I Wished I Had A Gun

           I promise, I’m not a violent person. I don’t have anger or self-control issues at all. I’d like to think I have an amazing handle over my emotions and when I feel rage or the burning desire to get mad or lash out, I stop myself and most often take time to pray it off or remove myself from the situation. This particular day that approach was hard. This particular day I didn’t feel in control. This particular day I wanted to reciprocate the hurt and disgust. This particular day, I wished I had a gun.

            It was my last year of college. I lived off campus at the time, but only across the street, so 90% of the time I walked over to campus to get where I needed to go. I was walking through a parking lot just outside of the first year experience dorms. I don’t really remember where I was going, but at the time, getting to my destination was so vital in order to think of something other than my experience walking through this parking lot. 

            I was minding my own business when a car sped past me. The sight of the forest green Dodge Intrepid is forever burned in my mind and the sound of the voices screaming “FAGGOT”, I can never forget. Not to mention, the tone of the passengers saying “Go back, go back” encouraging the driver to circle around me again to further their taunting and laughing, rings in my ears like it happened yesterday.

            I didn’t know these people. I didn’t understand why fellow students of the university who I had never in my life met felt the need to yell obscenities at me. All I felt was the desire to destroy them. I wanted to encompass the same amount of hate for strangers, as they had for me. Whatever they saw in me caused them so much disgust to the point of wanting to verbally abuse me, and I wanted just a taste of that emotion with a weapon in hand so I could retaliate, but that’s just not how God wanted it to be.

            I have only ever spoken of this occurrence once to a very close friend, 5 years after it happened. Even in writing this blog, as much as I feel a certain level of release and possibly a form of salvation for some reader, my heart is racing and my hands are shaking. This situation took a huge toll on my self-confidence and ultimately damaged a major part of my identity. I never felt lower and the only way I even had a chance of building myself back up was burying this memory in the back of my head. If it wasn’t for God confirming that my identity was a divine creation and that in order to reach my purpose I couldn’t let others definition of masculinity deter me, I’d still be living in a character crisis space.  Admittedly, the man I am today still feels a certain level of hurt behind this, but the strength I gained from this is so much more powerful. I will never let another person’s false degradation of me be in control ever again in my life.