I never thought summer camp would turn into a nightmare, but here we are. When I first arrived at the Catholic conversion camp, I was pumped. Who wouldn’t be excited about the idea of hanging out with friends, playing sports, learning more about Jesus and God, and roasting marshmallows? But that place turned out to be hell disguised as a camp.
My parents sent me here because they hated people like me. They thought I was broken for being gay, like I needed to be “fixed.” So, when they dropped me off at the camp, I felt this crushing weight in my chest. I was just a kid, trying to figure out who I was, and they were shoving me into a place that promised to make me straight. I hated myself for being who I was and for not having the guts to stand up to them.
The counselors were supposed to guide us, but they were more like prison guards. They were supposed to keep us safe, but instead, they treated us like we were broken and needed fixing. I remember this one counselor with a sickening smile, always quoting the Bible like it was some magic shield. He’d say things like, “You just need to pray harder.” It felt like he was judging us instead of helping us.
Sure, there were moments when I met some new friends—kids just like me, trying to figure out where they fit in. We’d sit around the campfire, sharing stories about life back home and cracking jokes about the ridiculous activities they forced us to do. Those were the good times, laughing and bonding over how crazy the camp was. But those moments were fleeting, overshadowed by the darker sides of camp life.
I watched my friends get hurt. Not just a scraped knee from falling while playing tag, but real punishment for just being ourselves. If you didn’t conform to their idea of “normal,” they’d call you out in front of everyone. I was terrified of being the next target, so I kept my mouth shut. The worst part? When you told someone what happened, they just brushed it off. “Boys don’t get raped,” they’d say. “You’re just being dramatic.” Nobody believed us. We were just supposed to deal with it and be tough.
Then there were the things that happened when the lights went out. Sometimes I’d hear whispers in the dark, and it wasn’t just my imagination. Those moments felt like they were designed to break us down, and I learned quickly that if you didn’t want to be singled out, you had to play along, pretend to be someone you weren’t. I didn’t want to think about it, but it kept creeping back, like a bad dream I couldn’t shake off.
I graduated high school hating myself and college I hooked up with a boy named Dante.
I went into the NFL and within a few years it got all worse. I made that speech and it was full of hate for people like Hadassah, myself, and Taylor ..
And then there was Isiah. He was like a superhero to me. When he found me, I was broken and scared. He didn’t ask questions; he just took me under his wing. He was there when I needed someone to tell me it was okay to feel messed up. I had never felt that before, like someone finally saw me for who I was instead of what I was supposed to be. Being with Isiah made me feel safe, but it also confused the hell out of me. How could I love him when my parents would freak out if they knew? I was scared of who I was, scared of my own feelings.
Meeting Hadassah was another bright spot in all that darkness. She was a tornado of energy, a sparkle of hope amidst the chaos. I remember watching her during those silly dances and her What de heils. She made everything seem less heavy, even when me and my spouse were mentally ill.
And then, in one of those rare moments of calm, Isiah turned to me and said he wanted to be more than just friends. It caught me off guard. “I love you, Butker,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. My heart raced, a mix of confusion and warmth. It was like he was offering me a way out of all the darkness. And just when I thought I was done crying, I felt my eyes welling up again.
I didn’t know how to process it all. I was still battling my demons from that camp while trying to figure out what love even meant. I was terrified of being gay and what that meant for my life. But I knew one thing for sure: Isiah was my rock, and I wanted to be strong for him, just like he was strong for me. And as much as I hated that camp, I couldn’t deny that I walked away with friends who understood the struggle, friends who believed that no matter what, we were all deserving of love and acceptance.
I just hoped that whatever came next wouldn’t break me again..
