I learned shame before I could name it.

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Born November 28, 1976, into fracture — absent father lost to psych wards and streets until I was five, a mother stretched thin holding five mouths together. Bullies branded me "sissy," ah-gua. Home offered no refuge; tantrums masked the ache. One day, nineteen floors up, I stood at the window ready to jump — until Mom's voice pulled me back. That night I broke: If You exist, God, fix this shame. Take away what I feel.

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God answered.

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At a new school, faith ignited. The Spirit fell and spoke in tongues as I played piano for a devotion. Miracles followed: a knee crushed by a motorcycle straightened only after the service ended, as friends helped me down a flight of stairs—healed on the very first step, in full view; a jellyfish sting vanished under a desperate plea—“God heal me.” Demonic weights crushed my chest at night, but Jesus’ name drove them back. God spoke clearly, repeatedly—on bus rides home, after fellowship. This wasn’t imagination. It was real. I was on fire for Him.

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Then, at fourteen, the night that split me in two.

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Bus ride home from church, olive-green Puma bag on my lap. An empty seat filled. A subtle brush at my hip, tugs at the zipper—confusion, rush, terror. As I stood to get off, shame overwhelmed me; I wet my pants. I fled at the next stop, guilt crashing over me in waves.

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From that moment I became enemies with myself: the boy who loved God with every breath, and the boy religion swore God would never love. For the next decade I tried to kill one to save the other — fasting, deliverance, casting out the "gay demon." One day, I thought I'd won, felt free. Then a thundering voice declared: "Son, it's time to get married." A marriage that I waited for ten years.

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Then it was August 2013. Seven revelations — Seven Seals — erupted like a burning bush before witnesses. Church leaders watched as every doctrine we thought we knew exploded right in our faces: religion—not salvation, but a trap—a lie—a test.

Orthodoxy hadn't been saving me.

It had been holding truth hostage — and me with it.

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This book is the record of that detonation.

Not losing faith, but overtaken by truth when it finally broke me open and set me free.

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TJAN TROY