tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43986781973543349822024-02-06T21:15:02.254-08:00Through Eyes of GloryI know the beauty of eyes of glory looking into mineTyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-30929265066138501112012-08-22T12:06:00.001-07:002012-08-22T12:06:52.906-07:00Lessons Learned<br />
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This is going to be my last post on this blog. If you are
reading this for the first time, I recommend that you start at the beginning to
read things as they occurred. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m leaving Provo and beginning a new life in a new city, so
I thought it fitting to begin a new blog, one where I don’t have to hide behind
pseudonyms. My new blog is <a href="http://hearingthecall.wordpress.com/">hearingthecall.wordpress.com</a>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So much has changed since I returned to Provo three years
ago. I certainly could not have predicted all that has happened, and I would
never have guessed I’d be where I am today. But I am grateful for how things
have turned out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I went to dinner with Alex last week. I think we both wanted
another chance to sit and talk, and to say goodbye. When he walked in I looked
up, and my immediate internal reaction was “Oh, there you are. Where have you
been these past months?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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We sat down and ate, and our old dynamic fell into place
effortlessly. We talked, laughed, and teared up a bit. It was so wonderful to
sit with him and just be with him. I was reminded of how much he drove me
crazy, and how much I loved being with him. I really did love that boy. I miss
him. I miss having someone who knows my soul so intimately, and who is always
there, even if just in the back of my mind. Most of all, I just felt grateful
to have loved this boy, and to be at a point where I can love him again, albeit
in a different way. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Outside the restaurant we embraced, and I held him tightly.
All of him is so familiar. It’s difficult sometimes to tell myself that he
doesn’t belong to me anymore. But I did let go, we said goodbye, and drove
away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I packed up my room on Saturday, and I found myself packing
away all the memories that went along with it, the most potent being memories
of Alex. I took pictures, then left, keeping every beautiful moment with him
deep in my heart, then moving on. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Last night I went to my friend’s house and we split a bottle
of red wine. We sat outside on her porch in the cool summer night and talked of
the love and loss we’d experienced in the last year. She and I became true
Breakup Buddies, and I marveled at how much we’d grown with each other. How
many times had we wept in each other’s arms? How many times had we laughed
together? How many times had we walked into the coffee pod to see the other
sitting there, and rushed up to say, “so, there’s this boy I met…” We’ve shared
stories of love and heartbreak, of crushes and being crushed. We’ve talked of
inner strength and living deliberately. She was the one who pulled up to my
house mere minutes after Alex walked out my door, and she has been there for me
every step of the way. I love that girl with all my heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She talked about the boy who ended things with her recently.
And several glasses of wine revealed that Vegas boy is still on my mind beneath
the surface. I read her pieces from the last post, and she agreed with
everything I wrote about him. She knows Vegas boy, and understands how he
caught me so fast. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She didn’t have answers for me. She didn’t try to fix the
longing. But that was never her intention. We sat there, recalling our
experiences with these boys, feeling the bitter and the sweet of life enwrap
us. Time for a moment slowed, and there in the summer darkness we found
ourselves a bit closer than normal to the meaning of it all. In moments like this all the fickle and unimportant fall away, and I felt so incredibly grateful to have the chance to experience this life. Both the joy and the sorrow hold such beauty. How lucky we are to be able to feel them both, and to be a part of the miraculous journey of this life. </div>
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And so I end the current chapter of my life. The events of
the last few years have irrevocably changed me. I have been beaten down and
built up. I have traversed a crisis of faith and emerged on the other side. I
have felt love, true, honest to God love, and I will never be the same because
of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I drive off to my new home and new life, the words from
Carrie Underwood’s “Lessons Learned” will be resonating within me:<o:p></o:p></div>
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And every tear that had to fall from my eyes,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Every day I wondered how I'd get through the night,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Every change life has thrown me,<o:p></o:p></div>
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I'm thankful for every break in my heart,<o:p></o:p></div>
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I'm grateful for every scar,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some pages turned,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some bridges burned,<o:p></o:p></div>
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But there were lessons learned.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-50291217724348024682012-08-04T11:55:00.001-07:002012-08-04T11:55:15.782-07:00Ignoring the Call<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">"Whenever I refused to follow my fate, something very hard to bear would happen in my life... Tragedy always brings about radical change in our lives, a change that is associated with the same principle: loss. When faced by any loss, there's no point in trying to recover what has been; it's best to take advantage of the large space that opens up before us and fill it with something new. In theory, every loss is for our own good; in practice, though, that is when we question the existence of God and ask ourselves: </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">What did I do to deserve this?</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - Paulo Coelho,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Aleph"</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am sitting at my desk in the same room where Alex broke the news to me. Between me and that day there are seven months, countless tears, dozens upon dozens of new friends, innumerable moments of laughter, and so many life-altering experiences that I can honestly say that I am no longer the same man I was that night. That Ty is gone. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What has emerged is someone I didn't even know was there. I found strength inside me that I didn't know I had. I found a God who was much closer than I ever believed him to be. And I found a mercy that has sustained me through every struggle and lifted me through every joy. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is a bitter-sweet thing to know that the Ty that was with Alex is gone. It is bitter, because it means that the most treasured period of my life to date is finished. It is done, and gone. But it is sweet, because from the ashes of that time I have emerged a new being, much more content with being who and where I am now, more willing to sit with the uncomfortable unknowns of life, more hopeful even when I cannot see the road beyond. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I read the quote above by Paulo Coelho this morning. It struck me as I read it, because I could see how that truth has played out in my life since the breakup seven months ago. When I was with Alex, I was willing to change my whole life around for him. I had applied to several different grad school programs in his home state. I was preparing to build a life with him. Had I been presented with the choice of pursuing a superior program elsewhere, without him, or to go to a lesser program and have him in my life, I would have chosen the latter without any hesitation.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now granted, relationships (especially long-term ones) require sacrifice and mutual effort. So to a degree I do not find error in where I stood before. However, I was so entirely focused on being with him that I gave no thought to the contribution I need to make to the world. In the language of Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist", I was choosing Alex and tossing my personal legend aside. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was ignoring my fate. I didn't care what my fate was, as long as Alex would be there. And so I needed a wake up call. And what a wake up call it was. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I tried for a time to fill the hole Alex left by holding on to his memory and the relationship with a death grip. I tried filling the hole with someone else. I tried filling the hole by going dancing at the club every weekend. Nothing worked. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then came hell week, the week covered by the last couple of posts. That week was horrific, but I finally began letting Alex go. And then something miraculous happened. The very next weekend I met someone, we clicked, and I found myself able to feel all the deep and wonderful emotions again. I worried I'd never be able to touch them again. But there they were.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once again, however, I began latching on to something, trying to fill the hole of loss, and began ignoring my fate. And so I lost it again. Well, it really never even developed. I recognized to some degree what was going on, so I let go of that boy. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And once again I was capable of feeling those emotions. As soon as I let go, the very next weekend I met a boy at Pride in Salt Lake. We clicked, and it felt even better than the last boy. We went on a series of dates, and everything was incredible. He liked me, he told me that he liked me, and he acted like he liked me. It felt incredible. Imagine my thrill when he texted me and said "Ty, I want to take you to Vegas for your birthday, since you've never been." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember lying in his bed, feeling him close to me, listening to soft and soothing music as the summer breeze blew into the darkened room. I took mental photos of those moments. I snapped them, and saved them, because I did not want to forget how incredible it felt to be next to this boy. I remember caressing his arm or bare back as we dozed in and out, marveling over the beautiful boy that lay next to me. I barely knew him, we'd hardly had the time to open up and see the depths of one another's souls. But I felt something real for him. Something young, to be sure. But nonetheless real. And the way he would squeeze me close to him in the night made me feel he felt it too.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I was ignoring fate once again. We went to bed one evening, drinking wine and talking of Vegas, and when we woke up something had changed. I could see it in his eyes. I could feel it in his texts. For nearly a week I suffered with this distance, and the fear that it induced. Finally we had a chance to talk, and I asked him what was going on. He had panicked. We had moved so fast, things had gotten very real very quickly. And then there was my impending move. I was leaving at the end of August, and regardless of how much I might want to give and commit, I could not. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So that was that. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There have been very short flings since then. But the one loss I still feel is this Vegas boy. I see his picture on Facebook and I miss seeing it in real life. I miss the way my heart leaps when he laughs. I saw him last weekend at a party. I miss the vitality and the terrifying liveliness in his eyes. I'd forgotten the way that when he looks you in the eye, you panic, because there is so much energy there that you fear it'll consume you. Yet, you hunger for it, addicted to the life he brings when he smiles. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Several times during the night I saw him glance across the room at me. I kept each and every one of those glances and hold them still today. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But he's gone, and once again I sit with loss. Coelho's quote today woke me to the reality of what has been going on. To once again use the language of "The Alchemist", God and the universe are pushing me toward Egypt, to my personal legend, that one thing that I and I alone can achieve in this life. I have a purpose, a mission, and I cannot shirk it. I cannot run and I cannot flee. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have tried for most of my life to find someone or something to make my life complete, and thus rid me of the need to pursue my personal legend. But in the last few years all those things have been pulled away from me. And try as I might, I cannot fill the hole of loss. I must fill it with something new. I must go to Egypt. Or, for me, to Seattle. My future is there. My personal legend is there. My treasure is there. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And so I must let go. Let go of Alex, and replace the loss with love for him and gratitude for the most beautiful two years of my life. Let go of the sorrow, pain, and mistakes of the last seven months, and replace it with the cleansing mercy of a God who understands. Let go of Vegas boy, and replace the loss with gratitude for being able to feel, even if just for a few short weeks, what it means to be with someone who wants you just as much as you want them. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I graduate from BYU in less than a week. In less than a month I will be traveling the winding roads to Seattle. And when I see the city skyline, as foreign and intimidating as it may be, I know I will feel the soul of the world calling me there. And a new adventure will begin. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-61182808941650509022012-04-27T02:02:00.000-07:002012-04-27T02:10:31.546-07:00Goodbye To YouAlex started texting me today.<br />
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We talked for a bit. About our struggles, why we didn't work. Later, he asked if I would meet him so that we could talk. I was wary, because I didn't want to get sucked in to anything or be manipulated. But I agreed to meet him.</div>
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I pulled up next to him and got into his car. The rain was pouring down. He looks good. Better than he did a couple months ago. </div>
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We talked. About his issues, about my struggles. About this guy. It was clear that this boy doesn't hold a candle to what I had in Alex's heart. And Alex doesn't see it going anywhere. As messed up as that is, it was a relief to me. </div>
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He still misses me. He said that he could never fully give me what I needed. And he's right. I was so empty so much, just wishing he could give me what I needed. He said he tried. And he did. But he has his own issues that keep him from fully loving himself, and from loving others. He said that no one has been as close to him as me. </div>
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I miss him. I talked about being so angry at him. About missing him. And I told him how this whole thing made me feel so unwanted, so worthless, like he would rather be with someone else besides me. This hit him hard, and really hurt him. Not in an offended way. But in how much it hurt him that he hurt me. I could see his pain. And all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and take his pain away. And I wanted him to take my pain away. </div>
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He told me that for the first time he was actually feeling the emotions, that he actually was wishing that it could have been him that I ended up with. That he truly wished it could have been him. I could see it on his face.</div>
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We talked for a long time. We laughed, cried, and I felt the weight of it all. That no matter what, everything I felt was over. It was gone. And even if I could take this boy back right now, it would not give me back what I had. </div>
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I felt so empty at that thought. </div>
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The night got later, and our emotions more tender. He told me that I should go, because he was feeling weak. I wanted him to feel weak, because I felt weak. </div>
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I reached over to hug him. His scent filled me. "You still smell the same," he said. "So do you," I said. I took another deep breath, then somehow pulled myself away from him. In a mere moment it all hit me. It filled me with all the feelings I had felt. I was shocked at the depth of it. Did I really love him this much? Did I really know him this deeply? Had he really been that mine? I sat back in the passenger seat and stared at the console in front of me. I'd forgotten how much. How deep. How real. It was so real...</div>
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I put my hand on the door handle, then turned to look at him. I could see it in his eyes. He was feeling exactly what I felt. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. He ached for me as much as I ached for him. </div>
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Somehow I opened the door and got out. I stepped into the freezing rain, then into my car. I began convulsing, having an honest to god physical reaction to have just smelled him and touched him again. I was so addicted to him...</div>
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I shook for several minutes. Alex stayed parked right next to me. I shook, wondering if he would step out of the car, or somehow motion for me to get back in. I wanted him to. I wanted so badly for him to ask me to come back. He texted me, asking if I was alright. "I want you so badly." I wrote back. And with that, I sealed my fate. He was firm in his resolve then, when I was completely crumbling and weak. </div>
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He pulled away, then called me. He talked me through the rush I was feeling. It was just like I was having true withdrawals! Like I was suffering a bout of a drug I had been off of for so long! He talked me back to sanity, clearly talking himself back as well. </div>
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I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I had just lingered in our embrace, or if I had stepped back into his car. If I had just stayed. </div>
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I drove home. We continued talking, him telling me it had to happen, and me wishing that it could work. </div>
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"Ty," he said, "we tried so hard, but it didn't work." And for whatever reason, the fact that it is over makes that true. </div>
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"We tried so hard, Alex. We tried so hard." "I know Ty. I know."</div>
