Southern Fried Denial - Preface and Introduction

For my first blog post, I am including the preface and introduction to my book, Southern Fried Denial. I hope you enjoy it. You can purchase the book here.

Southern Fried Denial: A Bi Guy In The Baptist Church Confronting Religious Trauma

By

David McDowell

Copyright © 2025 by David McDowell.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except as permitted under applicable copyright law. The author retains copyright until a formal agreement is executed with the publisher.

To Ali, my inspiration and my love, thank you for giving me the space to tell this story

Preface

Originally, this book was going to be about my life from the beginning until around 2016 or so. However, I realized as I began to write that there was no way I could be fair and tell my whole story without also telling you the rest of the story. Also, the last ten years have been far different than the first forty years so not only will this book have two parts, the second part will be much shorter than the first.

Please note that I have used pseudonyms for most of the names in my story in order to protect the identity of the people in the story that do not want the attention and to protect me from them putting me on blast. Please keep in mind that these are my memories. Memories are not always accurate, but I have done my best to present them as accurately as I can remember and have done research in my own past emails, calendar, and anything else I have been able to get access to. All facts that have been cited have been cited using Wikipedia. This is not an academic book and, let’s face it, most people use Wikipedia as their standard anyway.  

I truly want people to know that the purpose of this book is not to brag and tell you how I have found the light. On the contrary, I think I am more confused now than ever. This story actually started out as an exercise in therapy until I realized that I had something here that I wanted to share. The reason I am sharing my story is very simple. First, I have been encouraged by many people to do so and second, I just simply hope that someone may read this and see something in my story that resonates with them. Maybe part of my story will keep them from making some of the same mistakes or lead them to making a better decision. Really, that’s all there is. I would be lying if I said that I haven’t thought about what would happen if the book actually became a success, but I am not holding my breath. I know that I am not John Grisham (but if he is reading this, I would love to meet him sometime), but once I am done with my story, I might have more to say, but let me wait to see how you all like this one first. This is my first undertaking as a writer so please read this with grace and know that when I wrote it, I did think about who might read it and I hope the reader finds the grace and love they need, if that is why they are reading.

Introduction

As I sat on the bathroom floor, I somehow knew that I wasn’t thinking straight, but yet I didn’t care. The room was spinning. My sinuses had let loose. My voice was hoarse from screaming. Where was I?  I physically knew where I was, but how did I get in this position? Another swig of rum told me that nothing mattered anymore. Mom was gone. Cindy would be gone soon because of what I had done. What was the point anymore? I looked at the pills in the bottle on the sink. One big swig of rum and maybe two swallows of those and all I would have to do was lay down and go to sleep and it would all be over. But did I really want it to all be over? Was this really unfixable? 

How did I get here? I was so hurt. Mom was gone, victim of a brain hemorrhage. She had worked too hard her whole life for it to end like that. I couldn’t handle it. I was so ashamed. Mom would be so ashamed of me. Cindy was so ashamed of me and so angry at me. I felt like I needed the attention, I guess. But something is so wrong here. Why am I here? There’s got to be something else that is going on here. There has got to be something that I am missing.

That was June of 2014. I didn’t take the pills. I am very glad that I didn’t. But that day is a part of a wider journey that started years ago as I grew up in both the Independent Fundamental Baptist Church and the conservative Southern Baptist Church. This is part of that story.