My teenage revelation that a Catholic upbringing wasn’t going to work out for me as a functioning gay adult was quick, painless and probably best for both of us. The clash between the two cultures looked too extreme, even if my knowledge of homosexuality back then was confined to two Frankie Goes To Hollywood videos. A hovering weekly reminder I was going to hell for being who I was turned out to be the deciding factor. As I told a boyfriend later, in the middle of a brutal break-up, “only a madman would want to be part of something that doesn’t want him.”
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