WHY I’M
ME
I’m going to start way back at the beginning, as I go on, you’ll understand why.
It all started back in the early 60's when two FBI agents showed up on my mother’s door to ask her if she was aware that my father was 1) A deserter and here's the kicker 2) already married. Well needless to say she was quite hurt and upset.
Once she left, which was rather quickly, with myself and my older brother, as my parents were never married, they didn’t have to file for divorce. Mom had custody of my brother and I. However, she did allow our father visitation rights, it was during one of these times, that he stole my older brother, and kept him.
So he wouldn’t get me as well, she left her hometown of Baltimore, along with her Sister, and a male friend. We all eventually ended up all the way out in CUT BANK, MT. of all places, after a short stay in Salt Lake, don't ask me how she chose Cut Bank, I've never really understood that.
Eventually she met and married my stepfather, this of course after she had my younger brother by another man. My stepfather was an alcoholic, abusive and possessive. Which now I realize is a trait of an alcoholic. In the mid - late 60's when the witnesses came to call, mom was very vulnerable, as a couple of years prior, she had lost her own father to alcoholism. She fell for it, and though dad (my stepfather, he did the hard part of raising us, for which I’ll be forever grateful) put up a fuss, he allowed us to go to the meetings. He was so jealous mom could have very few friends and she had to study during the day, while he was at work. Even visits by her mother, sister or brother were causes of jealous fits. After all we lived 15 miles north of town in SANTA RITA, where it seemed over half the town was not only related to each other, but to witnesses as well.
The few childhood memories I have involve a man dad worked with who came out to the house dressed as Santa and mom told him to get out. Before Dad came home, well I remember him leaving rather quickly and mom being very upset, I don't remember dad finding out, but I can't imagine him being very happy. Another time we were on the way home from the meeting and mom, noticed dust on the dashboard of the car, while she was driving and trying to wipe the dust away, she drove the car off of the road and into a wheat field. No harm came to the car or to us, but we were sworn to secrecy, she tried to keep the peace, no matter what.
Another memory I have is being in preschool or maybe the first grade and making a flag. When I showed it to mom, the sister she was studying with, who happened to be there as well, pointed out that it was a form of worship. Well being that young I was proud of what I had done and to be told it was "evil" and akin to idol worship, it seems like such a little thing now.
Another time my brother and I had gone to bed, this was shortly after mom had started to study. Anyway, there was some sort of animal outside, but as it was night, there wasn’t anything to be seen. Dad actually called one of the neighbors, who’s an elder, to borrow his gun, they were that frightened, but neither my brother or I heard anything, as we were asleep. The elder thought Dad was going to kill all of us. Funny, once mom said “Jehovah” out loud, the noise went away. She blamed it on Satan and the demons not wanting her to study, which made her want to study all the more, it really encouraged her.
Mom did leave him once, I remember her coming to school, and taking my younger brother & I out of school, under the pretense of a dentist appointment. We drove to the other side of the mountains, along with her mother, to Libby, Mt., where mom’s sister was living. They were still building the dam there, so I remember the town being very torn up. Mom had to take her mother along, as she was afraid of what Dad might do to her.
Going ahead to '74, I was in the sixth grade, and we were living in Billings. Around the same year I was baptized, I’ve never been able to remember the exact year. I was hanging out at school with friends and one of the kids said he was going to go home and try one of his dad’s cigarettes. Well I didn't want to be left out, so when I got home I tried one of dad's cigs. The only thing was, I never told anyone, until years later. I'd occasionally steal a pack from the back of the carton, take out a cigarette, or two, and then put the pack back. After all I was supposed to be a "good" witness kid and while I was used to being picked on by the other kids, they were all "part of the world". Not wanting to lose my witness friends or dying at Armageddon and trying to fit in at school I said nothing. This continued on until after graduation, though by that time I think my best friend knew, but being a good Mormon he was totally against smoking.
Why Can’t I hate what is bad, hate what
Jehovah hates?
