Counterfeit Personality

Counterfeit Personality
22/01/2017 Christina Yobera

I couldn’t bear to imagine how the vicar and his wife would react when in fact, their offspring has breached the rules and regulations, ignored the terms and conditions of the contract.
How will they react when in fact, their offspring is a homosexual
who would rather spend her Sunday morning nursing a hangover?
rather than reading the bible drool at Rihanna on a magazine cover?
Rather than two steppin’ to hymns get daggered to tracks like “bend over”?

I couldn’t comprehend or contend with the thought process in my head, so instead, I drowned my identity in a sea of conformity, submitting it for and opposite reality.                   
Straight, I wore the label so proud and praised God so loud that I believed the lies, Called myself a ‘devout’ Christian, or at least I portrayed the fantasy with this artificial identity, fabricated this counterfeit personality with a voice that didn’t sound like me, opinions I didn’t agree, with a vision that I didn’t even see, walking a path to where I didn’t want to be.
If only the vicar knew that the child he calls an inspiration is the exact representation of what they call an abomination.

This darkness started taking over the light, as I kept this part of me out of sight. I started looking for a safe haven that I found underneath – a man. Underneath him I left parts of me, anything left of the real Chrissy was stripped and ripped like he did to my clothes.
I couldn’t stomach the disgust that came with every thrust;
I couldn’t swallow the revulsion so I would spit the secretion.
Instead of speaking out, I spoke less
Instead of reaching out, I suppressed the hate that erected inside me.
It had me in chains, it coursed through my veins, I felt nothing but pain. This darkness penetrated my being, it impaired my integrity, it bored into humility, it battered my self-esteem.
My scream, represented by the grunts and moans we both made
My tears, was the sweat that dripped from our bodies
My fight, displayed by the scratches and bite marks on his skin.
Is this how life should be? This artificial identity was bringing me nothing but misery, must I hide the real Chrissy?
Must I sacrifice my happiness because my lifestyle and sexuality won’t be accepted by my family? This was not how I wanted to be, I wanted my own identity, tired of switching my disguise when it suited me

So I took the plunge into unfamiliar waters, I let her into my quarters
Her arms spread generously around my circumference with this gentle firmness. Smothered by the warmth of her bosom, like a flame in this dark room, giving me a glimpse of the journey we will embark on soon, Exploring the twists and turns, the curves, the ups and downs of her feminine features. With the fullness of her lips, her comforting kiss shed light on the eclipse inside me. Overwhelmed by the touch of her tender finger tips, this unbearable pleasure bounced through me. Felt it on my flesh, through my mind, in my soul. I lost control.
She rekindled my fire with this unusual touch of passion, burning through the barbed wire that imprisoned my desire
My state of being was redefined; the chains around me began to unwind, the darkness living in my mind? I evicted it, the hatred coursing through my veins? I drained it, my battered self-esteem? I Bandaged it.
Now this is not just about my sexuality, for once in my life I felt like the real Chrissy, finally had the bravery to set myself free,
Surprisingly, the vicar and his wife accepted me,
Would rather see me happy with a bride than miserable with a groom,
Would rather see me celebrate my Life than regret coming out of the womb.
So I will forever thank she who helped me say RIP to my Counterfeit Personality.
Christina Wanjira Yober

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