Caro Dio tutto è iniziato quando lei mi ha baciata

Letter to God invited us by Alessia*

Dear God, everything started, as you know, that ten in November 2011. I became aware, that exact day, that there was something in me different from all my friends. That day I kissed her. That day she kissed me.

I was just 18 years old: I tried many different, beautiful, never felt, expected, refined things; And many others that I never wanted to try: suck of myself, terror, toxic dependence, lack of breath.

It took me weeks to surrender to the evidence that I had fallen in love with Elena: to understand that it was not something induced by a kiss, because I realized that I wanted it even years earlier, with the same intensity with which it then happened. A life distant from a simple kiss: are we so susceptible, we humans?

You know in what suffering I sunk in the months to follow, after his refusal to continue in that ambiguous situation. You know about the panic attacks, the fear of hell, the omen of death that was in front of my eyes every day: like that girl who committed suicide that year, in my high school, and who was said to be a lesbian. What prevented me from doing the same end?

Fortunately I wasn't alone. Friends and family helped me to overcome panic attacks, and then I took the courage with two hands and started for Rome, in the hope of another life, of something that gave meaning to my inexplicable pain. That was yes, physically that of pathological anxiety, but it was deeper, more spiritual: it was the pain of the without hope, of a person who knows that there is no space in the world for those like her. Because there is no room for those like me, right?

In Rome I learned that it was not so, that I did not suck to God, but he loved me as I am. I offered myself to the helm of Davide, the first friend to have accepted and loved me like this, and then to the paternal one of Don Amedeo.

They didn't tell me that I couldn't love: I could do it, because falling in love is given by another, I don't choose it and I can and I have to live it as a road to him. But there was also the clause of chastity. Of intrinsic disorder.

I, for my part, had reflected on my own and I was convinced that I know this thing: an unbridgeable wound ranks me, because I knew, I saw, that a man is done for a woman and vice versa. The complementarity of the bodies, the sexual and psychological difference, the way in which man and woman complete themselves, literally. "Male and female created them."

I saw it, because it was physically like this, it was clearly like this, it was evidence that I could not escape, if I thought rationally: and I only had two possibilities, or accept it and stay, or escape from the Church and live as I wanted. There was nothing else.

"It will be bitter."
"Virginity".
"Chastity".

"It is better not to say it too much around, because today's world can confuse you."

It seemed unfair to me, but I trusted. I did not understand, but I trusted, because anyway they had told me for the first time that not, I did not suck and that yes, I could love, only that it would not have been as I would imagine. And already only this had made me breathe.

Over time, I learned to accept myself. Not only that, I felt complete for the first time; I was no longer the teenager out of place who was different from all the others, who never fell in love like his peers, who when he looked at a face he did not know and a destiny not his: growing up, finding himself a good boy, getting married, making children, putting on the house.

A fate that I thought should belong to me at all costs, but whose thought already suffocated me at just fifteen. No, no: fortunately I was a lesbian. Fortunately, I was not obliged to respect everyone's stages, to desire children that I never wanted to, to put a man who struggled to see by my side. My instinct and what I was, for the first time, coincided. It was a breath. I am this so, done so, loved like this.

I realized I started to really accept myself when I started joking about it, with my usual self -deprecating attitude: there I understood that being lesbian was a real part of me.

Without me realizing it, I am trimmed. And from flourishing the love for Anna was born. You know it well, what was Anna. I think I have never praised you and thanked more in my life. Although obviously it was a secret and unrequited love, she was love and gift and praise and through her ice eyes passed the greatest grace I had ever received.

I loved freely, without expecting anything in return. I loved in virginity. I loved serenely by offering jealousies or pain. I loved how I had never loved in my life. Once I wrote about her: «Her eyes are like the sky through which sunlight is reflected and can go as far as me. When it seems to me that the sun is no longer there, she continues to testify to me. Will it be for this purpose that God made them so blue? " And also "I want to love all my life as I loved Anna".

Yes, I said it. I wrote exactly like that. Loving "in chastity", after that wonderful experience that I call of pure grace, had never seemed more beautiful: I loved her and I loved the world more, I loved the things I had to do, the study, friends, and I loved more you, God.