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I can't fight it anymore. It doesn't matter why anymore. But it is over. It's done. I feel such a deep emptiness. For just a brief moment I felt how deeply I loved him. And I beg God in heaven that he will let me love like that again. That he will let me feel so deeply for another human being again. There is nothing like that feeling. If there is any reward for the trials and sorrows of life, it is loving someone else that way. </div>
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Alex, if you ever read this, I love you. I have never loved like I loved you. You changed my life. And though it fell to pieces in the end, it was a glorious experience, and I will never be the same. </div>
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I love you Alex. </div>
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Goodbye.</div>
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<br /></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-12192824506171358742012-04-25T19:29:00.001-07:002012-04-25T22:47:23.376-07:00Where Is Your Heart?Today has been an overwhelming day.<br />
<br />
I learned a couple days ago that my ex, Alex, is dating someone. Even now, to type that, I feel a twinge of a sick feeling in my stomach.<br />
<br />
This morning while at work I broke down. I fled to a rarely used storage room, closed the door, and fell to the ground. I wept, and I shouted, and I hit the floor with my fists. I felt like the ache in my stomach was eating me from the inside out. What did this boy have that I didn't?! Why would he want to be with this other boy, and not me? It was making me insane.<br />
<br />
By chance, he started texting me. He got defensive, and said that this boy knew he was a mess and that he was leaving in December, so nothing could happen anyway. They like each other, he said.<br />
<br />
I like you, Alex, I texted.<br />
<br />
Yes, but you want and deserve more, and I don't have to give that to this guy, he wrote.<br />
<br />
Don't you want and deserve more? I asked.<br />
<br />
His answer was that yes, he did, but he couldn't have it at this time in his life.<br />
<br />
What it came down to, he said, was the original argument, that we weren't right for each other. I made it clear that this was his opinion, and that I have never shared that view of the breakup.<br />
<br />
I was miserable, and I couldn't get it to abate. For the first time I have understood the relief people can find in hurting themselves. Although I was never suicidal while I dealt with being gay, this breakup has acquainted me with a desperation I haven't known.<br />
<br />
I heard the door opening and stood up as if I had just walked in. This would have been a good move, except that the light was off. The girl that walked in jumped when she saw me, and I beelined it out of there. I recognized her. She is a grad student in the department I work for, and she knew about the breakup. She looked at me and said "Are you okay?" I shook my head and began to cry. "Let's go back in," she said, motioning to the storage room.<br />
<br />
She held me, and I sobbed on her shoulder. I talked to her, reading some of the texts, and aching over everything of the last four months.<br />
<br />
She validated my feelings, especially that I loved Alex so deeply. She asked me what I loved about him, and listened as I talked about the boy I fell so hard for.<br />
<br />
Another friend, Birdy, had been on her way to see me, and showed up just then. The grad student left, and Birdy sat with me as I cried. Finally, we decided it was time for me to leave work. I grabbed my things, clocked out, and we left.<br />
<br />
In a wise move, we went to the counseling center, and they found a counselor for me to talk to, since my therapist wasn't available. I talked to him, cried to him, and broke all over again. He helped me deconstruct me emotions, emphasizing how I have been placing my worth on what Alex thought of me. He said that I need to acknowledge the pain of losing him, but work on keeping the feeling of "therefore I am worthless" in check. "Don't run your grief through the 'shame machine'" he said.<br />
<br />
At one point my therapist poked her head in. As soon as I saw her I burst into tears again, so relieved to see her, someone who so completely knew me and my pain, and who so completely cared about me. I didn't realize what a big deal she has been for me until that moment.<br />
<br />
We came to some resolutions, and I left, finishing out my day.<br />
<br />
I went home, tried to sleep, but nothing came. Birdy came over, and we talked. I cried, every part of my body aching. I wanted to cease to exist, to slip into the oblivion of nothingness, and for all the misery to finally stop.<br />
<br />
"I just want him to want me," I told Birdy. "I want him to look at me with that look that says he loves me. It's been so frustrating to go on dates with boys once or twice and see in their eyes what I fought for two years to see in Alex's eyes." "I gave him everything. Why wasn't that enough for him?" I asked over and over.<br />
<br />
Birdy knelt by my bed and she prayed with me. I wept, and felt so grateful for the angel God has placed in my life.<br />
<br />
I don't know what prompted it, but I reached over into my nightstand and grabbed a little black notebook that I used to write poetry in during class over a year ago. If you click the tag "black notebook" on this blog, you can read some entries from it that I've already posted here. I opened it, and began to read.<br />
<br />
"Finality is false. Tomorrow is a promise. Today is possibility. And self-awareness is power.<br />
Deep within, infinite potential waits. The light that breaks the seal is the light that shines within us. And that light shines when we finally accept that we have always been enough."<br />
<br />
I wept at this. I need to focus on this more.<br />
<br />
I continued.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">"I shouldn't look.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I should lower my eyes and avoid you.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">You are not like me.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">You do not share my passion.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">And you are spoken for.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"> So a simple look does no harm, right?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I'll just look for a moment.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"> My god, you're beautiful.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">But of course you are.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Because while your visage emanates pleasure,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Your soul is to me a blank slate.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">And I can paint whatever I want in you.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"> So I make you perfect.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">And you become perfect sensuality.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I'll never touch you.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Never speak.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">For the moment I do you'll shatter.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">What I've made of you will be in shambles.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">For perfection is best left to dreams and fantasies.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">And you're best seen from a distance."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">This was written about a boy in my Russian class over a year ago. I was so drawn to him, so attracted to him. And I knew he was beautiful because I was projecting all my needs and desires onto him. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I continued.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">"Like a moth to light, I am drawn to you.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I have a need, a thirst! to look and be near you.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">You seem to shine, all of you,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">and I wonder how it would be to be yours,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"> Each in turn.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I imagine waking up in your arms,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Looking into your eyes as morning breaks,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Kissing your cheek.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I look from one to the next,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">living a lifetime in a glance.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Why do I look?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Why do I wonder?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I have arms and eyes and cheeks all my own.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">And I love those eyes, arms, and cheeks.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">So why do I look,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">and watch,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">and wonder?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Why do fiery passions of "what if"</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">flood my veins?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Why do I feel this desire clawing at my skin,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">trying to tear from within its fleshy prison?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">What is the master emotion?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Is it fury?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Perhaps sorrow.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Or joy.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Does anger's power make all exempt?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">No,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">what a foolish question.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Humanity echoes from ages past and present</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">that love is the master emotion.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">For love contains all the rest.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">But what kind of love is king?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Does lucid infatuation rule?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Or does pleasure?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Perhaps passion owns all the rest.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Or romance.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Or is it yet contentment?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Comfort.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I have comfort.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">It sleeps next to me,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">wraps itself around me,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">pulls me close.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Kisses me when only crickets see.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I wake up next to comfort,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I rest on its chest as sleep starts to fade.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Comfort is mine,</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">and I am comfort's.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I do not fear its loss.</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Then why does the beast within me</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">yearn to break free?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">What love pulls me?</span><br style="line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">What do I truly want?"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">This was about three boys in my Russian class, all of whom were beautiful in their own ways. They would sit in just such a way that I could see all three of them in one glance. They were beautiful. And I imagined being with them. I once again made them into my deepest needs and desires. But I had someone. I had Alex. In this poem, he is the comfort. And comfort has certainly been what I have missed these four months. But as I read this today, I was reminded of the times when comfort seemed to be falling short and leaving me empty handed.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I continued on, reading poetry about my struggles over sexuality. I read prose about the numbness I felt. I continued, and then I came to this entry, where I think out loud:</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">"What is necessary for a happy relationship?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">What more would I want?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I want to be wanted. I want to be looked at. I want to see him look at me "that way." </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">I want him to do nice things for me. I want him to be a man and be proactive sometimes. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">He seems directionless, doubtful, and insecure. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Are the things that hold me there strong enough to support a lasting happiness?"</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">This hit me hard as I read it, slamming the sick feeling in my stomach right out. These were the exact things I was saying to Birdy earlier. And here I was, more than a year earlier, saying the exact same thing. Wondering whether or not I wanted to stay in the relationship, wondering whether what I felt was strong enough. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">I remember this time. I remember looking up articles online while at work, trying to figure out if our relationship was healthy enough to last, trying to figure out if I was truly satisfied. I remember looking at these boys in my Russian class, and imagining the way it would be if they were mine, and if they were the person I wanted and needed. I remember the neglect I felt from Alex. The unmet need of having someone engaged in the relationship with me. Wanting him to want me.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">The one argument we had from the beginning of the relationship to the end was simply "Alex, just love me!" "I <i>do </i>love you, Ty!" "Then show me!"</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Kelly Clarkson sang it best in "Where is Your Heart": </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">"I don't expect the world to move underneath me, </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">But for God's sake, would you try?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Where is your heart, </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Cause I don't really feel you.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Where is your heart,</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">What I really want is to believe you.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Is it so hard</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">To give me what I need?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">I want your heart to bleed, </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">That's all I'm asking for.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Where is your heart?"</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 19px;">As I read this and remembered all this, I realized that Alex isn't doing any less for me now than he was then. He is not emotionally present now, and he wasn't then. He is neglectful now, as he was then. I receive no affections of his love, no expression of his desire to give his heart to me. I see no look in his eye that tells me he loves me above all else, not now, and rarely then. The only difference is that now he is not physically present, and he can date boys who are okay with his lack of giving. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">But it also means that I can look for those Russian boys, so to speak. That yearning for a fulfilled and satisfying relationship can now become an action, a search. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">What this really did for me today was show me that he did not take anything away from me that I already didn't have, save for the illusion that I had it. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">I will still struggle. I will still fight the pain and the sick feeling in my stomach. I am not healed. I am not ready to fall in love. I am by no means ready to go out to dinner with Alex and this poor boy who he doesn't have to emotionally invest for. But I can take one more step away from him, and from the pain of the last four months. And I can take away a little more of the power he had over me, that he used so carelessly. I can take one more step toward freedom.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">So Alex, where is your heart?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #405563; font-family: verdana, arial;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-84662649757349821602012-04-18T18:12:00.003-07:002012-04-18T18:12:59.755-07:00Tomorrow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I love this song. (Please ignore the blatant use of Twilight images. If they offend, I apologize.)</div>
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<br />
The converse of my last post is this one. I am learning to let the relationship slip from my hands. And I am feeling a hope, or maybe just a dream, that something beautiful will come into my life.<br />
<br />
When I listen to this song I can almost see it.<br />
<br />
I'm in California. I've moved there to work. I've been there for a while, long enough to get settled in and meet people. And to meet him.<br />
<br />
I'm sitting in a coffee shop on a Saturday morning. Tea in my cup and kindle in hand. A boy walks in. I glance up at him and almost gasp. There's something about him. He's striking. And there's a life in his eyes. A passion.<br />
<br />
We're driving to the beach. I look over at him as we drive, sitting in his cute little swimming suit, sunglasses on his head, locks of hair falling over the lenses. He looks back at me with those eyes and grins. He leans over from the passenger seat and kisses my neck softly. I laugh, not because it tickles, but because it feels so good.<br />
<br />
We park and walk hand in hand to the shore. The sun is warm and the ocean breeze cool. It's a perfect day. We lay out our towels and relax. We lie there for a while, letting the sun warm us. I feel his hand grab mine. I lock my fingers between his and give it a soft squeeze.<br />
<br />
I sit up on my elbows and look at the ocean. He sits up, leans over, and kisses me softly. Then he rests his head on my shoulder.<br />
<br />
We run into the water, diving into the coming waves. The cool water feels incredible on my warm skin. I surface and see him there. I walk up to him and wrap my arms around him. He rests his forehead on mine and looks at me with that look. That look that tells me without a doubt that he is hopelessly mine. That he sees no one else but me. I press my lips to his. This kiss is salty and wet, and the cushion of his lips presses gently against mine. We stand there for a moment, just being. Together.<br />
<br />
We sit on the beach, arms wrapped around one another, as waves roll in and fiery sunset splashes against the sky. We stay until it's dark.<br />
<br />
We finally fall into bed. Without even a word he reaches over and pulls me in, wrapping himself around me. I put my arms around him and listen to the hush of his breath on my neck. Everything is so warm, so perfect, so safe. I've almost slipped away when I hear him whisper. "I love you."<br />
<br />
<br />
