Twice a week for a few months I sat in a room with a pastor and my uncle as they told me I was not actually gay — I was just making a confused choice. The sin is so deep that you have to dig up the root to overcome it, the pastor would say. He drew a tree to symbolize sin. The word “homosexuality” curled around the roots.

I cried every car ride home. To please those around me, I got a girlfriend and pretended to live in a perfect heterosexual world. I began to police the way my voice sounded, but the pretending left me empty and numb. I didn’t know who to talk to; I didn’t know how to act. A deep depression sank in, and I became obsessed with thoughts of moving away to somewhere people would see beyond my sexuality.

That somewhere turned out to be Oxford, Miss. The University of Mississippi is a beautiful place: The 10-acre Grove, a park in the center of campus lined with oaks, is best known for its football tailgates. But it also became a place of refuge, where I would sit and read and ruminate on the possibilities of my new life.

For the first time ever, I found friends who loved me for who I am. I gained confidence and took on leadership roles. I joined the student government. I gave campus tours as an Ole Miss ambassador and welcomed new students as an Ole Miss orientation leader. I was never made to feel I didn’t belong.

While participation and acceptance made me feel whole, my college years were far from secure. I was essentially on my own and I worried constantly about money. My old car always needed expensive repairs, and I had to keep it running so that I could get to the two jobs I worked for 35 hours every week. I already felt too indebted to my aunt and uncle for taking me in to ask for financial help. I stayed close with them and saw them over some vacations, but they had two children of their own. I also felt guilty for lying to them: I had allowed them to believe the conversion therapy had worked.

My only option was to take out more loans. Some days I was literally digging through my piggy bank to eat.

To make matters worse, my mother had taken me off her health insurance. Ole Miss provides free medical care, but it doesn’t cover prescriptions. So I stopped seeing my psychologist and taking depression medication. I quit going to the eye doctor and dentist. There were nights when I lay in bed, unable to sleep, because my mouth ached from my wisdom teeth, which I guess were infected or overcrowded.