I was going through my journals from 15 or so years ago, and stumbled on a poem I wrote at a very dark time in my life. It sums up how I felt others must think of me. Because it’s how I thought of myself. This, I think, is a common feeling of those who live with same-sex attraction. At least it has been with everyone I’ve ever talked with about it–we all have tended to feel like damaged goods. By the grace of God, I have come a long way from this place, but it still saddens me to think that this is how I viewed myself for most of my life and how I was always envious of the jar beside me.
If I were to be opened by unknown hands, would they decide to discard the contents of this jar– and file complaints with Management?