I can feel the tension in my stomach. My heart is beating in my ears. My hands are clammy and I can't stand still. I look over at him. He cleans up so well. I smile. He grins, those eyes making me melt all over. He takes me by the hand and we walk into the backyard. An aisle divides the sea of white chairs. They're full of all the people who have come into our lives in the last few years. Every eye is on us as we walk up to the front, then face one another.<br />
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I can't hear the words being said. All I can see is this boy. This boy, how did this happen? How did I end up here? It doesn't even seem real. But it is real. And he's looking at me with that look, as striking as that day in the coffee shop, as deep as that day on the beach. I hear nothing, but through wet eyes I see it all. I see, and I understand.<br />
<br />
The song starts playing. We walk hand in hand onto the portable dance floor placed in the yard. He puts his arms around me, and I around him. And as she sings I feel every single word.<br />
<br />
"I have died every day waiting for you.<br />
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you<br />
For a thousand years.<br />
I'll love you for a thousand more..."Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-29471764401944526562012-04-18T17:43:00.001-07:002012-04-18T17:48:56.475-07:00AdieuI'm supposed to be studying for a final right now. But I want to get my thoughts down.<br />
<br />
It's been almost two months since the last entry. I don't really want to read through it today. There are a lot of potent emotions in that post.<br />
<br />
I started chatting with a friend from another <a href="http://youngstranger.blogspot.com/">blog</a> on facebook today. I've been concerned lately as I've dated and expanded my circle of gay friends that there are so many guys with so many issues in the gay community that finding a guy with a level head and some direction would be nigh unto impossible. He affirmed some of my observations, but assured me that despite what it may seem like, there are others out there like me.<br />
<br />
I think one of the things that has made the breakup so difficult for me is that from my point of view the relationship was not about me "trying it out" with Alex, to see if I wanted to hang around. For me, I was already where I wanted to be. I had found someone so beautiful, so goodhearted, that I had no doubt that I wanted to be with him. Because of this, our relationship wasn't so much two fabrics that had been sewn together, needing nothing but unstitching to separate us. It was like two sheets of metal, heated and pounded and welded into one piece. At least it was for me. So a breakup was breaking a part of what I had already considered to be an extension of myself.<br />
<br />
There are moments now and again when I get a vivid memory of what it was like to be with him. A stark glimpse of his sleeping face. The feel of my lips on his cheek. Walking into his bedroom and wrapping my arms around him from behind as he sat at the computer. My, I loved that boy...<br />
<br />
In those moments, for just a split second, I think "Wait, where is he? Why haven't I seen him in so long?"<br />
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The trouble, then, is that even though it's been nearly four months, part of me still thinks he's mine.<br />
<br />
I worry sometimes about the future. But I don't worry about whether or not someone will fall in love with me again. For some reason that doesn't cross my mind. The fear I harbor deep down is that I will never love like that again. That I will never take the risk again to let someone in that deep. That I will never fall for someone again. That no one will feel like my companion again.<br />
<br />
I was talking to a friend online last night about the relationship. I wrote about my fear that the relationship was never as real as I had thought.<br />
<br />
"Did it feel real?" he asked.<br />
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"So real I never thought the end was a possibility."<br />
<br />
"Then don't doubt it."<br />
<br />
A moment later he wrote: "You were beautiful in that relationship. The way you loved him was. Your friends would talk about it. You lit up when you talked about him."<br />
<br />
I remember that feeling.<br />
<br />
Part of me is still waiting for him to come back. For him to come to his senses. To knock on my door, tear-stained cheeks, and longing in his eyes.<br />
<br />
That part of me is finally beginning to realize how hopeless that thought is. How much it wouldn't fix everything that's happened. How the pain, the breaking of trust, the locking myself away emotionally has already happened. And it can't be undone. Only worked through.<br />
<br />
It's time to let go.<br />
<br />
Alex, if you ever read this, I love you. I miss you everyday. You will always bring mixed emotions when I think of you. Such sacred beauty in the love we shared. Such piercing agony in the shattering. I have to finish what you started back in January, though. I can't take it anymore. So I'm letting you go.<br />
<br />
Goodbye Alex.<br />
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<br />Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-73149610974886429222012-02-27T23:15:00.001-08:002012-02-27T23:15:27.674-08:00RequiemI cannot adequately describe what I feel as I look through past posts on this blog. I feel almost as if I am reaching some unknown world, some specter of a place that is no longer real. But it once was real. It once was me. It once was my world. And tasting even just the vague memory that these posts elicit brings the full alien nature of my present life to my attention with breathtaking force. I get up each morning, I go about my day, and I lay down each night, all in the same place, but it is truly foreign. I am simply forgetting.<br />
<br />
I have avoided this post for some time now. I simply wasn't ready to write it. But I need to now. I can't keep this bottled in any more.<br />
<br />
I think there were only a few days left of Christmas break when I found out something was wrong. My boyfriend confessed that he had hit a huge bout of depression while home with his family, and that he was having major doubts about us. He said that we needed to talk when he got home. Home. Back to Utah, I mean.<br />
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I knew something was wrong, and I asked him to please not make any rash decisions before he got back and talked with me. He said he wouldn't.<br />
<br />
He hugged me when I picked him up at the airport, but he didn't hold my hand in the car. He talked for most of the drive to Provo. I could sense how intently he was driving the conversation to the mundane. Deep down I was in turmoil.<br />
<br />
We got to my house and sat down on my bed, and he handed me a letter he'd written in hopes that he could express himself more adequately. A letter I've buried in a drawer and haven't touched in nearly two months. A letter that confirmed my worst fears, that shattered every hope I'd held for us, and that broke me.<br />
<br />
He was leaving me.<br />
<br />
Just remembering the agony that rent me when he walked out the door is painful. I crumbled to the ground and wept like I've never wept. I cried harder than I thought possible. I broke. Part of me was dying, being torn from my very soul. I felt as if the earth itself was crushing me.<br />
<br />
My friend pulled up to my house in mere minutes. I sat in her passenger seat and continued to break, bleeding salty tears. She held me, and wept with me. In time, I got out of her car, went back inside, and crawled into bed to succumb to the nothingness of sleep. I have found refuge in the oblivion of sleep. It is a blessing not to feel sometimes.<br />
<br />
That was nearly two months ago. I have had many experiences since then. I have grown in so many ways since then. I have come to know grief as I never knew it before. I have come to know God as I never knew him before. I have become stronger than I thought I could be. Yet I still feel so weak sometimes. So broken.<br />
<br />
The first few weeks of February were much needed escapes from the pain. I was able to find some joy with new friends that gave me hope again.<br />
<br />
The grief has returned, though. It has reminded me that it is not gone, that it has not left. It has graced my cheeks with tears again, and sent me pleading for deliverance once again.<br />
<br />
It has changed, to be sure. It does not feel as soul-crippling as it once did. But it still stabs with relentless endeavor when I see my ex, when I hear him laugh, or when I remember how it felt to be with him and how he chose to leave me. I am still bombarded with feelings of abandonment, of rejection, and of worthlessness. I still am struck with painful jabs of wondering why he chose to leave, why he does not want to be mine again.<br />
<br />
In moments of peace and clarity I gain a sense of where things weren't working, but most of the time I cannot break through the belief that had he truly cared as much as I did he would have found a way to work through the issues, that had he wanted me as much as I wanted him, he would have moved heaven and earth to be my companion.<br />
<br />
I feel fragmented much of the time, off balance, and somewhat lost. I am doing better than I was, but I still struggle. I still cycle between denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and even acceptance, more than I would like. The switch from one stage to the next can be instantaneous, throwing me through a chaotic hurricane of emotions that drain me and bring me to my knees.<br />
<br />
I'm so tired of hurting. I am so weary from the feelings of longing. I am tired of the sting of being unwanted. I am drained, and I ache. I beg for mercy, but deliverance comes not out of grief, but through it. I cannot rush it, nor pray it away. I must sit with it, but I am tired of it. I do not want it anymore.<br />
<br />
I have a journal that I began about a month ago. It is nearly full, because I pour my yearnings and my grief into it. I cannot even bear to read through the previous pages. They are too painful, and I am so weary of the pain.<br />
<br />
Some days are better than others. This morning was heavy. I wrote these verses this morning, when I could not keep the pain inside anymore:<br />
<br />
Fragmented memories<br />
seem brighter than life<br />
without you.<br />
Even the shards seem flawless.<br />
How could you leave that?<br />
How could you walk away?<br />
We made the world turn,<br />
and in trembling holies<br />
we made time stop.<br />
I found heaven in you.<br />
Didn't you see it in me?<br />
<br />
The sun feels false since you left,<br />
a bland fluorescence,<br />
trying vainly to be what you and I were,<br />
to shine like we did.<br />
<br />
I try to find you in every boy I see.<br />
Every thought of "what if?"<br />
is just you wearing their mask.<br />
<br />
Cascading piano keys<br />
seem to be the only thing<br />
that finds me.<br />
I keep hoping that I'll find myself<br />
whole and new.<br />
I lie sometimes, to make it so.<br />
But pounding chords<br />
and weeping runs<br />
in minor keys<br />
find me in a shadowed room<br />
holding onto shattered dreams<br />
and broken security,<br />
pieces of what once was home.<br />
<br />
The brittle edges have chipped<br />
in jagged blades.<br />
Every grasp reopens wounds<br />
I thought had healed,<br />
whispers pain I thought was gone.<br />
But I can't let go.<br />
I grip harder,<br />
sending crimson tears<br />
along the glass.<br />
I can't let go.<br />
If I let this life fall from my hands,<br />
I don't know if I will remember<br />
how to feel.<br />
I fear callouses,<br />
and I fear being without them.<br />
<br />
In that moment,<br />
between sleep and wake,<br />
I almost think you're here,<br />
almost think I can feel<br />
your breathing.<br />
God, I miss your breathing.<br />
For a brief moment, we shine.<br />
And then the lights burn out,<br />
flickering candles in a storm.<br />
<br />
The worst is when I forget that I hurt.<br />
I'm left with a dissonance,<br />
an uncomfortable incongruency.<br />
And when I finally listen,<br />
everything falls again,<br />
and I break all over.<br />
I'm tired of breaking,<br />
tired of the shriek of<br />
falling glass,<br />
tired of feeling the hole<br />
where you used to be.<br />
<br />
I live neither then, nor now,<br />
lost somewhere in the fragile wasteland<br />
of what was,<br />
and what might have been.<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, I want to post a video, because it is beautiful.<br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DquA6KyHTos?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
And I will sleep in peace until you come to me.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-28346202309436572102012-01-13T03:28:00.000-08:002012-01-13T03:28:20.585-08:00This is the Way, Walk Ye in ItIt's nearly 4 am. I should get some sleep. But there is so much on my mind right now. I can't even begin to explain it all, so I'm just going to write, treat this as a journal for my immediate thoughts.<br />
<br />
I have come a very long way on my spiritual journey. I have passed many trials. And I have finally come to a place where I can have some peace over my faith and my sexuality.<br />
<br />
While I was still in the midst of the struggles, though, I sometimes worried about what it meant if I let myself be gay. Would I forfeit some preordained mission and return from this life a failure? I worried a lot about that.<br />
<br />
I spent the last couple of hours talking with someone who reminds me very much of myself. He is deep in the struggle of faith and sexuality. His heart is very pure. But he doesn't see that. We talked for a long time. And it seemed that he gained some peace by the end of the conversation.<br />
<br />
When I talk with people about my faith, about the journey I've been on, it feels like everything falls into place. It feels like the universe is lining up. I feel such intense purpose. I want to spend my life doing exactly what I did tonight. I want to work through the struggles with my fellow LGBT brothers and sisters. There is so much peace to be had through God and His Son. And the gay community is thirsting for that peace.<br />
<br />
During one of the intense arguments with my parents sometime in the last year my dad wondered aloud if I wasn't supposed to overcome this trial in order to help others overcome it. I certainly feel like my life is inseparably connected with issues of God, faith, and sexuality. But I have come to realize that I can do more good from being gay myself, than I could by being a reformed straight man in mainstream church culture. I am where I am supposed to be.<br />
<br />
The last week has been so incredibly hard for me. But by chance I came across a scripture in Isaiah that has been like the waters of life to me.<br />
<br />
"And therefore will the Lord wait, that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you: for the Lord is a God of judgment: blessed are all they that wait for him.<br />
<br />
"For the people shall dwell in Zion and Jerusalem: thou shalt weep no more: he will be very gracious unto thee at the voice of thy cry; when he shall hear it, he will answer thee.<br />
<br />
"And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity, and the water of affliction, yet shall not thy teacher be removed into a corner any more, but thine eyes shall see thy teacher.<br />
<br />
"And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, <b>This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.</b>"<br />
<br />
Tonight, even though I have been through a lot of sorrow and burden this last week, I heard that voice behind me. "This is the way, walk ye in it."<br />
<br />
I cannot see the road beyond. But I step knowing that my Lord will guide me as he ever has, one step at a time. I trust him, and he will lead me home.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-12730627912309205612012-01-12T00:56:00.000-08:002012-01-12T00:56:23.106-08:00Retrospection: Alex<br />
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So, I haven't written in forever. I've had this next entry written for months, just never posted it. A lot has happened in the last few weeks, but all things considered, this is a sweet memory, so I will post it. Enjoy!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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I cleaned up as much as I could when
I got to Provo. Then I went to pick him up. I remember seeing him standing on
the side of the road as I drove up to his apartment. My heart was beating in my
throat and my breath was shallow and erratic. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
He
got in the car and I got my first look of him in real life. He was cute. Cuter
than his pictures. He was wearing a simple black jacket with his blue jeans,
and his hair was up in a faux hawk. His bright green eyes were striking.
Immediately I was attracted to him. He was gorgeous.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
I
was so nervous. He later told me that I talked a lot that first night. I’m sure
I did! We got some dinner from In n Out, and then went to my place to watch
some movies. We watched Glee and he showed me Lady Gaga music videos. (He
couldn’t have known what monster he was creating when he did that!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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He
told me pretty early on that he didn’t like to make the first move on dates.
That was clear later as we were watching Glee. We sat next to each other on the
bed, his hand laying palm up on his knee. I think I watched that hand for
fifteen minutes before I finally gathered the courage to take it with mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Finally!”
he laughed. I laughed, relieved that he had wanted me to take it. We settled in
and cuddled for the rest of the show. The feeling of being held by a gorgeous
guy was incredible. It was like breathing for the first time. My entire body
was alive. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
Later,
after the movie, we were talking and cuddling, and I eyed his lips. I
remembered what he’d said about making the first move, and so I made mine. I
leaned over and pressed mine to his. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0in;">Words
fail me. So I’m not even going to try. Suffice it to say that the rest of that
night was complete bliss. I was in the arms of someone I liked, and he liked
me. </span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-27467918124599655482011-10-20T17:50:00.000-07:002011-10-20T17:50:22.833-07:00Retrospection: Cancer<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I was sick. When I texted Monique she let me out of our
phone call that day. It was too much to take all at once. After I left the
doctor’s I bought myself a burger, fries, and a coke. I deserved it, dang it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was a Thursday. That weekend I went with Monique to the
Festival of Trees, something that I wasn’t feeling too emotionally up to it.
The evening went well enough. Monique was sweet to me. And we had a fun time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember that weekend I stayed at my parent’s place. I
went to church with them on Sunday, and the few people that knew I was sick
came and gave me hugs. Despite their concern, I felt like I still had to be the
strong one. Everyone around me was trying to be sensitive, and that just made
me feel like I had to bottle everything up. I didn’t need people to be
sensitive. I needed them to be real. And to let me be real. And let me sob if I
needed to. Or let me laugh if I needed to. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Really, that’s what I’ve needed in regards to my sexuality.
Don’t tip toe around me. And don’t treat me like an angry and vicious apostate.