It wasn't until ’80 or '81 that my conscious got the better of me, I’d been auxiliary pioneering for several months by then and could not handle the deception, I would try to quit but then I'd see a guy my age smoking and wonder, why can't I? I want to be like him. So I wrote a letter to one of my best friends, a ministerial servant in the congregation. Of course, he turned it over to the judicial committee. I was given an ultimatum to quit, and while I would try, the P.O. even told me to call him, whenever I felt the urge to smoke, as if, I’d call someone late at night and wake them.
Well, after a couple of warnings, I was disfellowshipped, for the first time, I was shocked, hurt and very upset. I still lived at home so I went home and cried and hugged mom. Dad could not believe they would actually disfellowship me for that, after all it was just a few cigarettes and I was pioneering and going to all the meetings. I’ll never forget the groan when the elders read my disfellowshipping notice to the congregation. For the next six months I tried to be a good boy.
The only thing Mom told me, was as I was still living in the house, things would go on as usual. However, we couldn’t prepare for the meetings together. We usually didn’t anyway, so really, nothing changed. We still could have our talks, which we both treasured and we did.
I was good for about 5 1/2 months. Until I saw another guy smoking, that did it, I started again. Even though I was disfellowshipped I continued to go to all the meetings and to a couple of conventions. I even read the publications and made sure I studied before the meetings and was fully prepared.
God that hurt, to be around people that treated me like shit, ignoring me and acting like I was dead. At least I had my family to support and encourage me. During this time, one of the Elders was put in the hospital for some reason. I called the Presiding Overseer of the congregation and asked him how the other Elder was doing. He told me, as I was disfellowshipped, I had NO right to ask that question, nor would he tell me.
Well wouldn't you know it, once I started smoking again, mom told me the judicial committee wanted to see me, well I thought I could be good, and they foolishly reinstated me. I waited for the appropriate time and started pioneering again. After all, I was single, worked evenings and had a lot of spare time, so there was not really any excuse I could come up with not to. Once when we were out I remember getting back to the car to hear the other team had run into a gay couple, I wanted to be one of that team, I didn’t realize why, yet, that would take another few years.
Another time, the Presiding Overseer, another brother and I were out, the P.O. decided to call on someone who had recently moved to Billings, evidently his parents were J.W.’s and the guy needed to renew his subscriptions. The P.O. wouldn’t allow me to go with him, but did allow the other brother. They made a point of saying how disgusting it was to see the guy with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth when he answered the door.
Around the same time, I had a friend who was trying his best to be the good child of a witness family. He liked to smoke and do drugs. I thought maybe, by befriending him I could encourage him to be good, be a positive influence. Or at least have someone safe I could smoke with. Of course the elders wouldn't hear of it!
It was not long before I was disfellowshipped again, (I had bought a pack of cigarettes, and feeling guilty about buying them, yet not wanting them to go to waste, thought I’d swing by my friend’s house, and give them to him. He told his mom, who promptly went to the Elders, who called me, wanting to meet with me.
I remember my last talk, the week before I was df’d for the 2nd time, it was the Bible reading, and I wasn’t allowed to give the number 5 talk yet. It was my worst one ever, the first time I ever got a 'W’. I actually had a pack of cigarettes in my jacket pocket during the whole talk. I was so nervous. All I wanted to do was run from the platform, but I was too afraid to. I thought someone would stop me, and force me to finish the talk.
At the time, I was living with the son of the sister who had studied with mom. When I knew I was going to be disfellowshipped, I quietly and quickly moved out, without giving him notice. Mom told me he was caught in a financial bind, and surprised, that I had moved out, not to mention df’d, so I had to pay him. I’d give the money to mom, who would then give it to him. There was NO Way, the elders, or anyone could tell my mom, she couldn’t talk to one of her boys, and at the time, she was told, as long as we didn’t discuss spiritual matters, it was “permissible” to talk with me.
This time I did not meet with the committee, I told the Elders I had to work. I was over it by then and tired of being told what to do, (I arranged with my supervisor at work to schedule me to work on meeting nights. After so many years of not working or being able to work on Tuesday and Thursday nights, not only were they happy to schedule me for those, it felt normal to be busy on those nights.)
