I was thirteen years and two months old when I had my first panic attack over the possibility that I could be a "sinning" homosexual.
I was thirteen years and two months old when I thought that god would stop loving me.
I was thirteen years and three months old when my father went on a rant about how media used to be pure and not filled with "all this gay crap". As though growing up watching people die everyday on the news from hate was normal.
I was thirteen years and seven months old when I smiled again. I had just learned the word Bisexual for the first time and it felt right.
Then I frowned because I realized that the Church would never love me again.
I was fourteen years and one month when I stopped believing in God.
I was fifteen years and three months when i found my true friends. They weren't hiding in Bible verses and church.
I was sixteen years and one month when I started to fight for the right to love myself no matter what.
I was sixteen years and six months when I realized I didn't actually want to die. I just want to live my own life on my own terms.
I am still fighting, I am still willing to bleed for my right to be alive. For everyone's right to be alive. And I don't care if I have to tear down every single temple with my bare hands, or burn every single copy of the Book of Mormon. I just want the lies and manipulation to be over.