Just be real, and let me be real.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember sitting in church that weekend. In gospel
doctrine class a sister was giving a lesson on the armor of God. As a visual
aid she had made cardboard armor and she wanted a volunteer to act as a
mannequin for the armor. Gaga only knows why she thought this was a good idea
for an adult class.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But because I was the visiting youth who everyone had taught
in my teenage years she recruited me. I remember standing there, absolutely
humiliated, wondering why I had to be part of that poor excuse for a doctrinal
lesson, especially when inside I was completely devastated. I loathed Mormon
culture in that moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I were to relive that, I would refuse to go up. And when
they pressed me, I would say, “I was diagnosed with cancer this week, and the
last thing I want to do is be humiliated by taking part in a childish and
demeaning object lesson for all of you.” If only I had the composition to
demand my own needs back then.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monday night my parents and younger brother drove down to
Provo. My parents slept in a hotel and my brother slept in the empty bed in my
room. Tuesday morning we went into the hospital and I got prepped for surgery. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I was ready to go I parted from my family and went with
the nurses. I was lying in the bed when the surgeon came in. He gave me a brief
summary of how the surgery would be. I asked him about the tumor and about the
cancer in general. He said that he believed it was just the one tumor. But he
wouldn’t know until after the surgery. I hadn’t considered the idea that this
might not be the end of my cancer. I didn’t have much time to dwell on that,
because before I knew it I was in the operating room and being hooked up to an
iv. And then I was out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember regaining consciousness gradually. Things were
foggy, and I gained my thought before I gained my motor functions in full. As I
waited for myself to wake up, the last words of the surgeon came to me. And
there, with my eyes still closed in the recovery room, I wept. The walls came
down, and I was allowed to be weak. I sobbed softly, letting some of the pain
of my whole life out. I was aching. Not just as a cancer patient, but as a
person. My life felt like it was crumbling around me. And there was no one to
listen. No one to care.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent all that day in the hospital. The plan was for me to
go home that afternoon, but the Percocet they gave me made me absolutely sick.
I couldn’t even sit up without the world whirling around me and my stomach
preparing to eject its contents. And my blood pressure was extremely low.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One dose of Percocet, which was only supposed to last four
hours, lasted eight with me. I never take medication, and so a small dose has a
strong effect on me. By early afternoon the nurse told me I needed to stay the
night, just until my blood pressure went up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My brother drove my car to my parent’s place and my folks
stayed another night in the hotel. I spent the night on my own in the hospital,
using morphine instead of Percocet. I can’t say that I get why people love
morphine. I remember feeling pleasant on it, but it never killed the pain in my
incision. It only made the ache tolerable. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know that I slept too much. I chatted with one or
two of the gay people I’d met online. I chatted with one of my old mission
companions who was a native of Europe. He was pretty supportive, and in a few
hours he had spread the news of my surgery to the rest of my fellow
missionaries. While my immediate reaction was that he was putting his nose
where he had no business, later I realized that I did actually want my fellow
missionaries to know. But I didn’t feel I had permission to announce something
like that. So this good friend of mine did what I couldn’t. I was grateful for
that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I went home the next day. I spent the week watching movies.
Monique came over and made a gingerbread house with me while we watched a
bootlegged copy of “2012.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I chatted a lot online that week. I didn’t have much to do.
I found a gay dating site, Connexion, and created a profile. Through this I was
able to chat with people in my own area. I actually had a couple invitations to
go to parties or out to coffee that week. Of course I turned them down. I was
bedridden. But at the same time there was an element of distrust in my
interactions with other gay people. I just wasn’t ready to meet them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursday night, a week after my diagnosis, I was online
randomly chatting. A guy I’d seen several times popped up. We’d sent messages
back and forth, but had never caught each other online. Finally we could talk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We chatted for a while, and I found that I really got along
with this guy. He was funny, but not crude. There was more of a personality to
him. As we got to know one another better we gained some mutual trust and he told
me his real name. He’d used a pseudonym online. With my expert stalking skills
I found him on Facebook. He was pretty freaked out when I knew his last name.
“Alex,” I told him, “I’m very good at finding out what I want to know.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the rest of the week went on we texted and chatted most
of the day. I slowly began to like Alex. He didn’t seem as obsessed with sex as
the others I had talked to. And he didn’t seem as cynical either. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the week drew to a close we agreed to meet when I got
back to Provo. Sunday night I packed up, and although I was still a bit sore, I
drove down to take my finals, and to meet this new boy.<o:p></o:p></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-30333847904773605132011-10-18T16:31:00.000-07:002011-10-18T16:31:15.652-07:00Retrospection: Coming Home, the Inner Battle, and Diagnosis<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
School started, and I expected to
fall back into the perfect slot I had fit in when I left BYU. During my
freshman year, BYU was paradise. But now that I was back I found that much of
what I had loved before I couldn’t stand. Church meetings were bland and felt
hollow, like people were just telling stories. People seemed to be missing the
point of the gospel in all their gospel-talk. And the culture was extremely
appearance-based. I couldn’t believe this was the same place I had been before.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span> </span>In
addition to that, my feelings were getting stronger. In the repressed state I
was in they manifested themselves in unhealthy ways, often hyper-sexually. I
couldn’t talk to anyone, and there were some days I would weep, pleading for
help. But God never answered. Not like I expected. He never sent someone to
call me when I needed it. He never took my feelings away. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span> </span>Finally,
I couldn’t take it and I began chatting with other gay youth online. At least
there I could gain some sense of connection. In the midst of this I began to
feel the weight of the anti-gay position of the church more and more. I feared
to talk to people about this, and I felt very alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span> </span>I
made friends with a couple people online that I enjoyed talking with regularly.
Looking back, however, I realize how unfulfilling these virtual relationships
were. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span> </span>In
November of 2009 I went with Monique and some of her friends to see New Moon,
the new Twilight movie. I went, excited to be with friends. But through the
entire movie I found myself drawn to Taylor Lautner. I was a repressed gay boy,
and he was a hot guy on the silver screen. It was killing me inside. I couldn’t
beat the emotions down, and it was making me sick. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span> </span>Monique
noticed, and asked if I was okay. I lied and tried to look better, but I’ve
always been a bad liar. On the drive home I stared out the window the whole
time. For the first and only time in my life I truly honestly wanted to die.
I’ve never been able to think seriously about suicide. But in that moment, I
wanted the car to crash and I wanted to cease existing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span> </span>A
week or so later I was texting with Monique. She asked about that night, and I
finally decided to tell her. “Monique, I think I’m gay,” I texted. She was
shocked. She had never seen it coming. And she hit me with all the questions
that tore at my soul. Did I still believe in God? Was I leaving the church?
What did I feel about celestial marriage? Some of the questions hurt, because
she was supposed to know me. She was my best friend. And she had to ask so
much. I told her that I was the same person, with the same faith, but with this
attraction. That seemed to be enough for the time being.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span> </span>The
next day she wanted to talk on the phone. We set a time, and I endured the
texts that came in the meantime. A couple hours before we were going to talk I
had a doctor’s appointment. I was having pain in my lower abdomen, and I went
to get it checked out. They thought it was an infection, but the meds hadn’t
been working. So we went to get an ultrasound. The doctors sat down with me and
told me that I had a tumor, and it was malignant. I was 21, and I had cancer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I handled the news well. I called my parents and even joked
about it. We set up a time for the surgery the following week. And then I left.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat in my car and bawled. Not only had I failed on my
mission, and I was an abomination for liking guys, but now I had cancer. I felt
betrayed by God, whom I had tried to serve so diligently. I bent over the
steering wheel and wept. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A moment later, there was a tap on my window. Two women, one
likely the mother of the other, were at my passenger window. I rolled down the
window. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you alright?” one asked. The tears kept coming. I told
them about the tumor. I told them how the doctors thought that perhaps the
conditions on my mission contributed to it. I just cried. They asked if I had
family nearby. I told them no, I was an hour away from home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They walked over to my door, pulled me out of the car and
wrapped their arms around me and wept with me. I ached. I felt so alone, so
abandoned by everything I had held dear. But here were two women who I’d never
met, loving me, and weeping with me. Never had I had an experience where
someone was sent to me at the right time and the right place. To this day I
don’t know these women’s names. But that day, God sent me angels and in his own
way, wrapped his arms around me.<o:p></o:p></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-191879214350888852011-10-18T16:29:00.000-07:002011-10-18T16:29:51.956-07:00Retrospection: Mission<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This continuation has been a long time coming. I started my
retrospection posts a long time ago, and I think it’s time to keep going.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think where I last left was when I finished my freshman
year of college. I had broken up with my one and only girlfriend and left for
the MTC a little later.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went into the MTC planning to be my very best. I think all
missionaries do. I said goodbye to my home, my parents, and my life for the
next two years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Things went well in the beginning. I had great experiences
in the MTC. But one thing that came back very quickly was the draw good looking
guys had on me. There was one missionary in my district that was very
attractive to me. Still to this day I think he’s very hot, in a skinny boy way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But any time I let myself stray I would pick it back up and
keep going.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three months in the MTC is a long time. And packing twelve
people in a tiny room for ten hours a day can make a person crazy. I found
myself very ready to leave by the time our three months were up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I entered the MTC I found myself going slightly numb
emotionally. My creativity began to decline sharply. I think I wrote between
3-5 poems in those two years. That is unheard of for me. But I couldn’t access
any of the deeper emotions. I couldn’t touch the part of me where all those
colors and ideas were kept. It was difficult not to have that outlet for the
next couple of years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, three months ended and we left for Europe. This new
culture took me by storm. I think I went into a sort of emotional shock. For
the first couple months I didn’t quite know how to relax. I am grateful for the
trainer I had, because he was a strong believer that if you weren’t enjoying
yourself then you were doing your mission wrong. He really helped me to loosen
up and try to find some joy in the mission.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mission was hard. Few people ever wanted to talk to us.
English classes were our sanctuary. That and p-days. Winters were long.
Sometimes we didn’t see the sun for a month at a time. It was a grey and lonely
place in the winter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be quite honest, I spent a lot of my mission feeling like
I wasn’t doing well enough. I felt like a failure a lot. And from the first day
to the very end of my mission I had to deal with extreme anxiety. Every day as
we stood next to the door to pray before going to work I would be physically
ill with anxiety. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because of all this it was difficult to get letters from
friends in other missions where they couldn’t get enough of it. Where they
loved their missions and never wanted to come home. There were some days that I
was absolutely miserable. I didn’t want my mission to last a single day longer
than it was supposed to. This added to my feeling of failure, one that still
hasn’t completely gone away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That being said, my mission changed me in ways that I would
never regret. I was driven into the ground some days, sent to my knees at the
end of the day pleading for peace and for help. I gained a deeper relationship
with God than ever before. I am grateful for the things I experienced, the
people I met, and the person it helped shape me to become.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for my attraction to guys, my mission had its difficult
points. I had a couple companions that I was attracted to. And I had to
constantly battle to keep my emotions in check. It was difficult, but it was
also a revolutionary time for me. I had been in the mission for about a year
when I finally had to admit to myself that I was attracted to guys. I couldn't deny it anymore. It wasn’t a horrible and devastating. It was much more of
“alright, I can’t lie to myself anymore. I like guys.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I admitted it to myself, however, I went to work trying
to get rid of it. I felt that if I could gain absolute control over my
attractions and impulses it would eventually go away. I even snuck out a copy of
the church’s twelve step addiction recovery program from the mission office. I
spent much of the next year trying to change myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>I remember getting the emails about Prop 8 while I was there. I remember being infuriated by the conflict going on. I especially hated the email about the protests at the temple. Looking back, I was definitely more impassioned about everything because of the skeletons in my own closet. But I still feel like the debate was vicious, on both sides. I know the members will say that the adversary was working on the side of gay rights, but in my mind all he wanted was hatred. And both sides gave it to him in abundance. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>Really, I am very grateful that I was out of the country for that awful time. I was much too fragile to be here for that. And I think God knew that. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Regardless of how I felt about politics or my inner feelings though, I was drawn to certain guys. There
was one missionary that I had served with that I thought was cute. Sometime
after we had served together we were playing ultimate Frisbee at the park on
p-day with a bunch of the other missionaries. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and
I saw that he had lost his greenie weight and looked pretty good. As we played
he and I joked, and if I didn’t know any better he even flirted with me to a
degree. This made my blood run hot and I flirted a little back. I think at one
point we even touched hands in between plays. Even now the memory grabs at my
breathing a bit. Nothing ever happened, but it was definitely a defining
moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the time I finished up my mission I felt like I had
gained some control over my attractions. In the last couple of weeks I even
thought that they were gone. I finished my mission and came home on a high
note.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
America is wonderful. I love this country and I missed it
like crazy. Driving home from the airport was like being thrown back into a
world of vibrant colors. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Within a week it was obvious that my feelings hadn’t gone
away. But I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it. I got back a week before
the new semester, and in a few days I was off to Provo to reunite with happy
