With that, he told his boyfriend he was leaving their eight-year relationship, moving out of their Florida home and renouncing his homosexuality. "This isn't what the Lord wants for you," he said, sitting across the kitchen counter as his partner cooked up a batch of pork chops. "It isn't what the Lord wants for me. I never wanted to be this way."

Eleutheros, a Christian ministry that advertises "freedom from homosexuality," seemed like the way out for Westcott, a 38-year-old financial adviser. There, in a 12-by-12 room with fluorescent lighting and metal folding chairs, he met other men who were struggling with their same-sex attractions. Some were married and cheating on their wives. Many had been abused as children or abandoned by their fathers. Like Westcott, a fair number had suffered through drug abuse or alcoholism. Regardless of what circumstances had brought them there, all shared the same hope: that their lives would improve immeasurably if they could just learn how to be hetero.

Is that possible -- and more importantly, is it a dangerous thing to even attempt? Those are the questions lurking behind the firestorm that tore through last week's American Psychiatric Association convention in Chicago. The APA had scheduled a panel discussion on whether homosexuality could be eliminated through something called "reparative" or "reorientation" therapy -- but canceled the event after two psychiatrists withdrew from the program, claiming the issue was too politically loaded for objective discussion.

The cancellation brought howls from Exodus International, an umbrella organization of ex-gay Christian ministries, which picketed the main entrance hall of the meeting and placed a $53,000 full-page ad in Wednesday's USA Today. "I think APA is running scared because there are thousands of people who are benefiting from reparative therapy. I'm extremely disappointed that they're backing away from open discussion," says Exodus director Bob Davies. "The ex-gay movement is reaching a critical mass, where our stories can no longer be denied. We're not going away."

Ex-gay leaders claim they provide an authentic conversion experience for those who want to reverse their sexual orientations. "Change is the byproduct of inner healing," says Richard Cohen, a Maryland therapist who uses a combination of techniques ranging from cradling his male patients to teaching them problem-solving skills. "By going into the well and into the shadow, they will find their secrets. And when they heal the wounds, they will come into their full gender identity. The byproduct will be a falling-away of their same-sex attractions." Cohen admits he has been successful with "a very small percentage of his clients"; most ex-gay leaders claim a success rate of about 30 percent.

"It takes a lot of work," Cohen says, "and that's not popular in this instant bullion-cube Campbell's soup world."

To the psychiatric establishment, there's a more plausible explanation for this low "success" rate: It's because sexuality is an immutable fact of life that cannot -- and should not -- be altered with therapy. Every mainstream mental-health organization has disavowed practitioners like Cohen. They say therapy rarely changes sexual orientations, but instead imbues clients with a sense of failure and permanent burden of guilt.

"You can change some people's behavior with some combination of reward and punishment," says San Francisco psychoanalyst Christopher Wallis. "On the other hand, their internal life, that's a lot harder to change. The danger is that some individuals are going to end up feeling that in some important way their life is a lie and a sham."

Lost amidst the polarized rhetoric are the men and women who attend these Christian ministries and secular therapists. Why would somebody renounce homosexuality and try to become straight? What type of need do these programs tap into? How to they work? Do they succeed? When ex-gays profess to having a new sexual orientation, what does that really mean? Have they shed all their attractions? Or are they merely suppressing them, the way a recovering alcoholic fights daily against the urge to drink?

Trying to make sense of these questions, I've interviewed about 20 lesbians and gay men who have gone through ex-gay programs with various results. And over the course of a year, I've spent several days -- not to mention hours on the telephone -- with John Westcott, one of thousands of men and women who claim to have recovered from homosexuality. The more we talked, the clearer it became that neither side has a monopoly on the truth. When you look closely at a single life, all the crisp black-and-white answers dissolve into a muddy gray.

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