Connor H.
Photography by Jackson Covert
Before reading this letter, we'd like for you to know it discusses Connor H.'s experience with suicide. If you think that reading about this will be triggering for you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, we encourage you to read a letter on a different topic, such as Caroline L.'s or Anonymous's letter. If you're reading this, your feelings are valid.
If you’re reading this, don’t be anyone but your true and amazing self.
From a young age (the age of 4, to be precise), I knew there was something different about myself. As I progressed through grade school lacking any confidence and focusing only on math competitions and spelling bees, my social ranking slipped as I am sure just those quick, simple facts reveal.
However, this was not a concern to me. I enjoyed watching the dust collect on my plastic trophies that sat on my bookcase, seemingly embodying my entire worth right in front of me.
What truly disrupted my focus, my soul, my self-worth, was when I became aware of my reluctance to participate in group chatter about who our middle school crushes were and our rapidly appearing gaze of the other gender. I found myself lacking any words or thoughts to contribute.
This confusion came to a peak as I stood teary-eyed in front of a mirror my sophomore year of high school and said three life-changing words to myself: “You are gay.” At that moment, I collapsed. I felt no pride, no confidence, no acceptance… only shame, guilt, and complete disgust. As I continued my education in a small Christian, conservative high school, I found no option but to deny who I was in every possible manner.
Razor blades and handfuls of Tylenol became my outlet. As my attempt to physically rip and cut this part of myself out failed, I contemplated whether it would simply be more productive for my story to conclude. I felt as though my God, my family, and my reflection would be better off in the absence of my presence. This curse, something I so positively know I never chose, felt like an inescapable nightmare. Maybe something more permanent would be the jolt to awaken me, I pondered. After several suicide attempts and a surplus of therapy, I began to recognize the importance of wanting to heal, wanting to stop adding more scars. A strange concept for many, but life-changing for me.
I began to reject the hateful whispers of my fundamental Christian school telling me I was worthless to God and damned to hell. I began to find value in myself and as a child of God. I emerged from my darkest pits of depression, self-harm, and suicidality.
As I began my collegiate career, I remained confused about my identity and how much I would share this part of myself with others. Ironically, on my first night at SMU, I sat on the steps of a commons late at night, a slightly incapacitated individual approached me and asked more loudly than I would have liked, “Are you gay?!” I panicked and quickly denied. I guess I had made my decision at that moment: I was going to embark on this four-year journey hiding my true self once again.
While I have been a part of amazing organizations at an outstanding university, throughout my four years, I have experienced time and time again the pain of overhearing slurs, being ostracized from my faith, and people suggesting I am simply not worth it. These experiences have led me through trials that once again resulted in self-harm and consideration of suicide.
In contrast, however, this past year I have become more open with my story with those closest to me. These amazing, beautiful people have reminded me of my true worth, not only in this world but in the heavenly realm. That I am cherished and loved for exactly who I am. They have helped me build confidence, remain steadfast in my faith, and ultimately feel loved. Not only am I becoming okay with myself, but I am slowly beginning to love myself and who I truly am. I look back and wish that I could have possibly lived more authentically throughout my time at SMU.
While I continue to struggle on the journey of discovering this identity, particularly in its intersection with my faith, I am confident that I am desperately and unconditionally loved by my friends, family, and God. I don’t have all of it figured out and don’t know my answer for most of the questions surrounding this topic, even after nearly two decades of contemplation. I often wish this was simply a snakeskin I could shed and never return to, an egg I could hatch out of if I grew enough in my faith. However, I know this is not reality. I choose to remain confident in the love that surrounds me. I am confident in the Lord’s faithfulness to me and that He will remain my anchor upon following the conviction to share this story.
Talking about this is truly unchartered territory for me. I don’t know if my telling this will restrict me from certain organizations, or if I will lose friends, or if I will feel relieved. But I know that, simply put, I am still myself. I have always been Connor: a chaotic, music-loving, joking, passionate, faithful college kid just trying to figure out life like the rest of us.
If you’re reading this, you are loved! You are valued! You are worthy!
Connor H., Southern Methodist University
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