While I still believed all the witnesses taught, I wanted to be able to go to any movie I wanted to, say anything I wanted to, do whatever without fear of someone telling on me. It would take another couple of years to figure out I was gay. What can I say I was slow?
My
other family
Anyway, shortly before I was disfellowshipped in '83 I had finally
found my older brother and paternal father. Wanting to meet my older
brother was a dream of mine since childhood, I could finally find out
who I was. I secretly hoped if things went well with my older brother, I could move away, to where no one knew me, do whatever I wanted to, I could reinvent myself. I felt the only way to be myself, and do what I wanted, was to go where no one knew me. It took another ten years before I would realize no one cares what I’m doing. If they do, they don’t need to be a friend of mine.
By the end of that summer, I’d move 2000 miles and be away from all those who knew me. Most of whom I couldn't talk to, but whom I loved and who meant so much to me. I would live with people, who were family. I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me. I could do whatever I wanted, except, I was still too afraid. I didn’t know yet who I am. That aided in my feelings of abandonment!
Once I got an address for my brother from my aunt, who at the time worked for the sheriff’s office in Worland, Wyoming, I wrote to him. Sometime later, I received a call from him. That was a shock!! Hours or so after he called, my paternal father did as well, the very first thing he said to me, “when did you change your name”? He caused me more pain by that question than he’ll ever realize.
I didn’t know who I was, at that point, much less what my name should be, was I really Steve Micek, or was I someone else? Who was Steve Micek? What type of person was he? I was too afraid at that time to find out the answer. For as long as I can remember I have never used the name on my birth certificate, my stepfather didn’t adopt either of us boys. Yet, I’ve kept his name. After all, it was he who raised me.
By this time, mom had divorced my stepfather, and through me, had gotten my older brother’s number. He passed it on to our sperm donor, who then called her, or she called him. They talked, and mom decided to fly out, with her mother, to Baltimore, the first time in almost 20 years, they had been there. Mom wanted to see her oldest boy, and our parents had started to get close again, so it was arranged. That was mom’s first trip out there, she decided to go out there again, and this time she would spend more time with her first love, our father. While I would drive from Montana to Baltimore, and stay with my older brother or my sperm donor.
I was in my early 20’s at the time, and a legal adult, so I could do whatever I wanted. (I have always been very lucky, mom found a good fair man to raise my brother and I) They were always of the opinion we could do whatever we wanted, as long as we were happy. That was, and still is the important thing to both of them.
It was a joy to finally see mom and my real father together, it’s a reunion I will never forget, but the reunion didn’t last and soon mom was back in Billings to stay. Soon to marry some young guy she had picked up in a bar. By actually asking him, if he would take her home and fuck her. He was another alcoholic, and as I was soon to find out into coke, and other drugs. Several times while I was in her house, I would actually see her roll up a joint and smoke it. I had gone back out to Billings for the wedding and once that was over I finally went to college in Rapid City. This was in mid ’84.
My worst
nightmare
OCT 31,1985 mom died, at the time I thought my world had ended, in fact after I returned home from the hospital in Salt Lake where she died, I remember telling my roommate, I had no reason for living, she was dead. I could, and did talk to her about any and everything, now my greatest confidant was dead. No more could we have our wonderful talks. The man she had married had run her over, the week beforehand in Salt Lake. He had come home, drunk, telling her he wanted to kill himself. Then he left.
Mom ran out of the house after him, he turned the car around and ran over her. I got the call a day or two later. She was in a hospital in Salt Lake with broken ribs and several other injuries. By the time I got to the hospital, she was in a coma, and wasn’t expected to last much longer. I don’t know many sons who want to see their mother naked, lying in a coma with bruises, etc. When the doctor came into the waiting room to ask if we wanted to keep her on life support, or pull the plug, it seemed like something out of a television or movie show, it was very surreal.
The night before she died, I had a wonderful dream. She had awoken from the coma, and would be able to be released from the hospital shortly. Actually, when I called the hospital in the morning, there was no change. I was staying with my Mormon friend, and my older brother, and we went to play racquetball, when we finished and called the hospital again, the nurse told me over the phone, she had expired an hour ago.
