Chapter 1: Shadows of denial
He came up to me while I was leaning against a wall, his presence catching me off guard. With a soft touch, he placed his hand near my head, and his other hand gently wrapped around my waist. A smile graced his lips as he leaned in and pressed them against mine. The sensation sent a jolt through my body, and my heart raced with a mix of confusion and intrigue.
*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*
Startled, I snapped out of the dream, my heart pounding in my chest. Why did I dream that? Why was the new guy from school kissing me? Panic and fear surged through me as I berated myself. These thoughts, these desires, they were forbidden. They clashed with everything I had been taught. I felt like I was spiraling into a dark abyss, convinced that I was destined for damnation.
Name: Samuel (Sam)
Age: 15
Grade: 10th
Gender: Male
Ever since I was a child, Sunday mornings meant attending church. In the past, it was an enjoyable time when I got to play with friends and color the whole time. But now, it feels suffocating.
Each Sunday the routine stays the same: getting ready, driving to church, eduring two hours of repetitive songs and sermons, and standing akwardly while my parents converse with their friends for what feels like and eternity.
However, that’s not even the most burdensome part. It’s the expectation to look and act flawless in front of my parents’ acquaintances that weighs heavily on me.
I remember a specific incident when my two bestfriends convinced me to buy a pink sweater that I adored. The next day as I prepared to wear it to school, my parents intercepted me at the door, insisting that I looked to feminine and made me change.
I genuinely appreciate my parents and all they have done for me, but their strictness can be suffocating. At times, I retreat to my room, turning on music to mask the sound of my tears and the thoughts that constantly run my mind.
I feel like I’ll never measure up to their expectations of the ideal son. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to make them completely happy or proud of me. There will always be a lingering disappointment in their eyes.
They want me to excel in sports, but it’s not my passion. They prefer my hair shorter, but I despise it. They expect me to wear clothes they deem “nice”, but they don’t reflect my personal style. It’s as if they’re perpetually judging me, scrutinizjng my every choice.
I’ll never be their perfect christian son they hoped for.