If the chastity that was proposed to me was really living like this, the centuplo here, then it was feasible, was wonderful, it was perfect! And my friend Davide echoed me: "You and I, I as a seminarian, you as homosexual, we are called by God to love in the same way".

A privilege. A grace. And I believed it. He was also bitter, because I would always let go of the women I loved (Don Amedeo said: "Live the sacrifice to leave it where he is"), but I believed it. I believed it!

Then she left Rome, and the world turned out. But the promise of happiness had remained. It was as if the absence of her said to me: «Do you want to bet Ale? Do you want to bet that you can be happy even without me? Even if you have a big wound, which is this nostalgia for me? ».

Yes I wanted it, but I was turned off anyway. I fell again in the abyss, with a degree thesis that was struggling to messed up, at work in the ice cream shop to pay me out of course, with increasingly uncontrollable hypochondria crises, in love before a colleague bitch with a perfect smile and then of Francesca, the one that deluded me most of all.

Francesca was a girl I wanted in the best sense of the word, you know this well. Who made me emerge a new wound, which I thought I had sedated forever after the discovery of being able to love in virginity. From a diary of that year: "It is impossible, what I ask is simply, practically impossible: you cannot ask for both eternal life and being with a girl and claiming to fuck us.

From any point of view you look at it, mine is an unsolvable dichotomy. If I do not want to return (assuming that we can) heterosexual, I have only two choices: to live homosexuality according to the Church, to live it for my cocks. But if I live it for my cocks I will always be, always damned. It doesn't matter how much Christianity lives, I will never be able to save myself. There is no way where I could have everything. Or one or the other. I am stuck and it is a shitty situation ».

Francesca was so ambiguous towards me who made me believe that I was close to my first, sweet, love relationship with a woman: and instead she refused me. Obviously, however, he immediately got with a man. It was always so small in my arms, so in need of love and protection; I would have given her everything, I would have given me all of me. I really wanted to take care of her.

From another reflection that I wrote: "But will it be an evil that I don't want to be heterosexual at all? Even if it costs a thousand more sacrifices, even if it were more bitter, I accept everything, it is fine ... rather than a normal life by loving a man, I prefer a hard and bitter life, even remaining forever alone, but continuing to love women. So Lord, please, if it's not a sin to ask him, don't teach me to love men, teach me how do you want women to love! "

I fled for the second time by a damned love, this time towards Milan. Just to find myself in the beautiful and damned arms of another woman, the arms so desired of Cecilia. She, my love at first sight. She, the coldest I have ever loved, but with that sweet look that broke me in two, making me capitulate. She, such a beauty that I had never seen before and that I almost venerated.

She, the usual heterosexual with which I had no hope. I wrote about her: «When these girls smile at me I think: cabbage! But who is God who makes them so beautiful? "

She was all. It has been a little Elena, especially in the last period, since I am dependent on it, and it was a bit Anna, for the miracles that happened with her, which I asked and for which I prayed. Started as a cottarella, which has become one of the strongest and most complete loves that I have ever tried: Soul and body.

For once, the body was not separated, because I wanted it so much, even physically. And I understood what was the only thing that was missing from my love for Anna. He resembled a Platonic, beautiful, but Platonic love: but God therefore asks us homosexuals to live many Platonic loves? Now I feel like telling me: it is not enough for me!

Obviously, however, at Anna's time it was enough for me, and I am sure that if it reaches me it would be enough for me again, because you were there and you won: and you are enough, I know this well. But life is not a sequence of Anne. It is more often a sequence of Cecilie or Francesche: because the love for creatures is - also - the physical one. Anna was the transfiguration on Mount Tabor, Elena, Francesca and Cecilia are earthly life, that of everyday. It would be nice to put a tent on the tabor and stay there, I, you and the prophet Elia: I was in ecstasy, up there, but then you still asked me to go down, to return to everyday life. It is precisely here that my physicality eventually returns and claims a right for itself.

Heterosexuals are given to live both the dimensions of love, physical and spiritual, this means that both are good: why do I have to amputate myself of the joy of loving, caressing, touching these girls? Amputate me of the joy of making me love, caressing, touching from one of these? I want it. I want a complete love. In addition, Anna was an unrequited love: I want and ask, finally, after ten years of awareness of me, a love paid.