valley.<o:p></o:p></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-67952689029997480672011-09-16T20:05:00.000-07:002011-09-16T20:05:59.071-07:00Group Therapy and Good FriendsLast Friday I began meeting in a therapy group with eight other people. My therapist and I thought it would be a good place for me to work on owning my orientation in more public places. By doing so, I hope to defuse much of the shame that I have attached to my sexuality.<br />
<br />
I walked in nervously, said a brief "hi" to the one girl that was already there, then sat down and busied myself with my phone. My nerves were mounting until I saw a familiar guy from the gay support club walk in. I could do this. I wasn't the only gay.<br />
<br />
The room filled up and the two leaders came in. We began by going around the room introducing ourselves and talking a bit about why we were there. As the turn to speak came around the circle my heart began to beat into my ears. I wasn't sure if I was ready to come out. But I wanted to be able to. And what about the other guy? What if he didn't come out? If he did, I could. But what if he didn't?<br />
<br />
As my turn crept closer I finally decided that if I didn't do it right then I would spend every session wondering if that would be the session I came out. I couldn't do that. I needed this group to help me, and it would only help if I had the courage to put myself out there.<br />
<br />
The other guy got to speak first. He talked generally, not going into much detail, not coming out. But I needed to anyway.<br />
<br />
"Hi. I'm Ty. A couple of years ago I began dealing with parts of my life that I had really ignored up until then, and that caused a lot of stress in my life. Basically, I'm not attracted to women. I'm more drawn to men. So I'm trying to figure out what that means for my life and where I'm going."<br />
<br />
At that, the guy from the gay club said "Yeah, I think we met at the group on campus. I didn't want to say anything because I wasn't sure if you wanted to say that much to the group. I'm gay too," he said to the group. I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.<br />
<br />
Then to my surprise the guy on my left spoke up. "I'm gay too, actually." So there were three of us, and we'd sat all in a row.<br />
<br />
A little later in the discussion another guy finally said "It may not be a surprise based on how I dress, but I'm gay too."<br />
<br />
He brought the total up to four in the group. Half of the group was gay. We kind of chuckled at that.<br />
<br />
Later in the session one of the group leaders mentioned that often this type of thing doesn't come out so early in group therapy. He asked me what prompted me to come out right at first.<br />
<br />
"I've been realizing this week how much shame I still carry with this part of my life. I need to talk about it, to own it in front of others, so that I can defuse the shame and be healthier." He complimented me, and I felt a mini triumph inside. Even now, I week later, I am still only beginning to realize what a big step that was for me.<br />
<br />
Today in our second group session we talked a bit about the large ratio in the group. We wanted to make sure that we don't take over the group time, dividing us and making it "gay time" every Friday. The rest of the group was very supportive and said they didn't feel we had, and that they would let us know if we did. One of the other gay guys who had been in previous therapy groups mentioned that at most he had ever had one other gay guy in a group, and suddenly we had four. I feel like it will give us all a chance to come to greater peace with this issue.<br />
<br />
I am grateful this week for good friends. I have needed to talk with and rely on friends many times in the last week, and I am grateful for their love and support. There is a freedom and a strength that comes in baring your soul in front of others and feeling their love and approval. It strengthens me, builds me up, and has led me to more fulfillment.<br />
<br />
In spite of all the unknowns in my future, it is going to be such a good life.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-60013600639405305062011-09-08T17:23:00.000-07:002011-09-08T17:23:24.759-07:00Shame and WorthinessToday I am absolutely exhausted. I don't think I've been in bed before 1:30am once in the last week and a half. My body is definitely trying to send me a message. I'll be lucky if I can stay awake through USGA today.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I wanted to write a bit really quickly (no worries; it won't be as long or convoluted as yesterday's post) about some thoughts I had today.<br />
<br />
As I have continued reading the "Gay Mormons?" book I have had many thoughts go through my head, including the concept of coming out. In addition to this book, my therapist has been talking about having me go to a group therapy session in addition to our individual sessions. That means that I would be in front of a group of fellow BYU students (not straight this time) claiming my attractions and orientation and divulging the life I've had to hide for so long. That's mildly frightening. But that doesn't mean it's necessarily a bad thing. The APA laws of confidentiality apply to that setting, so I wouldn't risk exposure at all. But still...<br />
<br />
Anyway, as I thought about coming out, in small ways or in general, I felt the familiar tinge of fear that usually accompanies it.<br />
<br />
These emotions were going about my head pretty chaotically until I read a bit in Brene Brown's "Gifts of Imperfection" later this afternoon. I randomly jumped to the middle of the book to a place where she is describing the concept of shame. She defines that as the "intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging." It is the fear of rejection, of being hated or despised for who we are inside, and segregates us from those around us. As we feel that fear, the threat of shame, we distance ourselves from others, and effectively isolate ourselves emotionally. Dr. Brown makes the point that every addiction, regardless of what it is, has some root in shame.<br />
<br />
As I read through these ideas, I realized that much of the reason I still feel isolated and uncomfortable at church, the reason I fear to be completely honest with my BYU peers, and the reason I still battle over this issue in my head is because I still have quite a bit of shame about this part of my life. Of course, my parents' reactions to all this hasn't helped. But I can't blame all my problems on them. Just because they played the shame game when they forced me out of the closet doesn't mean that everyone will.<br />
<br />
Dr. Brown makes a point earlier in the book that the only difference between those people who have a strong sense of love and belonging and those who do not is this: those with a strong sense of love and belonging believe that they're worthy of it.<br />
<br />
Shame destroys that belief of worthiness. Really, that term is not meant in the same way we abuse it in Mormon culture. It means believing that we as the individuals we are are worth love and belonging.<br />
<br />
Having realized this, I hope to allow myself to love myself a little more, and get rid of the shame. Because as Ru Paul says, "if you can't love yourself how the <i>hell </i> are you going to love somebody else? Can I get an amen in here?!"Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-44984164623763801762011-09-07T18:21:00.000-07:002011-09-07T18:31:55.583-07:00Ramblings, Truth, and truthIn an attempt to keep a regular blog schedule, here I am yet again, sitting down to write. The only problem is that I'm not quite sure what I want to talk about. I've had a number of different topics go through my mind in the last week, but at this point I feel tired enough that none of them seem worth pursuing. So, in classic Ty fashion, I will ramble until something coherent comes out. ;)<br />
<br />
I've been reading the ebook "Gay Mormons?" which was edited by Brent Kirby. It's been an interesting read, and it has really opened up my mind to how diversely other gay men and women, LDS and not, have experienced and come to terms with their sexuality. Even though I had to break my stereotypical understandings to allow myself to accept my orientation, I have still gone about looking for commonalities in everyone's coming out process, as if I can validate my own experiences by matching them with others. That way my feelings will be real and legitimate, not just a bout of confusion over which sex I like more.<br />
<br />
But I've been realizing that even among those who are "gay" there are so many people with different experiences, different ranges of emotions and attractions, and so perhaps even the label "gay" is a bit of a generalization. It leads me to wonder what kind of world it would be if instead of trying to fit everyone into a little box with a label on it, saying "This is Ty. He's gay." we were able to simply say to ourselves "This is Ty. He loves Steve."<br />
<br />
Reading through these stories has led me to review my own past and really take a good look at it. It has surprised me how obvious my attraction to guys was, at least from this perspective. I can't believe I didn't see it earlier. There was one guy in junior high that I really liked, and now I can see that it was a total crush. Today I still share the same opinion of the guy: totally cute and a very sweet guy. But now I can see it for what it is.<br />
<br />
People have written in this book that when they came out, many people knew and were simply waiting for them to do so. It makes me wonder how many people know about me. Do the cousins I grew up with have any idea? Or were they all just as blinded as my parents to see what they wanted to see?<br />
<br />
Another thing that has really been sinking in these past few weeks is the understanding of what other guys truly feel for girls. Growing up, I really never questioned if I liked girls or not, because I had no idea how other guys felt. Sure, I liked them, but I never really got why we kept having to have talks in priesthood lessons about respecting women. What I assumed was my more natural self-control and spirituality was in fact simply a lack of attraction. It wasn't hard for me to respect women, because I had no desires pushing me to do otherwise. It has been an entirely new experience trying to learn to respect men the way my friends were taught to respect women.<br />
<br />
But it has really been dawning on me how strongly other guys must feel for girls. Really, they must feel the same powerful urges that I feel for men, but toward girls. I examine them, sometimes, looking to see what it is what guys must really be drawn to. Certainly I can respect and appreciate their beauty, but I just don't feel the same draw that I feel toward the many gorgeous guys on campus.<br />
<br />
Another thing that has been on my mind lately as I have read these experiences of others is the legitimacy, or supposed legitimacy, that nearly everyone seems to feel they have to their own views and claims. Let me elaborate. In one chapter of this book, a man tells about his journey through different religions, eventually arriving at the LDS church, before coming to terms with his attractions. He writes an official coming out letter to his mother, which is returned by an emotionless declaration against his life situation, and ultimately, against him if he doesn't change like she wants him to.<br />
<br />
At one point, though, she talks about how he "walked away from God" when he left their baptist faith and eventually joined the LDS church. From a mormon view, we find this to be pure lack of understanding. She is in a degree of ignorance, we would say. But the terms she uses to describe it are exactly those that someone in the LDS faith would use to describe their own child leaving the path planned for him or her.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, they both believe they are on the side of Truth, with a capital T. They have God's knowledge, and their child walked away from it. In the world of religion, politics, philosophy, science, psychology, and many other realms this battles of "Truths" can be found. The ironic part is that to each and every one of those people, their "Truth" is legitimate, and feels that way. So how can true Truth be found?<br />
<br />
This is where my psychology class comes into play again. I wrote on the ideas from this class a bit last week, and it continues to be a real brain-tingling course. My professor introduced the idea of <i>dualism</i> to the class this week, explaining that it is the primary view of the world right now. <i>Dualism</i> as it pertains to this context is the idea that there are two distinct sides of the world that never merge: a <i>subjective</i> view, which is the personal opinionated (and thus "imperfect") view we each have of the world, and an <i>objective</i> view, which is truth as it really is. In our modern society, we tend to cling to objective truth, which we often think we have, or we swing the other way, believing that because we each view the world through our own personal lenses we can never find objective truth, and thus the only truth we have is the truth we see, and thus truth is completely relative.<br />
<br />
My professor then described another view, stressing that both these are purely views, and neither is necessarily the way things actually are. This other view is an <i>experiential </i>view, which includes objectivity and subjectivity, but stresses that they can never be separated. They believe in a <i>subjective objectivity.</i> So perhaps there is an ultimate truth, but it cannot be separated from our subjective views on the world. Thus our subjectivity is based on objectivity. They are one. Never can we have pure objective truth. It won't happen. But ultimately, for those favoring experientialism, it doesn't matter. What matters is the union between the subjective and objective worlds.<br />
<br />
I thought about this in reference to religion, faith, God, and sexuality. Ironically, my professor explained all this in the context of view of "time" (linear time is actually only a point of view of time, not reality), but the ideas translate across topics seamlessly.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, there can be an ultimate truth. God's truth, if you will (but considering the similarities LDS doctrine places between man and God, even God's objectivity could be called into question. But once again, that's not necessarily a bad thing.). God gives this truth to man, but immediately upon reception by an individual, a people, or a prophet for the church, that truth is placed in a subjectively objective light. We see only a subjective (think personal interpretation or "lens") view of the objective truth. Complete and objectively true obedience to that truth then becomes impossible.<br />
<br />
This led me to think that the only obedience God can expect is obedience to the truths we subjectively see. But that leads pretty quickly into a "truth is relative" realm that is purely dualism. So I tried to back out of that. When I approached my professor to discuss this with him, he really stressed that ultimately I kept falling into the trap of separating objectivity and subjectivity. But according to the experiential view, they are one.<br />
<br />
As we discussed the implications for religious truth, he led my terminology toward the term <i>interpretation,</i> which is all we have to go off of here in this world. These interpretations can differ widely from person to person. But he cited Einstein and his theory of relativity, in which two people with two literal points of view (one in motion and one not) view the same event differently, but are actually both correct. Translating that across to our lives, two points of view can then actually be correct. But once again, we are leading ourselves toward relative truth.<br />
<br />
His point was that, in the case of Einstein's theory, two people have differing points of view of an actual event that happens, but both views are actually legitimate. Both <i>interpretations</i> are actually legitimate. It's not that they have two subjective views of an objective occurance that can never actually be known. They have two different interpretations of an event, both of which are accurate descriptions of what happened. They are both truth, just different interpretations of it. But ultimately, for an experientialist, it's the meaning behind it that really matters.<br />
<br />
I hope some of this is making sense. If not, I truly apologize. But this led me to a few conclusions. 1) No one can claim "God's Truth," as we defined it earlier, because they are not God, and have only personal interpretations.<br />
<br />
2) Talking with my professor, we came to the conclusion that the best thing we can do is to gather as many different interpretations from different people as we can, sifting through them and trying to garnish what knowledge we can, and then making our decisions based on what we can find. Ultimately, we must search for truth where ever it may be found, examining many different interpretations, even those who disagree with us, to see what we can find.<br />
<br />
3) This includes, as my professor noted and I readily agreed, that we maintain a healthy skepticism about our own churches and our own faiths. To get into a position of "I have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" is surely a set up for our own fall and hinders us from investigating all the interpretations that are out there in the world, actually keeping us from gaining the knowledge we need to make educated choices.<br />
<br />
And 4) ultimately, none of us will ever grasp pure, objective truth. And even if we could, we would fail in living it. Thus enters the vital role of a Savior, one who knows us, our thoughts, our <i>interpretations,</i> and the choices that came from them. Judgment, then, will be done by One who knows us intimately, and can truly know where our hearts lie.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I am mistaken, but this leads me to believe that it is severely wrong to say that I in my situation must abandon any truth (note the little t) that I have found through my examination of other's interpretations, and cling once again to the "Ultimate Truth" that someone claims they have. To stop questioning is to stop gaining truth, to stop learning, and to cease nearing the throne of God.<br />
<br />
