This is the Way, Walk Ye in It

It'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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left."

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."

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.

Retrospection: Alex

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!

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.

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.

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!)

           

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.

“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.

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.

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. 

Retrospection: Cancer

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

Retrospection: Coming Home, the Inner Battle, and Diagnosis

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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

            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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

Retrospection: Mission

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.

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.

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.

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.

But any time I let myself stray I would pick it back up and keep going.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

Group Therapy and Good Friends

Last 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.

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.

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?

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.

The other guy got to speak first. He talked generally, not going into much detail, not coming out. But I needed to anyway.

"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."

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.

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.

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."

He brought the total up to four in the group. Half of the group was gay. We kind of chuckled at that.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

In spite of all the unknowns in my future, it is going to be such a good life.

Shame and Worthiness

Today 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.

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.

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...

Anyway, as I thought about coming out, in small ways or in general, I felt the familiar tinge of fear that usually accompanies it.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 hell  are you going to love somebody else? Can I get an amen in here?!"