I know this is probably just going to seem like a long mumbly rant, but PLEASE take your time to read it and give me some advice.
I just turned 17, but I suppose it’s best to start my story from when I was nine.
When I was 9, I was molested by a cousin (we’re both boys) on several occasions. Honestly, I didn’t mind— I enjoyed his “game” at the time.
A year or so after this, as I began middle school, I started having feelings for boys. I live in a rural region, where the majority of people disapprove of homosexuality, and the church I grew up in taught that gay people would go to Hell. So, naturally, I was scared of myself. I couldn’t change it, so I began to hate myself. Throughout middle-school, I tried not to reveal many personal details to people— I didn’t want them to find out my secret. I became a pro at giving “anti-answers,” and over time, people kept trying to become my friend. That was fine, however, as I had started cross country and had a “family” of friends to call my own. In my eighth-grade year, I decided to quit cross-country. This left me isolated from my friends, and I didn’t really have anyone else. My parents didn’t pay much attention to me, except for when they asked me to do chores. I felt alone and isolated. I seriously felt that my parents would murder me if they learned of my feelings for guys. So I felt as though nobody knew who I was, and I became depressed. Over time, my need for attention and support grew. Trying to be the class clown wasn’t doing it anymore, and my random remarks that I thought were funny just made people think I was weird. I had a severe panic attack the spring of my eighth-grade year. For once, everyone seemed to care about me, but shortly after I got to the hospital, my symptoms vanished and things went back to normal.
After this, I got the idea into my head that if I was sick, maybe people would care for me. So I began pretending to have “spells” of the same symptoms I had during my panic attack. It worked, and my mom became super worried. After a few weeks of feigning symptoms, I began to feel remorse. But I decided I was too far in, and I kept faking. I couldn’t just make myself stop. It went on like this for over a year. Then, one day, as I was at a doctors office, a nurse drew my blood and I passed out (this is in ninth grade). So after that, I decided to begin pretending to “faint.” I pretended to faint several times a week. Before I would do it, it was like a battle was going on in my head… It’s like I wasn't even in control. One part of me would say, “just fall over and pretend to faint, you need people to care about you,” and another part would say, “Don’t, you don’t want to worry people.” Of course, the first voice ALWAYS won. I was such a good faker that I convinced dozens of doctors that I was an abnormality, and I missed a significant portion of my freshman year.
By the time tenth grade came around, the doctors had basically given up on trying to find a cause to my “problems.” They didn’t suspect I was faking them, but they had eliminated all possible medical problems. So they said it must be anxiety, and referred me to a psychologist. My parents thought that the idea of it being anxiety was idiotic, but secretly I was excited that I may finally get an opportunity to work through my problems. But, as I live in a very rural area, I had to wait 7 months to get an appointment with the psychologist. So during tenth-grade, I continued to fake problems, just not as often. When people asked about it, I said they were still going on but that I was “used to it.” Over the course of my tenth grade year, I told a few of my friends about my feelings towards guys, and began talking to a guy.
That Spring, something else happened too. A friend I had met in a history class began talking about depression with me. We we’re both extremely unstable and hated our parents for being strict. We felt that if we were ever going to be safe, we had 3 options: kill ourselves; kill our parents; or run away. Eventually we settled on running away. We wanted to make a perfect getaway and have a legitimate plan for when we escaped, so we did practice runs. We would drug our parents with sleeping pills, then I would sneak out of the house and steal my moms car. We did this about 5 times, each time checking out “safe houses” that we discovered online— abandoned houses about an hour away where we could lie low until our eventual disappearance was forgotten. But one night, in late May, I got caught.
My parents had always been strict and would check my messages, history, and photos at least once a week— so I always deleted anything bad that I didn't want them to see. But I didn’t expect to be caught that night and had forgotten to delete one bad message-thread from my phone. My parents saw a message thread with a boy I was talking to. From that, they learned that I was gay, and they assumed that I was sneaking out to be with him. My parents never learned about the other sneak-outs or the plan to run away.
But, even if my parents would have, it wouldn't have mattered. For, I was an “abomination to the Lord.” My parents screamed at me for hours about homosexuality, and told me how I was worse than a murderer. After that night, I was only allowed to leave the house for two reasons during the summer: church and psychologist visits. I didn't have communication with the outside world. I never told my psychologist that I was faking my symptoms, so she diagnosed me with conversion disorder. I briefly told her about my feelings for guys and how my parents disapprove, but she insisted that its best just not to talk about it as long as my parents don't beat me for being gay.
So, to say the least, my summer sucked. Over time, I convinced my parents that the feelings for guys have gone away (that was a lie), but still I hated life. So shortly after school began for my junior year, and I learned that my “runaway buddy” was feeling better, I could no longer handle life. I tried to kill myself. It didn't work and I was placed in a psych ward for a few weeks. (At least the meds they gave me made me feel better). Once I got out, my parents expressed how much they cared for me, and decided that public school was the reason I tried to off myself. So they sent me to a Christian school.
I no longer fake my symptoms, I think the medication has helped keep me from that urge. But now I drive an hour to get to school everyday. There are 30 teens in the entire Christian high school. I like everyone, but I feel like I annoy them. I don’t know much about them and they don’t know much about me. It’s been roughly 7 months, and I still feel isolated from them. I feel like I’m back to a point where I have literally nobody to support me. If I tell anyone at school for my feelings towards guys, I could be expelled and my parents will homeschool me. I don’t know what I can do. My parents have heavy restrictions on my phone (can only text certain numbers, no apps, phone in their room at night) and they track my car. I’m under a microscope at home and at school, I don’t have any support, and it’s driving me insane.

So, first off, do you think the molestion turned me gay? Do you think I have munchausens? What kind of advice can you guys give me to get out of this situation? I don’t think my parents will allow me to leave the area to attend college (I’ll probably attend a college an hour away that I can drive to daily). Thanks if you've taken the time to read this, and sorry for all the errors.