Dec 29th,'85 at my paternal fathers, and all I wanted for Christmas was for him to hold me and say everything would be okay! After he and his "wife" went to bed I stayed up and watched the PLAYBOY channel. It was a revelation, I finally realized I was attracted to men. After all, I was looking at the guy in the movie, more than the two women. I decided once back home, from my father’s, I would go after what I wanted, what I was attracted to. I had no idea how to do that or where to start! Within a few months, because he would refuse to call my by my name Steve, and I would not go by the name he gave me. We ceased all contact, which has been no loss for either of us. This was my first step in learning who I am!
In D.C. I would see what happened, I had no clue where to begin, I’d only had one sexual experience before. A year or so prior, my brother had given me a couple of tickets to see Duran Duran. I didn’t know whom to ask, but one of my classmates suggested this guy who worked in the college library, who happened to be gay, not that I cared. While at the concert, he asked me what my orientation was. I played dumb. He explained what it was, then we enjoyed the concert. One the way home, he offered to suck my dick, I didn’t know exactly what the purpose of that was, but let him. WOW, while at first, I thought I was going to pee in his mouth, I soon realized the treat. God, what a release! Neither mom, nor dad would talk to me about sex. Whenever I’d ask, mom would say, “Ask Dad”, dad would say, “ask the elders, isn’t that why you go to those meetings?” Yeah, right, as if I’d ask the elders about sex, I wasn’t thinking about marriage.
I had no clue there were bars. The only thing I had heard were of gays who lived in run down trailers in places like rural Alabama, or in penthouses overlooking Central Park, neither was appealed to me. Where did people like me meet someone? I had heard massage parlors offered sex. So I called one.
Steve comes
out
The guy told me he couldn’t help me but to call a couple of the gay bars and he told me the names of some of them, so I called and picked one to go to the next night. I’ve always been very impatient. The Equus, which was near Eastern Market in Washington. They were open during the late afternoon, and were close to the subway, so it would be easy to find. I thought I’d go down for a drink, see if there might just be someone close to my age there, who wasn’t scary. The next night I went there and found just what I wanted. A Stacy Keach look-a-like, 6'1 brown hair and fun.
That first night, I had to step outside of myself, in order to do anything with Ray “you want to put what in my mouth?” I told myself, it’s just my body. It’s not my soul. He can’t hurt me! He showed me several of the other bars, so many cute men. I was like a kid in a candy store. It was not long before I met my gay mentor. I think we all have one. He showed me the way to dress, etc. After all I was raised in MT and had no clue of current fashions, etc.
Why anyone would have gone out with me back then is beyond me! Oh was I a mess! Everyone I would meet got the same story. “Woe is me. My mom just died.” One night, John and I were out. There was this cute guy sitting in Badlands, my first impression of him was, “what an asshole”. I took the next two years confirming that first impression. This was in September of ’86, late in October, I received a letter from my stepfather. Turns out, my mom’s last husband, the one who killed her- finally he shot himself, successfully! I was so excited, and happy I scared Mark he had no idea, until after I explained to him, why I was so excited, someone had killed himself.
Here I am in Atlanta, several years later, after a two-year relationship with an alcoholic of my own and I suddenly get a call from John's mom. He was killed in a car accident. Now that I am rational I am amazed it didn't happen sooner. After all he had been a coke dealer and was on his way back from NY and a purchase of various goodies, he always drove recklessly and never wore a seatbelt and I guess wanted to leave a beautiful corpse. I may seem cavalier about it now, but at the time it devastated me, almost as much as losing mom did. The night after I found out, I went out to say goodbye to John and met what I soon found out to be another controlling alcoholic who was positive.
Being in the state I was in for those six months, it is no wonder I contracted it as well. I'd always been safe before, it wasn’t until after I left Mark, that I was fucked or fucked someone else, but that is what drugs, alcohol, and severe depression will do to you.
