Tonight I sit in my room, alone, and without comfort except for that of the comfort of God. My transition from Mark to Abigail was a spiritual one. I was weak and troubled when I was Mark. I looked within to find my truth when around me chaos swirled, and hate was lobbed against me like mortars. I saw that I was pure. I saw that I was good. I saw that there is an eternal flame of truth which burns within each and every one of us, and I kindled it with the love of self-acceptance.
I hated God for most of my youth. I hated God, because God’s people hated me. They mostly did not know who I was on the inside because I hid it from them, but I knew that if I smiled as men are not supposed to do, I would have been stoned with deadly words of hatred and loathing. I knew that had I worn a skirt and felt beautiful, I would have been attacked. I would have been called Faggot! or Pervert! or Tranny! So I internalized this hatred, and I slouched when I walked. I feared God as a capricious arbiter of normality, a wanton despot of conformity. I feared God so that I ran from him and turned to the safety and security of drugs and alcohol.