I met you under false pretenses.

When I decided to finally accept myself and come out to my campus ministry leader, she told me she had a friend who had "struggled" with the same thing I was. Something deep within screamed against meeting this "friend," but this religious community was all that I had known during my time at university. So I agreed to meet you.

It is a small blessing that my roommate, the first person I came out to and who accepted me fully, told me she would come with me.

I had no idea the amount of pain and trauma I was about to endure.

I met you in public on the bottom floor of the student union in the early evening. My campus leader introduced you and failed to introduce me or my roommate. I was never a name or a person to you, due to this. You never knew my name, only my face and who I was attracted to.

You wasted no time. You sat there with a smile painted on your face with too much makeup as the scent of your perfume choked me endlessly. It was as if you were trying to prove to the world how much a "proper" Christian woman you were.

The story of your eleven-year journey of self-hatred and denial of your sexuality cut me to the core. Your words rang with desperation as you talked about outdated sociological concepts like the "gay gene" and same-sex attraction being only the result of your desire to be the person you were attracted to.

In those moments, I saw myself over the past several years. I saw myself beating on the door of the closet until my knuckles bled, all the while listening to the track of what people had told me my entire religious life:

"Same-sex attraction is unholy."

"It is one of the worst sins."

"Faggots can burn in hell."

For three hours, you spoke at me as if I was some idiotic child who had no concept of what true love is. You told me the way I love was akin to vandalism. That even though I was, in your mind, "born gay" I was choosing to live my life as a queer person because all my friends were doing it. You gave an analogy, stating: "If all your friends decided to vandalize a car, you would join them, right? Well, that's what you're doing now with your attraction."

I cannot count the number of times my roommate had to kick me under the table to calm my anger as your words cut deeper than any slur. When you finally stopped your self-righteous ranting with a story of how God showed you a vision of you marrying a man, I had a list of questions.

These questions were a result of your contradicting statements and lack of evidence. Only a few minutes into my questioning, I realized how deeply my very being was screaming for me to leave. Standing, I said, "I think we must agree to disagree." And stormed off. It is worth mentioning at this point that the campus leader who told me you were her friend lied. She had never met you, and for that, she deserves as much of my anger as you do.

I should hate you. I should hate you for the months of therapy and night terrors I endured after you tried to "convert" me into a model of heterosexuality. I should despise your very existence and the knowledge that you do what you did to me to so many others. I should want you gone for the self-hatred you tried to instill in me.

But I cannot. For me, hating you means I have become you. For months I reacted with anger to every person who proclaimed their faith to me. They reminded me too much of you. With my first partner, I broke down crying during a movie because it mentioned conversion therapy. Stepping into places of worship makes my skin crawl and my stomach twist.

There came a point when I had to recognize that not all Christians are like you. That you, in fact, are one of the worst examples of Christianity I have ever met. Where others respond with love and acceptance, you responded by dehumanizing me and reducing me to only my sexuality. Through months of therapy and healing, I accepted that it is the people who decide what they do with their religion, not the religion itself.

I will never forgive you. In a weird way, I live to prove you wrong. I am a strong, confident, successful individual. And I am queer. You did not succeed in taking that from me. I mentor younger students who have experienced trauma like I have. I show them that they can love themselves, whether or not they are religious.

So every time you are there to tear someone down and make them hate a part of themselves and how they love, know that I am there too. I will be there showing unconditional love, an area where you have failed. I will lift up those who you crush and destroy like you did to me, and I will help them find solace and love. Everyone deserves to love who they love, without self-hatred or fear.

And though this is a letter to the woman who tried to change who I love, I want to speak to those of you who have experienced any form of conversion therapy. Know that you are strong and loved. You are not weak or unholy or wrong. Love freely without fear. You are perfect, never let anyone tell you differently.

If you need help and counseling, call or text the 24/7 hotline for the Trevor Project at: 1-866-488-7386

If you would like to combat conversion therapy of minors in your state, please get involved with 50 Bills 50 States.