Spring of ’97, I found out I was HIV positive, while at work, I received the phone call confirming it. One of the first things I did was call a couple of friends of mine, who were also positive. As well as my younger bother, whose best friend from school had also been positive for many years. I also told my supervisor. The first thing she asked is, if she could hug me. That meant so much, it proved to me, others wouldn’t be fear me.
Next, I went to the local library and checked out Greg Louganis’ book. Then, I called the employee assistance hotine at work, to find a therapist. While I knew it was not a death sentence, it still plays tricks with your mind. My first thoughts were, while I was not rich, and often struggled to not only hold a job, but to eat right and take care of myself. I had always had my health, which I could no longer rely on. I was fortunate in that this particular therapist had lost his brother to AIDS. He also worked with a number of other HIV and AIDS patients, and helped me to realize it was no different. Life does go on!
Early 2000, I receive a call from my older brother. A few years back our younger brother had had an affair with his wife, and our older brother just found out. Needless to say, he was more than a little upset. He wanted to kill our little brother. So here I was in the middle of a situation which I should not have been. After some discussion on the One-List (e-mail list), I realized I needed to extricate myself from being put in the middle. I also called the employee hot line again. This time, I was put in touch with the therapist who helped me more than the previous two, combined.
He helped me to realize I
had no control over what others do, or how they act. I can only help those who
want to be helped, and who are ready to listen and act on any advice given.
Which my older brother had no intention of doing. Shortly thereafter, my older
brother called me at work, and I told him, I did not want to be in the middle
anymore. He had to work this out himself. We’ve had perhaps two calls since
then, both of which he initiated. That solved, I thought I was done with the
therapy, wrong.
Easter 2000, my then-roommate goes out one night, and doesn’t come home. A couple of days later, I receive a call at work, from the manager of the apartment complex, I’m needed home immediately. My roommate was stopped by the police a couple of nights ago. Before the police got to his car, he shot himself.
I had stopped seeing my therapist a month or two prior to that, thinking we were done. Once we dealt with the shock and all that went with Vince’s death, we were able to delve into the other problems I had, such as the self-esteem issues I had, and all of those other issues that had been haunting me all my life. We even tried to deal with my religious upbringing, he suggested I try to go to another church, but after all I'd been through with the "Borg" no more assimilation for me! Once he realized, I couldn’t just walk into another church, we would talk about the toxic personality my older brother developed, my job, and the one list. Eventually, he realized the unique situation I was in, and I was able to actually teach him about A Common Bond.
I’ve come to realize having HIV is the best thing that’s happened to me. It made me seek the help I needed, help to deal with, and accept the deaths of the two most important people in my life, mom and John. I think they would have liked each other. John did meet my stepfather a couple of years before he died and they seemed to get along.
While I haven’t seen my stepfather since then, John and I went out to Billings back in ’87 for a vacation, and they met then. It is not because I’m GAY we don’t talk, or because I’m df’d. It is because he is a very private person, he hasn’t even seen my younger brother for years, and he’s straight, and none of us are witnesses. We will exchange letters, but I don’t know his phone number, it’s not just unlisted, it’s unpublished. I’m okay with that, because I know through letters he’s sent me, he’s proud of me and it is his problem and loss if he doesn’t want to know the adult me.
Around the same time, early ’97, I was playing around on my roommate’s computer, and out of curiosity, typed in Jehovah’s Witnesses, and found A Common Bond. The friends I’ve made through this group have helped me in so many ways. I was able to talk to my new therapist (my 3rd) about the group, and because he has worked with other ex-witnesses before, he was able to understand, and help me with what I was going through. I no longer have to look for alcoholics like my grandmother and mom did, I can break the pattern.
I know that I was born this way, but I am also aware what I was taught as a child, I wondered if I was the only gay xjw out there. Thanks to the One-List, and the contacts I’ve made from the ad I placed in one of the gay papers in Atlanta, I know I’m not. What a pleasure it is to say pioneer and other “catch phrases” and others know exactly what you’re talking about. Thanks to the jw's I will always be subject to control freaks but at least now I know it and I can watch for it. Fortunately I have many gay friends, but none who’ve understood, until now, the way I was raised!
As written by Steve /
Atlanta ACB