For
times like this, I have taped to the top of my
computer a note that reads: BANG HEAD HERE! (Beside it,
my partner has taped another note that reads: Bang Everything
Else Upstairs! But I digress.)
I’m
deeply disturbed by that quote. I don’t know where
to begin. "…Restoration…womanhood…rear-end
boosters…boys.” BOYS?
Who
are you—you…you unfortunately named girl-person,
Melissa Fryrear? And where is your dignity?
Exodus
International’s “restoration” therapy
for lesbians must involve mind-erasing drugs that induce
adolescent behavior in grown women and suck them dry of
anything resembling self-esteem. The result gives new meaning
to the term Psycho-Ex.
Fryrear
sounds like my favorite teenage tomboy, Jo Polniaczek, on
crack and shortly after a lightning bolt-powered lobotomy.
She might just as well have written, “Golly, Blair,
now that I’m restored, I can’t sleep with you
or Tootie any more. I like boys. Boys are good. Boys are
better than girls. I’d love to make muffins with Natalie
in my tummy-tucker and push-up bra, though. Do you think
there’s enough make-up in the world to hide the scars
on my head and the fact that I’m a big LESBIAN?”
Uh,
no. Franken-Jo, there isn’t.
But
that’s only clear to those of us who live in the real
world, love ourselves and don’t want what Exodus offers:
“Freedom from homosexuality through the power of Jesus
Christ."
I
feel sorry for Fryrear and all the ex-lesbians
cum woman-wannabes who have turned to Exodus for real help
and got make-up tips in return. These women need problem-solving
skills and lessons in personal responsibility, not new tweezers
and clothes. Their “testimonials” will make
any self-respecting woman—gay or straight—cringe.
It must suck to believe you’re damaged goods, to have
so little self-worth that you actually delight in using
words like, “During my years of restoration...”
I
want to understand these “godly women.” I want
to write something incredibly sensitive and thoughtful about
what Fryrear has been through and said, but inasmuch as
I know it’s not right to judge a book by its cover,
Fryrear is selling “cover,” and I’m not
buying it.
Something
tells me that Angelina Jolie could seduce her on the steps
of the Vatican, on Christmas Day, in less than five minutes.
Okay,
less than three minutes. I think we all know you can put
a new dress on Trailer Trash Barbie and fool Ken, yet Midge
will always know the truth. But
at Exodus, as the in lives of all women who believe they’re
worthless, what Ken thinks is all that really matters.
And
in Ken’s mind, a dress + make-up = woman.
