. Well, that was a bit of a slippery slope. Perhaps, it was a coincidence. And, perhaps, salvation is at the hands of those who wish to seek it, as I once and still try to do.

But, without a doubt, I feel that my life is futile because of my internal and external battles, which I can't balance. Since I was kid, there has always been problems in my life. When I was three, my father died of the infamous cancer. I was only 3, possibly younger. However, I can remember when the hospital had called my family because my father was at his last hour. Why do things occur as they do? God only knows, and God only has reason. Therefore, it's not my right or my place to question the one who has put us here. I remember being surrounded by my family. I didn't want to let go my father. I didn't want to say bye. I didn't want to accept that the only one that showed me love and security was about to leave me. Did I understand that? Or was I just as confused then?

My father died, and the alarm of the machines struck at the last beat of his heart. Everyone was emotional, and the emotions gave birth to a sense of darkness for other reasons. For me, it brought cognition, anger, and hate. I didn't understand God then, nor did I know God. I was in the "phase" in which one had to be raised to love God and acknowledge God. But, that didn't come till years later. But now, I realized that life consisted of patterns in which we must go through; all the while acknowledging your inferiority and justification for all actions whether they hurt us or not.

Yes, everything is just. The God of Israel is a just God. Everything that occurs, takes place, happens is just because God has allowed it. We are no one to question, because we are mere mortals who have been created by this one, unique God. But, before all that belief kicked in, I was just a blank board.

When my father died, my mother returned to my father's family to claim what was hers: my brothers, me, and all my father's possessions (which she sold). For a while, we joined my mother in her own distress, going to bars and walking the streets at night. After a while, she sold everything. We headed off to Mexico, where we stayed with the family of one of her boyfriends, which she did not know for long. There, my brothers and I stayed in this small room with a screen door. The room had a dirt floor and no light. We ate cacti and eggs for breakfast and the fruits from the cacti as a delicacy.

For the most part, school was fun for me. We celebrate every birthday, which meant pinatas for every occasion., which also mean candy! However, traveling to school, we had to cross over this river, which was bridged by a roped wooden crosswalk. The boards were rotten and the ropes were worn. The only fear was that I wasn't going to get to school and get that candy.

When we didn't eat cacti, we traveled to the Mexican dumps, where we found crackers and shrimp. We would be taken and dropped off. We would all jump off actually. In a hurry, we dug through the trash in search for a surprise that would fill our guts. Indeed, we left content. All the while, my mother wasn't present at all occasions, nor that one man she was with.

For fun, we would watch the pigs eat their food and run in the fields, where we always found interesting things. We would hang out in the ditches and make homes of them. In fact, I was about four in this time. And, there was this one girl, which I really liked, for no apparent reason. However, I rememer trying to get hold of her and hold her close, but she just wanted my markers, which I had received from one of my instructional aids from the US before leaving the school. But, this was the first memory of actually have a preference in attraction.

Interestingly enough, I didn't last long enough liking Mexco. One day when we were watching the pigs, we realized that one was dead. Everyone ran inside as my mom's boyfriend heard our commotion about the dead pig. I stuck around. The man grabbed Christmas lights and whipped me for having killed the pig.

Where was my mother to save me from him? Where was my father to intercede for my life? I blame neither, my father for dieing, my mother for being irresponsible and uncaring. But, on the bright side, at least that man's mother came to comfort me. Yet, there was no one else, to love to protect to care for me. How I hate this place called Mexico. I began to hate the events of life.

In Mexico, we took showers in these covered little shacks. My mother would boil water outside and mix it with colder water, to make warm water. We would shower ourselves with the warm water quickly and didn't take time to enjoy its warmth. Restrooms, they were quite the unusual. I believe they called the "out-houses" at the time, and they probably still exist. And as I remember, they smelled horrible, and consisted of crap, maggets, and crap. This only made me want to leave Mexico even more.

Eventually, we had to move out. My mother ran out of money, and her boyfriend had grown tired of his own family. So, we gathered without even taking everything one night. We headed north. As we headed north, we broke down halfway and had to be towed to a nearby city in which my mother's father was living. With the break down of the suburban we had, our lives took a complete pause to a path of hell we were headed too.

With time, not to long, we were enrolled in the schools of Charlotte. Charlotte, was the city where my grandparents lives. Charlotte, is the city in which most of my memories are embedded. The city that was, the city to be, the city that isn't anything. After a while of being enrolled in school, my mother came to take us out for a family emergency. Her boyfriend had left her. She took my brothers and I to the trailer house, which we found to rent in short time. She whipped us all. It was our fault that he had left her, and now she had no one to love her. She had called the police, because she didn't want us. She wanted to give us all away. But, we cried, we begged, that we didn't want to leave her.





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