My Journey Toward Suicide - and Why I Chose to Stop.

I was born into a strict religious family. My parents are Christians, but not Catholic. When I was a kid, it didn’t bother me. Everything seemed fine. I believed in God and saw my dad, a pastor, as someone who had literally seen God. I was proud that I prayed better than other kids and could recite Bible verses by heart. The lessons they taught weren’t bad — don’t steal, don’t hurt others — but growing up, I realized it couldn’t stay that simple forever.

When I was 12, I didn’t know any swear words and often preached to my friends. They thought I was strange, maybe even annoying. There was some bullying at school, but I tried to ignore it. My three friends got into My Little Pony and FNAF. My parents thought the ponies were inappropriate and even convinced my younger brother it was essentially porn. And the other “cursed” game was even worse in their eyes.

One day, my friend — let’s call her Mei-Mei — asked me why being gay was considered wrong. We were on the swings, and I realized I didn’t have an answer.

Puberty came, and I started wanting love and affection. I struggled with feelings I didn’t fully understand and felt guilty for them. My parents caught me exploring myself and told me it was a sin. I felt ashamed.

I tried to avoid “wrong” thoughts, be a good girl, not notice boys, and only listen to Christian music. But the guilt sometimes became overwhelming. I was 13, and those feelings were intense. In church, hiding in the restroom, I did it for the first time. I ran a broken tile across my arm. It hurt, but I punished myself, and it got better.

Even through the confusion and guilt, I learned something important: you can get through difficult times. You’re not alone. I’m with you.

I’ll pick this up tomorrow. It’s a tough subject.