In my search I have found that the things I was taught about homosexuality were not reality, at least, they were not consistent with others' interpretations of the world, especially my own. The ideas set forth by the cultural mormonism on God, faith, and human sexuality appear to me to be rigid and unwilling to consider anything else that may shed greater light on the reality of things. I cannot claim ever again that I have Truth. I have none. No one has any. But I can get close to the truths that really matter.<br />
<br />
I had a professor freshman year that said the human obsession with big-T Truth was a recent thing. In the past, humans have been more concerned with little-t truth, which deals with meaning, more than accurate fact. It seems to me, then, that when we talk of truth, we actually talk of the meanings that resonate with our souls. It is truth, rather than Truth, that has the power to change human beings, to heal broken hearts, and to bring one closer to God. What good is Ultimate Truth if it does not connect with the human soul? It has no purpose, being devoid of meaning. It is the little-t truths that rest next to our hearts that have true power, and that will bring us back to the throne of God.<br />
<br />
It is with this understanding, then, that I endeavor to consider all the interpretations of as many people as I can find, both liberal and conservative, atheist and zealot, both gay and straight. By listening to these interpretations, gathering knowledge and finding consistencies, especially the ones that ring true to my soul, I hope to base my life on experiential truths that may be near to the truths that reside at the throne of God. It is my hope that if I do this sincerely enough, with an open heart and an open mind, I will be guided by a force greater than myself, and will eventually be led home.<br />
<br />
And that is, I believe, what God was hoping for from the beginning.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-27681642038187909382011-08-31T18:31:00.000-07:002011-08-31T18:31:27.429-07:00The Legitimacy of ChoiceDeterminism is everywhere. Whether it be in the scientific world or the social world we live in, much of our focus as a people is on things that happen to us. The economy is falling apart - out of our control. Politics are a mess and the government is even messier - out of our control. Can't pay my bills, health is declining, relationship is ending -- the list goes on and on.<br />
<br />
There seems to be an unspoken understanding about the determined events in our lives. If they are out of our control, and unchangeable, then they are real, legitimate, and we deserve help or adjustment in dealing with it. If someone loses their house because they were laid off, we have sympathy for them. But for many the image of a homeless man on the street does not evoke enough sympathy to provoke us to action. The assumption is that his situation is his own fault. He <i>chose </i>it. And because it was not involuntarily inflicted upon him, his suffering doesn't gain the same sympathy as the man who lost his house. It's almost as if society doesn't even see his situation as legitimate, and thus unworthy of help.<br />
<br />
A professor of mine was discussing the idea of determinism vs agency in class yesterday. He raised the question: "How many of you would say that everything you are, your personality, your likes, dislikes, everything that you are is determined by your genetics and your environment?" There were a few hands.<br />
<br />
"How many of you," he continued, "would say that your own choices have made you who you are?" Many more hands went up. The professor grinned. "You're an unusual sample. In any of the other universities I taught in most the students would have agreed with determinism."<br />
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That stuck with me, and I thought about how this applies to the modern social issue of homosexuality. Much of the battle today, whether politically, socially, or individually, focuses on the <i>why</i> of being gay. The nature vs nurture debate is still raging, with neither side conceding. Thinking of my own discussions with my parents, much of the argument was simply over whether or not I was actually gay. There is this pervasive underlying belief that if I had no choice, if my genes made me this way, or if it is unchangeable, then it should be seen as a legitimate state of human sexuality, should receive social recognition, as well as state recognition as official familial unions.<br />
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But what about choice?<br />
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My first thought was, no, I didn't choose these feelings, but I have chosen how to respond to them, how to express them, and how much I allow them to direct my life. And so, yes, whether we like it or not, choice is involved.<br />
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But why do we as a society lean away from the agency side of things in favor of the deterministic position? Well, first of all it's easy. It removes the responsibility from our shoulders, should anything go wrong. It takes accountability out of our hands. If I can't control it, I can't be blamed. It takes away the risk that is inherently involved in choice. And we hate risk, because risk is uncertain. And uncertainty scares the hell out of us.<br />
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<br />
But what would an argument for homosexuality based on choice look like?<br />
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Let's imagine that in ten years I am married, with a husband and a couple kids. Rather than saying, I lived this life because that's what I was dealt, I can say I lived this life because I chose it, based on the knowledge I have, and based on my beliefs of what would make me happy. Maybe I could have made a marriage work with a woman, but I chose this, and thus put my energy and focus into making <i>this</i> marriage and <i>this </i>family work. My success and my happiness is of my own doing, not some freak accident. Yes, my sorrow was mine as well, but mistakes and disappointments don't change my worth as a human being, or the legitimacy of my choice.<br />
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In this marriage and family, I deserve rights not because mother nature made me this way, but because I have lived my life cultivating virtuous qualities into my life and contributing to society. I deserve to have the law fight for me, because I fight for me, and a fight for me is a fight for others' rights as well. My husband and I deserve to be married and share healthcare plans because we've made the sacrifices to build a strong and faithful relationship. We've chosen the commitment that requires all the work we've put into it, and we have chosen the love that qualifies us to be joined together. Our choice makes us legitimate, not our DNA.<br />
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And what of a spiritual view?<br />
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Yes, I have chosen to enter a relationship, and to commit myself heart mind and body to a man that I love. I have done so, believing that God honors that commitment and approves of the love we share. I have made a choice and committed to it, using every opportunity within that choice to better myself, my spouse, and to spread the light of God abroad. I have chosen that.<br />
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But what if I'm wrong? What if at the last day, I placed my bet on the wrong horse? Rather than claiming the part of a victim, which determinism will allow us to do, I can claim my choice, knowing full well that I did so with the highest of intentions, working to bring myself and those around me closer to God. Because I chose it, I can be satisfied that I did all I could. And even if that is not enough in the final count, it will count in the final self-evaluation.<br />
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I find it hard to believe, however, that even were I to chose incorrectly that it would not make a difference, had I dedicated my heart and soul. Would not my husband and I, who worked and sacrificed to raise a righteous family, be seen in a different light than the straight couple who neglected one another emotionally, and were less than diligent in loving and caring for their children? Even if I had chosen incorrectly, I could claim the success and joys of my life as my own.<br />
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And even the sorrows make a difference, if I were to choose the things that led there. Because if I can own them, they can mold me and shape me. If I am a victim, they can only maim and torment, a perpetual thorn in my side that I have no power to remove. Owning the sorrows makes them ours. And that changes us.<br />
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Ultimately, the whole issue comes down to this: What matters more, what is more real? That I am made this way and thus am stuck here? Or that I chose the life I personally felt was best, based on my thoughts, my knowledge, my heart? Which of these deserves respect? Which deserves recognition? Which enables us to move and grow? Which empowers us to be in control of our lives?<br />
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I am finished trying to prove my existence. I am done debating nurture vs nature. Attempting to prove my sexuality, my identity, and my feelings through deterministic means gets no where, and leaves me feeling lost and empty. I am making the choices that I see fit to make. I have listened and examined, studied and learned, prayed and secretly searched. And I am doing what I believe to be the best decision for me.<br />
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I am open to change. A willingness to reexamine and reevaluate is vital to a life of choice. But this is where I am now. I have chosen the path that has led me here. And both the heartache and the brilliant joy are mine, because I chose them.<br />
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<br />Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-65073800489647591102011-07-25T10:46:00.000-07:002011-07-25T10:46:54.537-07:00The Power in Being StillI recently read a post by another blogger commenting on a rather biased article written by a member of NARTH on the causes of homosexuality. This article, found <a href="http://invictuspilgrim.blogspot.com/2011/07/mrs-olearys-canard-causes-of.html">here</a> at Invictus Pilgrim's blog, made a few sweeping accusations as to the general attitude of those who do not believe in a "defect-oriented" theory of the development of homosexuality.<br />
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I'll admit, my first reaction was to get my feathers ruffled somewhat. Part of me wanted to rush over to the blog and start writing about how closed minded people can be, and how ultimately, the cause of homosexuality makes no difference, only where we go from here.<br />
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But I decided against that route. A few moments to breathe deeply made quite the difference. Not to mention that as I randomly opened the ebook "Why Theology Can't Save Us" by John Gustav-Wrathall the next chapter for me to read was on how we react to angry and cutting accusations, particularly on the internet. Such beautiful synchronicity surely suggests divine reminder.<br />
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This made me think somewhat on the things I've been taught lately on my own personal journey. I wrote recently on a dream that I had that contained a valuable lesson for me. But almost as recently, my therapist and I deconstructed another dream. The meaning behind it was powerful for me. Though I won't recount the dream or its complexities here, I'll suffice it to say that the primary message was this: When those with angry accusations or judgments come, who claim to know what I should be doing, I should neither retreat nor attack in retaliation. It is best to stand, calm and unyielding, and eventually the attacker will break down.<br />
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I realize that this may sound disjointed or convoluted, but it makes sense to me, which is probably why I'm the one who had the dream. And it has done a lot for me, helping me to deal both with external attacks on my current life situation, as well as internal doubts that come, suggesting that my instincts are leading me astray. It seems to be that there is great power in "being still". It reminds me of the words spoken by Moses to the fearing children of Israel at the Red Sea. Finding themselves trapped between angry Egyptians and a wet place they turned to Moses, who responded "Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord" (Exodus 14:13).<br />
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This last week I watched a mini-series on Netflix about the Kennedy family, particularly JFK and his time in office (It's called "The Kennedys" and I highly recommend it). In one episode JFK has to deal with extreme racial issues going on in Missouri. The state has been ordered by the courts to allow an African American student to enroll in the public university, but the governor and the mob outside the university disagree. The US Marshals are called in to escort the young student, and he enters the campus, surrounded by swarms of furious protesters spewing profanities and spitting at his feet. But this young student stands firm and silent, walking stoically to the administration building.<br />
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Truly, it was the most powerful thing he could have done. Other such cases occurred around the country at that time. The Little Rock Nine also faced extreme hatred as they fought for equality. I remember seeing this picture in a textbook when I was in High School. I remember feeling so angry at the woman in the back, for all her unfounded hatred. But once again, Elizabeth Eckford walks calm and steady.<br />
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When people respond this way, there is nothing that the angry oppressor can do to bring them down. The calm but unyielding resolve of such people can be an impenetrable wall.<br />
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To be quite honest, I feel like sometimes in our own situation people can become impatient and angry, losing this calm and sure exterior. Simply looking at how Prop 8 was handled, by both sides, illustrates my point. While I wasn't in the country for this (thankfully!) I have seen clips of the types of angry protest/battles that took place over this issue. I truly don't think this is how we need to win this battle. Confidence is quiet. It doesn't need to be shouted into some ultra-conservative's face. But it does need to be harbored deep in the soul. Imagine what a crowd of hundreds of LGBT protesting like this would look like:<br />
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Such silent solidity is difficult to ignore. And not only does it fight for rights without contesting other people, it also leaves the protester untarnished from anger or hate.<br />
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<br />
I've digressed somewhat. I didn't really want to comment on political activism.<br />
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Ultimately what I am trying to get across is this: I don't have all the answers over this issue. I don't know why I'm gay. And I don't believe I have to give a reason. Nor do I have to prove to another that I have the right to be treated like a human being. When those furious attacks come, I have resolved to stand still, fearing not, and waiting as the tidal wave of anger falls away. It cannot last. Hatred cannot survive if others do not receive it. It wastes away.<br />
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I feel like the strongest statement I can make comes from living day to day, building my confidence, my happiness, and my spirituality. What effect can a storm have on a solidly planted stone? And what effect can those protesting against my rights have if I live strong, a whole and complete human being? Their arguments will crumble, simply because I am. Prejudice will die, and misconceptions will be forgotten.<br />
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Lies cannot outlast the truth that lives in me.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-56597170560052333092011-07-10T23:45:00.000-07:002011-07-10T23:45:56.123-07:00Claiming ItSo, some time ago a guy from my mission contacted me through facebook. He asked me quite upfront if I "struggled with same-gender attraction," because he did, and was hoping to find friends to relate to.<br />
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I wrote him back, explaining that while I would have said that at one point, I had come to a place of peace over my "non-traditional" attractions.<br />
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As we began to converse back and forth it was clear to me that he is definitely in a different place than me concerning his sexuality. And while I didn't feel the need to open up to him too much, it's always nice to have another friend.<br />
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The other day he sent me a recording he'd made for another friend, explaining where he is and how he got to that point. Tonight I finally got around to listening to it.<br />
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His is a familiar. He feels so many things that so many people feel. But the way he talked was so distant from it. He used phrases like "someone of the same gender" or "attraction to males." The way he said "males" made it sound like it was a scientific discussion.<br />
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I don't intend to insult or demean his approach to this. He has just as much a right to handle his life in his way as I do to live mine as I see fit. It simply fascinated me how it seemed he was still so afraid to claim it. That part of him was still holding this whole issue at arm's length.<br />
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I guess what it ultimately made me feel was grateful for my own journey. Grateful that I've reached a point in my life where I can say "I think boys are gorgeous, and that's just fine."<br />
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I feel so much more complete as a human being when I can accept this and claim this as a part of myself. I feel more honest with myself, and more sincere with others.<br />
