Looking back, there were signs of my emotional turmoil, even in childhood. I was a gifted, creative, and sassy Black child who would grow up to be an out loud and proud Black queer man. My constant emotional outbursts—crying when overwhelmed by anger or frustration—were so regular that I was often shamed for being too sensitive.
After that day in the bathroom, everything was different. Overnight, I lost the will to do anything. I couldn't eat or sleep and floated through each day in a daze.
My mother, influenced by a cult-like religious group, believed my depression was a result of her sin. Her pastor claimed it was 'an attack of the enemy.' They purged my room of anything deemed worldly.
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