I believed that you had made me follow this long journey to finally arrive at the awareness that your Church is wrong, that it would have recognized it without scandal, as has happened other times in history: that the Church will follow a new path, and will lead everyone to the awareness that we cannot be obliged to chastity, because that of chastity is a choice: a choice that I am not free to make.

I thought I was finally ready for this new ... Truth. That I am fine so much, even with homosexual acts. That at the end of the fair they are only acts of love, exactly like a man and a woman together.

Apparently it seems not to be so. There will be no blessing for the same sex couples, right? i Was deluded again this time, i say Good? "You can't bless sin", is it right?

I am all doing this problems while knowing very well that I have lived all unpaid loves for ten years, right? I don't even know why I take it so much. It is not that I have a girl: but the need to be loved in everything, body and soul, by a woman is becoming increasingly impervious every year, and increasingly fades the beauty of the truth that I have experienced with Anna.

Già, verità. Perché probabilmente quella era la verità, e io ora sono nella tentazione: sono nel peccato già ora. Il mio sogno, il mio amore completo, è peccato, dopotutto. Io non sono prevista nel disegno del Creatore: il mio amore non è ordinato al Suo disegno. Il mio amore è disordinato. Siamo spiacenti, riprovi più tardi. Riprova con un’altra vita, perché in questa ti è andata di sfiga. Come essere umano, sono sottoposta alla legge della diversità biologica: come Alessia, come individuo, le fibre del mio corpo sono fatte “contronatura”.

Quell’angelo caduto che si è inventato uno squarcio simile nel cuore, una sconnessione tale su chi sono in senso lato e chi sono in senso stretto, se la starà ridendo di gusto.

"It will be bitter."
"Virginity".
"Chastity".

Mi lagno per una fidanzata che non ho, sono ridicola. Ma ho 27 anni, quasi 28. Mi vedi, o Dio? Guardami! Il mio bisogno di essere amata da una creatura umana è immenso!

Sto diventando grande, potrei quasi dire che sto invecchiando, ormai, e mi addolora invecchiare senza quell’amore che mi sembra promesso tutte le volte che incrocio lo sguardo di una donna bellissima: e sono un’ingrata, perché so che dovresti bastarmi Tu, ma come faccio?

How do I do if the moment when I loved you more coincided with the day when I fell in love with a human creature, with splendid blue eyes and concrete, nearby, palpable? How is the eternal disagreement between you and the woman recruit? Did Petrarca ever understand it? Can I ever understand it? I who also experienced it, on the tabor! Look at me!

«Voca me cum blessed.
Supplex et acclinis gold,
cor contritum almost cinis:
gere Curam Mei Finis "
Take my destiny to heart!

Even my brothers of the movement cannot reach me inside this wound. Not all at least. And I'm not even sure that those who know of me and accept me to understand exactly the origin of my suffering, as heterosexuals.

They continue to tell me that after all they are like them, that my desire to be loved is that of everyone, that I feel the same things as everyone: this is certain, but to their request that there is someone for them, so similar to mine, they must not add the clause "even if there was some for me, as soon as I take it to bed I will be condemned, unlike them". This do not know this. This does not experience it.

Don Amedeo has always been right. "It will be bitter." He is bitter. Forced to pay the pledge of a sin not mine, but which has been put on my shoulders: it is bitter.

Because I have been touched, ripped, at the most sensitive point of all the human being: the ability to love and be loved. I don't have anything else. Perhaps.

* I wanted to send you a letter-Fogue that I wrote on March 15 of this year, resulting from the now sadly famous "Responsum" of the Congregation for Doctrine. It is a letter to God sad and angry, even if full of hope and beauty in some places, with a bitter ending that asks questions that reflect my very personal life experience, even if I know that here you think differently: and God, how much I would like to have your courage. But it also makes me so afraid to think of deviating myself from the doctrine, I who have always judged myself a faithful girl. I consider myself a person on the way, certainly not reached a resolution, which he is looking for, seeking with all his strength the meaning of my faith and my homosexuality, which has always been together. This letter is only a cross -section of a journey that I am sure will continue, and I don't really know where it will take me. I only want that on this Holy Friday God also brings my pain on the cross, and destroys him, and let me rise with him, in any way, in his Easter.