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Sure, I still struggle with social norms, religious implications, and family conflicts. Just tonight I was skyping with Monique, my best friend from high school. She's come a long way in the last year and a half, and we can talk a little about some of this stuff. But I one thing I felt was that I didn't want to be seen as less masculine. And I didn't want to feel less masculine. I know this is something I still need to resolve within myself. But even in spite of some of these struggles currently unresolved, I am grateful to be able to claim this part of myself.<br />
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On Friday night I was chatting with some of the wonderful folk at the gay fhe I mentioned how remarkable it was to me that once I accepted this part of myself, learned to appreciate and even love it, and give it some sort of expression in my life, these feelings stopped feeling like they were overpowering me. They stopped feeling like they were going to explode out of my chest like an alien from a 1980's movie. Now that I own them, I can control them.<br />
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And I am more complete because of it.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-81541172408395249812011-07-10T00:44:00.000-07:002011-07-10T00:54:03.985-07:00Faith and CertaintyI'm supposed to be in bed.<br />
I have church at 9:30. I'm teaching the lesson in Priesthood, something I'm actually excited to do.<br />
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Yet here I am, blogging.<br />
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Last night I went to a gay family home evening with people I'd known through the blog world, but never in person. Despite my initial anxiety, it was a wonderful experience. I spent hours talking there, finally leaving at 2 am. It was wonderful.<br />
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Today, after 10 days with his family in Arizona, my boyfriend returned to Provo. Walking into his room and seeing him again was like finding a lost part of my soul. We spent all evening together, and by the time he went home I knew even deeper how much I truly love him.<br />
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Tonight, I worked on my lesson. I read through scriptures and looked up references online. Finally, I got to a point that was sufficient for tonight. I set everything aside, turned off my laptop, texted my boyfriend goodnight, and was on my way to turn off the light when my phone buzzed.<br />
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My brother texted me. And not just a simple, "hey, what's up" text. A looong text.<br />
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He and I have never talked about my sexuality, though I'm sure he knows. Well, tonight's text removes all doubt. And while I've developed a thicker skin in discussing this issue with my parents, it kind of stung to hear what my brother had to say.<br />
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He talked about temple worthiness, my previous example to him. He spoke of the devastation it would cause my youngest brother and sister if they knew. Even now I can't bring myself to read the text again, because despite the multiplicity of words, I hear one message:<br />
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You're not good enough.<br />
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Regardless of his intended message, this is what I hear. It's what I always hear. And it's the message I've heard for the past 23 years. This is my ultimate tender spot. My Achilles heel. The fear that regardless of how hard I try, I am not good enough.<br />
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When I finished the text I set my phone aside. The psychologist in me leaped into action, trying to piece apart my emotions so that they didn't overwhelm me.<br />
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And then I booted up my laptop.<br />
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I need to be fair. My brother has no idea what this issue looks like from the inside. He has no idea what my life has been like. He has no knowledge of the tears and the ache and the shame that I've carried. He doesn't know of the sheer hell I've been through, the valley of shadow and death that I descended into when all logical sense and faith crumbled. He doesn't know.<br />
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He also doesn't know of the peace that God has granted me. He doesn't know the freedom of a soul who has been caged for so long. He doesn't know the sheer glory of being able to see yourself, your complete self, and love it. He doesn't know of the pure tenderness of being wrapped up in the person you love. Of feeling your heart connect with another's. Of becoming whole.<br />
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But perhaps the greatest reason that the weight fell back onto my shoulders after that text was because it threw my doubt back into my hands. My questions and fears and "what if I'm wrong"s came rushing back to me. The shadow of that dreaded uncertainty fell upon me once more.<br />
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This seems to be a popular topic lately. Faith and doubt. Certainty and uncertainty. John Gustav-Wrathall blogged about it this morning <a href="http://youngstranger.blogspot.com/2011/07/faithdoubt.html">here</a>.<br />
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As I prepared my lesson tonight I watched a youtube video on faith. The video showed a clip of President Monson speaking at General Conference. "Remember," he said, "that faith and doubt cannot exist in the same place at the same time, for one will dispel the other." I heard that, thought for a moment, and then said "I don't think that's right."<br />
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In her book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gifts-Imperfection-Think-Supposed-Embrace/dp/159285849X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1310281761&sr=8-1">The Gifts of Imperfection</a> and in her <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4Qm9cGRub0">TED talk</a> Brene Brown discusses faith. Faith, she says, used to be something used to explain the unknown. It was a belief in mystery, the unexplained. But it's become a safety net and a weapon: 'I'm right, you're wrong. Shut up.' She goes on in the book about how doubt is not the opposite of faith. Rather, certainty is the opposite of faith.<br />
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She writes:<br />
"Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty."<br />
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She then quotes the theologian Richard Rohr:<br />
"My scientist friends have come up with things like 'principles of uncertainty' and dark holes. They're willing to live inside imagined hypotheses and theories. But many religious folk insist on <i>answers </i>that are <i>always</i> true. We love closure, resolution and clarity, while thinking that we are people of 'faith'! How strange that the very word 'faith' has come to mean its exact opposite."<br />
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Uncertainty scares the hell out of me. It strikes me deep in my center with a fear of being wrong, of failing, of being rejected, and yes, of not being good enough. But certainty isn't faith. And without faith, we can do nothing.<br />
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I have been trying to learn to live with uncertainty. Sometimes I do very well with it, like last night at the FHE gathering or today with my boyfriend. But sometimes, like tonight with this text message, that fear gets to me and leaves me scrambling to get back to the sure shores of certainty.<br />
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But ironically, that "certainty" only comes from the approval of others. It's almost as if I can get enough people to agree on a point, then that must be the truth. And, among those people at least, I will be "certain." I will be sure.<br />
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But were I to retreat back into the world of certainty, of being validated by others, I would not be satisfied. Because deep within me, something would be dying.<br />
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I had a dream a few nights ago. I didn't understand it, but as I have been studying jungian dream analysis for a class project I believe that I'm beginning to gain some meaning from it.<br />
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I was being instructed by someone. Someone older and wiser. The person reminded me of Master Yoda from Star Wars. Small and simple, yet full of eternal wisdom. He was teaching me, among others, of fidelity. Of complete faithfulness. It was clear by what he taught that faithfulness was vital.<br />
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The dream shifted. I was in a tuxedo. Somewhere nearby was a bride. But she wasn't the focus of this part. Although it was clear that I had just been married, the focus was not on to whom, but rather what to do now. I recall looking down at my left hand and seeing a vivid golden band on my ring finger. I loved that ring. It symbolized my union, my completion, my wholeness.<br />
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As I look at the ring, Yoda came again. Once again he told me of the vital nature of fidelity. Of faithfulness.<br />
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And then I awoke.<br />
<br />
I pondered over this dream. Especially the part with the bride, and how the point wasn't that I had married a woman. I couldn't make much sense of this dream.<br />
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Earlier today I was reading a book on jungian dream analysis, and the author commented on the archetype of marriage, both in dreams and in life.<br />
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"The syzygy (married couple) represents the union of paired opposites. Thus, this archetype governs the process of achieving wholeness in the personalty through formation of conscious polarities."<br />
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The whole goal of jungian psychology is the individuation of an individual. To put it another way, it is to become that person that we are truly, deeply, intended to be. This requires not a smothering or casting away of aspects of ourselves, but rather complete assimilation of everything, even those things we fear or hide. True individuation, true wholeness, is a union of opposites.<br />
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Thus, the marriage in my dream was not a sign of "find a woman," but rather, a symbol of my gaining further wholeness by integrating all parts of myself into one. Perhaps the most difficult part of myself to work with has been my sexuality, that so completely seems to contradict my faith. Yet, true wholeness is a union of opposites.<br />
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Fear would have me bury my shadow, lock away anything that wasn't comfortable, easy, or socially endorsed. Fear would have me bury fear itself. It would have me run from vulnerability. It would have me cling to certainty.<br />
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Yoda's words to continue faithful to that union, to that search for wholeness, is an directive to stay the course, in spite of fear. To listen to myself, and to God. And even if I have no explanation, no answers, no certainty, to move forward.<br />
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I cannot deny that these feelings are a part of my life. I cannot deny the deep desire to be connected to a wonderful man in every way. I cannot deny the love I feel with my boyfriend, the completion, the absolute serenity.<br />
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I have no choice but to claim uncertainty, to claim faith. It is the only ground I have to stand on.<br />
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I have no answers. I don't know why or how I came to feel as I do. I don't know what my God will say on that final day. I don't know that this relationship, these hopes and dreams and feelings that I have, aren't all a massive mistake. But I don't know that they are, either.<br />
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But one thing I do know. That my God sees the intents of my heart. He knows my desires. That my Savior felt each and every one of these emotions that I now feel. That my Lord has been watching, working, and whispering to me. He has been guiding me, and the journey's not yet over.<br />
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And when I have the sense to quiet my fears, to settle the panicked urge to find certainty, I feel his voice: "They don't know you. I know you. Listen to me."<br />
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And with Him, who needs certainty?Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-43729101206565082011-07-03T22:26:00.000-07:002011-07-03T22:26:50.724-07:00Midnight's GraceSleep slightly fades,<br />
and for a moment I gain foggy consciousness.<br />
Darkness consumes me.<br />
Then, I feel your touch.<br />
Trusted arms enwrap me,<br />
pull me into complete safety,<br />
claim me from the night.<br />
Your breath on my neck sends me drifting back to bliss.<br />
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There, hidden in midnight's grace,<br />
I am whole.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoBZ762iwLtVcsfbcYLg0sfndL0poCR2VSw4ut7zvrA5m1gZZnyfxuFaeMESAhXj6HG7FGXov9ahyphenhyphent1CCDxC3hZ1BZVnrmQMCriaM-cRynPhCvJcEWrdBTEfyW45otL-uZNYgnJCAwds/s1600/Sleeping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoBZ762iwLtVcsfbcYLg0sfndL0poCR2VSw4ut7zvrA5m1gZZnyfxuFaeMESAhXj6HG7FGXov9ahyphenhyphent1CCDxC3hZ1BZVnrmQMCriaM-cRynPhCvJcEWrdBTEfyW45otL-uZNYgnJCAwds/s320/Sleeping.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-68541179428301296702011-06-19T23:30:00.000-07:002011-06-19T23:30:37.606-07:00UntitledI spent the weekend at home. Parts of it were really nice. Parts of it were not.<br />
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If my parents make me feel awful every time I am around them, eventually I'm going to stop coming home. I wish they would just get that. But they don't.<br />
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I'm so tired of being guilted and shamed. It gets even harder, because when I feel like crap like that I can't tell if it is because of what they're doing, or if it is because this really is the wrong thing for me. But being with my boyfriend tonight felt wonderful. Entirely calm and peaceful.<br />
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I want so much to make peace with my parents, but they seem entirely keen on continually pounding me. I'm not a child! Release your iron grips on my wrists and let me stand on my own! And if I need to completely fall on my face, then let me!<br />
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I'm so sick of the anger and the hurt. I'm so tired of the inner conflict and the frustration. Why can't they let me heal? Why can't they let me become strong? My fear and submission to them binds me. I'm so tired of being chained.<br />
<br />
I want freedom.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-3142376521798439312011-06-15T21:35:00.000-07:002011-06-15T21:35:05.540-07:00The One Who Holds, and the One Who is HeldThe slump that began Sunday night got worse. Yesterday was a long and numbing day. I felt like I was being crushed, like the very air was pressing against my chest and against my soul. I found myself lying in bed and simply staring at the wall a couple of times. I felt awful, like my spirit was sick.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWKndMdUkwgaL-JWLbieaBdXv-cOsGFSUVQgfSCrXTH_ICeGQlTPniPGQeJrY7KRupMW6-b_JCTBZ7kSibZHVGTkUBnnlaYDmXW286bSYogmRzGmTrJzhK_ib5a_L_i-hMdLC0NBb4n0/s1600/loneliness-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWKndMdUkwgaL-JWLbieaBdXv-cOsGFSUVQgfSCrXTH_ICeGQlTPniPGQeJrY7KRupMW6-b_JCTBZ7kSibZHVGTkUBnnlaYDmXW286bSYogmRzGmTrJzhK_ib5a_L_i-hMdLC0NBb4n0/s320/loneliness-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I went to the gym, but that didn't help. Later, my boyfriend asked what was up and I told him that I the past two days had been difficult. He was frustrated. He said it seemed like something always had to be wrong with me, and that he was frustrated that I still hadn't learned how to deal with such slumps. I told him it seemed that way to me as well, but it really was more like the same thing was still wrong. It just kept flaring up from time to time.<br />
<br />
Later, he was at my place using my internet. I was lying on the bed, completely at a loss as to how to break free from the misery I felt. After a while my boyfriend got up, laid in bed next to me, and pulled me close to him. I have to say, he's getting pretty good. He knows that when I'm like that, what I need most is to be held.<br />
<br />
I turned to look at him and said "Sometimes you need to remove the poison from the wound before you can stitch it up and start rehabilitating the leg."<br />
<br />
He nodded, then said "But it seems more like you keep pouring more poison onto the wound."<br />
<br />
"No," I said. "It's more like the poison keeps spreading, because it is never fully removed."<br />
<br />
Then he understood. This problem with my parents has never been resolved, and because of that the pain and longing flares up from time to time. This was just a very extreme case.<br />
<br />
But now that we were talking, I could get it out of my system. I talked about how lonely I felt, about how the walls I had put up to protect myself were now separating me from everyone else, and it was beginning to suffocate me. I told him how much I needed to feel part of a family again, how much I needed to be able to trust my family with my heart, but how difficult such a thing was.<br />
<br />
I wept. Okay, more like I bawled. But the tears were cleansing tears. They were healing the hurt. He listened, and held me close. And when everything was finally done I could breathe again. I could feel again. I could smile again.<br />
<br />
