I almost couldn’t believe it when my friend sent me the YouTube of Richard Cohen, author of the book Coming Out Straight, who believes that smashing a tennis racket against a pillow while screaming at his parents will “purge” him of whatever it was that made him gay. In effect, he’ll ungay himself of being gay.
I actually could not bear to watch Cohen’s video uninterrupted, and had to stop and start it several times because of the fury and grief that laced through me the moment it began. As it turns out, Cohen and his voodoo claims of “curing the gay” was just the tip of the iceberg: it seems Christine O’Donnell, an up-and-coming conservative Senator, is also advocating the “pray away the gay” ministries. I, myself went through six years of a similar–though perhaps less religious and more psychologically-based–treatment. My 89,000-word (yet-to-be published) memoir, CROSSING STYX, details it all, from meeting my former psychiatrist, “Dr. Alfonzo,” soon after coming out and being rejected by my family, to learning the techniques behind his version of primal therapy, and finally, to isolating myself for years in a therapeutic house called “the Styx” while believing myself to be “not homosexual.” Instead of Cohen’s tennis racket we used an aluminum baseball bat; instead of “non-sexually” cuddling a parental figure, Alfonzo injected us with Ketamine, an animal anesthetic, and “reparented” us as our new “daddy.”
Despite the fact that I wrote an entire book to, in part, “warn” others of the kind of primitive logic that still runs rampant, while ruining people’s lives, a part of me wanted to believe that what happened to me was more the exception, and less the rule. A part of me still finds it difficult to comprehend how anyone–I repeat: anyone–could come to believe that screaming at their parents, no matter how much they deserve to be screamed at, while smashing a tennis racket, a baseball bat, or even, for that matter, a golf club, against whatever soft surface they desire could purge them of their sexuality. It purged me of none of mine. If anything, batting and screaming at my Tormentors served only to dig down deep into my Shadowy Pandora’s Box of rage that ended up subsuming me for years, but out of which I emerged, following one long and dark night’s journey, still very much, for lack of a better word, “gay.” If Cohen wants to help, truly help, anyone, he will learn kindness toward himself, forgiveness for those who wronged him, and the difference between the socially constructed and largely inauthentic “identity” of homosexuality, and his own very personal experience of love and intimacy and sex with another human being of the same gender. He will stop displacing the effects of childhood abuse with same sex desire. The logic behind Cohen’s “bash the racket against the pillow and become straight” therapy, and other “cure the gay” therapies just like it, is fallacious and leads nowhere but back to the self-hatred that caused the individual to want to engage in such a form of self-imposed chastisement to begin with.