Homosexuals don't exist

So, here's the deal. My older sister, whenever she's referring to people like me in writing, she puts the word in quotes. "Homosexual." People living the "homosexual" lifestyle. Apparently, she doesn't believe they exist.

The sad thing is, she never used to be like this. In high school, she had gay friends, and friends she suspected were gay. She was really innocent when it came to sex, but she didn't seem to have a problem with gay people much at all.

Then, she decided to go on a mission. She changed a bit before her mission. Became a bit more devout, a bit more focused on the doctrine on the church, and a bit more focused on life outside the church. The major change, though, came on her mission.

The person she became on her mission is a person I don't recognize. I didn't grow up with this person.

The person she became post-mission was a severely depressed woman who was entirely dependent on the church for her happiness, or lack thereof. All she wanted was to be back on her mission. Or get married. But I can't count the times she said, "I just want to go back on my mission."

She was dogmatic. And she didn't mellow out after a month or two post-mission, like most missionaries do. She grew ever more wrapped up inside the church, not even entertaining the notion that there was more life outside.

She took the call to work on Prop 8 seriously. She made phone calls, she spread word, she encouraged people to vote the Lord's way. She ate it all up with enthusiasm, even contending with me that Prop 8 didn't take away anyone's rights, and gay people have all the rights straight people do, they just get it through civil unions. I tried telling her that civil unions don't cover all the rights of marriage, and she wouldn't listen to me.

And on it goes.

She thinks that I am "choosing" to live my "homosexual" lifestyle, and that I fell into it because a lot of my friends were "homosexual" and had bad morals and I must just want to sin. And you know what? It hurts to know that's what she thinks of me. After surviving childhood together, after surviving the dull, correlated meetings and the abusive, hostile home environment. After seeing the dedication I put into the things I love, my dedication to finding the truth wherever it might lead.... In the end, something fundamental about my sister changed. Sometimes, I wonder if she is still my sister at all.

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