The experience reminded me of something my boyfriend and I talked about when we first started dating a year and a half ago. He was my first date with a guy, and my first boyfriend, and moving out into this world was very scary for me. Early on there was a night when it all was too much and I broke down. He put my head in his lap and stroked my hair, assuring me that it would all be alright. Then he said "See, this is the wonderful thing about our kind of relationship. Sometimes we can be the one who holds, and sometimes we can be the one who is held."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEhZ_sFLMUX0heuuLbGTWjmalBQL_ewy3z7QkiTkz4usBsUOrwB8AapOC2oZ_UNlgX11zfTT1MbtAdWQkcwBsYPHETOizNvytzLhODmfTambrQ-glRaOME95znYIvitRjc4ppcStUH4Y/s1600/Cuddling.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEhZ_sFLMUX0heuuLbGTWjmalBQL_ewy3z7QkiTkz4usBsUOrwB8AapOC2oZ_UNlgX11zfTT1MbtAdWQkcwBsYPHETOizNvytzLhODmfTambrQ-glRaOME95znYIvitRjc4ppcStUH4Y/s320/Cuddling.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
That has stuck with me ever since then. Now, perhaps I just don't understand the way straight relationships work, but it seems to me that there is a cultural expectation that men cannot be the one who is held. They have to be strong, and always be the protector. But with a relationship like mine, I can be the protector, but I can also be the protected. And there are few things a comforting as the strong and loving arms of my boyfriend when I'm feeling weak.<br />
<br />
It is a beautiful thing. And it's in moments like last night that I know that what I feel for him is not evil. It reminds me of a beautiful verse, with which I'd like to end.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, 'Nimbus Sans';"><br />
</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, 'Nimbus Sans';"><div class="MsoNormal">Love is patient and kind, it is never jealous, love is never boastful or conceited, it is never rude or selfish, it does not take offence, nor is it resentful. Love takes no pleasure in others’ sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope and to endure whatever comes.<o:p></o:p></div></span></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-46612829690071020342011-06-13T19:19:00.000-07:002011-06-13T19:19:09.535-07:00Connection and the KardashiansI'm tired today, but I need to write. It's been a long day, so the blog is going to be my therapy today.<br />
<br />
This past week I was introduced to the TV show "Keeping Up with the Kardashians." To be quite honest, I am not a huge fan of reality TV, especially when it's a bunch of immature girls screaming and pulling hair for half an hour. So I wasn't expecting much from this, especially since as far as I knew, Kim Kardashian was just a brunette Paris Hilton. I was very wrong.<br />
<br />
Yes, there is still some fighting. It's a family of five girls, it's bound to happen. But I found a depth there that I didn't expect. I realized that these girls weren't just nasty skanks. They had soft candy centers as well.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIddppkxJADFJPnoMDxSqy6IT4nKB2Swsa126fs0qggEkfYiElOd5jG4qVM1UZ5PqDxJngmybS2uz4zZT_FOk3QywGNxuc-2gvIdfO7IEGyOsvKdxE6uG_FngQC2PWnMFvPmrae-jz1Rs/s1600/Kim+and+Kris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIddppkxJADFJPnoMDxSqy6IT4nKB2Swsa126fs0qggEkfYiElOd5jG4qVM1UZ5PqDxJngmybS2uz4zZT_FOk3QywGNxuc-2gvIdfO7IEGyOsvKdxE6uG_FngQC2PWnMFvPmrae-jz1Rs/s1600/Kim+and+Kris.jpg" /></a></div>In the last episode I watched last night the mother, Kris Kardashian, is trying to come to terms with the death of her first husband five years previously. She had left him over ten years before he died, but she never stopped caring about him. Five years after he passed, she still bore the guilt of not being there for him when he got sick.<br />
<br />
Her whole family still struggles with unresolved grief. And when Kris said she wanted to visit her first husband's grave, some of the daughters were supportive, and some were especially antagonistic. They had an argument, and Kris left. She visited the grave and had a very emotional moment there. But when she got back home the girls that had been harsh to her had a bouquet of flowers for her, telling her they were sorry. They embraced, and it was all very sweet.<br />
<br />
This episode struck me, down in my soft candy center. As superficial as they sometimes were, these people still were very real. They hurt. They cried. They had fears and worries and doubts. But they also had love. And they were there for each other.<br />
<br />
As the night ended last night I felt very alone. Since I began to deal with my sexuality ,and especially since my parents forced me out of the closet (something I still haven't blogged about. Sorry!), I have felt very shut off from the world. Being around my family, immediate or extended, I automatically put up walls to protect myself from rejection. At school I constantly put forward an image to hide the deeper parts of myself. And it's gotten to the point where I avoid being with people, just because I can't take the vulnerability.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_cNqt-AZFMCParNxDKyGOXjSQrHqdvjMFlIAWyp_RBtbEJPkMsdAmhW4n-IOX0wGcL6g_KUM6ZC8eqAbfmgSc3iFe5AwXUL99Si7ncga5VNhOa9V1gvyPcf1hZBe5LvhwYv5K-1F5qc/s1600/Lonely.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_cNqt-AZFMCParNxDKyGOXjSQrHqdvjMFlIAWyp_RBtbEJPkMsdAmhW4n-IOX0wGcL6g_KUM6ZC8eqAbfmgSc3iFe5AwXUL99Si7ncga5VNhOa9V1gvyPcf1hZBe5LvhwYv5K-1F5qc/s1600/Lonely.jpg" /></a></div><br />
The isolation is a defense mechanism, an attempt to hide from the pain. But it also causes pain. It locks me away, and keeps me from connecting with anyone else. And last night, it stung.<br />
<br />
I tried to go to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I felt hurt and anger, especially toward my parents. I wanted to scream at them. I felt the urge to hurt them, as much as I feel hurt. But I know what that wound really needs is reconciliation. It needs the salve of love and healing.<br />
<br />
But that in and of itself requires vulnerability. It requires risk. And that risk terrifies me. How can I trust these people with my innermost soul, when they've treated me like they have? I'm not ready, to be frank.<br />
<br />
The intense longing I felt while watching the Kardashians makes it quite clear that I long for connection. I need to feel my heart touch another human being's. I need to love, and be loved unconditionally in return.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIJSpbXf85K35Bp_tKgiNr4acihKiRs95VEGNC2I4vVBEZLXACmq0xzDibtOfLiRoyFJ7CtHOW1olzG0FlggTW1ppuiQQxl014r1g0ew7cPWbQOrx4V0KnnkSHZ12UUM68UkmSbu2eiw/s1600/connection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIJSpbXf85K35Bp_tKgiNr4acihKiRs95VEGNC2I4vVBEZLXACmq0xzDibtOfLiRoyFJ7CtHOW1olzG0FlggTW1ppuiQQxl014r1g0ew7cPWbQOrx4V0KnnkSHZ12UUM68UkmSbu2eiw/s320/connection.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
As inconclusive as it is, I don't have an answer yet. And as simple as it will likely end up being, I need to reach it on my own, in my own time.<br />
<br />
I'm going to my parents' place this weekend. It's father's day. And maybe if I'm not ready to reconnect with my parents, it will be nice to be with my siblings. I have a feeling that they would be more universally loving if they knew everything. So I'll cling to their love for a bit, and see where that takes me.<br />
<br />
It may be cheesy, but the old song is right: "All you need is love." But love is a risk that requires a leap of faith.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrMIPeBF0MWHd9Iyqpzs4SKSbXCZw7eVssFztYmcDJ_BQ67zDlXn-pnQMiact4dmF2qGuT67sKGytLPKIu0qm_POojth51zzjd2WpdlrQPuBaw0IWJzIaL1UEcuVzu6HU-hkPzLPfyMc/s1600/Leap+of+faith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrMIPeBF0MWHd9Iyqpzs4SKSbXCZw7eVssFztYmcDJ_BQ67zDlXn-pnQMiact4dmF2qGuT67sKGytLPKIu0qm_POojth51zzjd2WpdlrQPuBaw0IWJzIaL1UEcuVzu6HU-hkPzLPfyMc/s1600/Leap+of+faith.jpg" /></a></div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-35964884301949419012011-05-19T16:26:00.000-07:002011-05-19T16:32:54.594-07:00The Dilemma of the QuestioningHe was young when the preachers came. About 14 or so years old. In almost no time at all they had the city riled up in such a state of religious and spiritual fervor that none could ignore. People could hardly speak of things others than faith and works and the judgment of God. In a flurry, people flocked to separate congregations to hear what they considered to be the true word of God.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>In this great religious meat market the clergy were the true fueling force. They cried to one and all to come and partake of the waters of life. Let each come and find faith in Jesus; which faith was of no consequence, just come.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Yet, as soon as people filed away from one congregation or the other, such brotherly invitations to Christ fell to contention and condemnation. Priest contended against priest, and convert against convert. In the blink of an eye the Christians didn't seem so christian anymore. Words became weapons, and scripture became deadly.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It was in the midst of this war of words and contest of opinions that he found himself, a young boy so unaware of the ways of the world, seeking to find faith. The tide of religious excitement took him along in its current, and young as he was he couldn't help but feel the same deep and pressing desire to unite himself to God and be one of His people. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But which congregation was God's, he didn't know. And all the people in town disagreed. Even his family was divided on the issue, maintaining a peaceful truce between the converts and those who kept themselves apart from it all. </div><div><br />
</div><div>He went to the revival meetings as often as he could. He would sit and listen, eyes and ears ablaze as the latest sermon on the way and will of God was trumpeted forth with great charisma and enthusiasm. The words of the preacher would strike a fire of excitement in his heart, and he would think, "yes, this has to be the one." Though as soon as he left that congregation and joined another, that certainty was fading and being replaced by different orchestra of "be thou"s and "thou shalt"s and "thus saith the Lord"s. As that sermon rolled forth he would feel the excitement again, and feel the logic of it, and think "oh, yes! This one, this has to be it."</div><div><br />
</div><div>But, alas, the fervor never lasted. For as soon as another sect began debating the points of the first or the second, the logic, the reasoning, and the scripture would all be lost in a massive heap of rubble. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Often he spent his evenings walking the dusty roads pondering the words and ideas of the latest meeting. What they said made so much sense. But so had what the last preacher said. And his sermon contradicted the first. How could they all make so much sense, yet refute each other so completely?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Sometimes, the weight of it would get so heavy that it was all he could do to not cry out in frustration. In moments of fleeting sleep he would stare at the stars and wonder: "what am I to do? Who out of all these is right? If any of them are right, which is it? And how can I know?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>But the even the answer to this question eluded him, and he would eventually fall into an uneasy sleep in the early hours of the morning. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And so time went on. Preachers preached, converts testified, and the fire of faith seemed to have claimed almost everyone to a congregation. But no matter how many times the boy visited a congregation, he never found any more clarity than he had before. He was going in circles. And even though he felt more partial to some sects over the others, never could he bring himself to throw himself into the waters of baptism and relentless loyalty. </div><div><br />
</div><div>He listened. And he pondered. And he listened again. He read the Bible, trying to find the answers the preachers weren't giving him, but couldn't find any solidity. However, he did not relent in his search. He couldn't. There was too much at stake.</div><div><br />
</div><div>One evening, while searching the Bible for answers, he fell upon a verse. "If any of you lack wisdom," he read, "let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not, and it shall be given him." His blood seemed to burn as he read those words, slamming his heart against his ribcage. Every fiber of his being shook. If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.</div><div><br />
</div><div>He couldn't shake those words from his mind. Through the following days they echoed inside of him, bouncing off of every question he asked himself. <i>If any of you lack wisdom. </i>They seemed to whisper in his ear as he listened to the clergy declare their fiery sermons. <i>Let him ask of God. </i>They pulsed with every beat of his heart as he heard converts testify and contradict and argue with one another. <i>And it shall be given him.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div><i></i>He needed to know. He had to know. And from the word of God itself told him to ask God. Don't ask the preacher. Don't ask the converts. Don't ask religious scholars, or miracle workers, or even the Bible itself. <i>If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>The words burned within his chest day in and day out, urging him on. They roused excitement within him, not like the preachers with their emotional intonations, but a deeper excitement, as if his very bones were shaking. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But part of him also hid itself from those words. He couldn't ask. What if God didn't answer? What then? He'd be right back where he started. And even worse, what if he did? What if God gave him an answer, and it wasn't what he expected, what if it was the opposite of what he wanted? Could he handle receiving such an answer? Would he be strong enough? Or would it simply crush him?</div><div><br />
</div><div>These two halves battled it out within him, and all the while he continued to listen, to read, and to ponder, hoping something would sway the fight one way or the other. </div><div><br />
</div><div>He was in bed one night, feeling the same familiar tension in his stomach as the two sides debated in his head. He tried to shut up the noise and fall asleep, but the battle was beyond him now. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Finally, he let go, and just listened to the sound of the silence. The tension fell somewhat, though the root was still there in his stomach. He turned and looked out the window in resignation. He couldn't handle the conflict anymore. The indecision was just too much. He looked past the road and toward the woods on the other side of their property. That's where he had decided to go to ask, if he did go. The space between the trees was dark as pitch, despite the bright moonlight pouring across the nearby fields. The contrast was so sharp. All one would have to do to be able to move out of the darkness was take a step. Just one step. And suddenly, everything would be bathed in light. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That same choice was his.</div><div><br />
</div><div>He didn't sleep much. The battle tried to reignite itself throughout the night, but he knew what he had to do. When the first shreds of twilight broke over the fields, he got up and got dressed. In the deep silence he slipped outside, stopping by the barrel on the side of the house to splash water across his face. Then he turned, faced the woods across the road, and walked.</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>When the light finally faded from his eyes, he blinked, trying to focus. He was on his back, and morning light was pouring through the trees from the east. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling every inch of his body relax. The tension was gone. The battle was gone. The words and arguments and the questions were gone. Well, maybe not all the questions. But they didn't eat at him the way they had before. </div><div><br />
</div><div>He listened, this time hearing the silence on a whole new level. It seemed to come from within him. It was the sound of perfect reconciliation. It was calm. Every inhibition had fled. Every doubt was gone. He knew. Wellness and euphoria filled his chest. And for the first time in a long time, he laughed, simply, because it felt good.</div><div><br />
</div>Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398678197354334982.post-60194962589276432862011-05-16T22:59:00.000-07:002011-05-16T22:59:56.179-07:00Black Notebook #3This one needed its own.<br />
<br />
5.<br />
What more do you want from me?!<br />
What more can I give?<br />
I stand on the shore and scream<br />
at your endless expanse.<br />
You rock back and forth on the sand,<br />
innocence denying inner greed.<br />
You lie to everyone.<br />
Your mellow show makes me the villain.<br />
How can I not comply,<br />
seeing you ask so little?<br />
You simply want a shore to dance on.<br />
Is that so much?<br />
<br />
But others don't see,<br />
see the lust with which you storm my door.<br />
When eyes are turned,<br />
when day has fallen,<br />
you attack me,<br />
demand of me,<br />
command to me,<br />
strip me of all but a saline aftertaste.<br />
<br />
Billowing waves have stolen<br />
my home,<br />
my childhood,<br />
my pride.<br />
Your hurricane fury has even struck my<br />
health and heart,<br />
leaving me broken in flesh,<br />
and failing in faith.<br />
<br />
By day I try to hide my shattered form,<br />
covering my worn and torn visage.<br />
Few who could see me as I am<br />
would offer me unselfish mercy.<br />
Thus even in your passive slumber<br />
you take from me.<br />
<br />
What else do you want?!<br />
What can satiate the hunger<br />
that everything else has failed to satisfy?<br />
What else,<br />
you miserable wretch?<br />
<br />
I will not concede.<br />
I will not stay broken.<br />
I will not be defeated.<br />
I will fight.<br />
I will destroy you.<br />
And one day the rage that fuels you<br />
will dry the ocean from your bones.<br />
And I will stand on the rocks<br />
and laugh.Tyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04181605297903037116noreply@blogger.com0