Pride

It's that time of year again!
Colorful flags hang from street signs.
People in bright outfits are everywhere,
some in furry, high-heeled boots,
others in speedos and fuzzy, white angel wings.
Everywhere you look you see some outrageous something
sure to boggle your mind and wow your senses.

No, I'm not talking about the circus.
I'm talking about PRIDE! 


I have mixed feelings about Pride.
On the one hand I LOVE celebrations.
I love getting excited and being proud about who I am.
I love being surrounded by community,
by people I have never met but with whom I have something in common.
I love mingling and making new friends
and basking in the contagious energy of it all.
I love being in a place where I don't have to worry about being gay
where I know I will be accepted and loved.
I love expressing myself.
And where better to do that than at Pride?
Where better to let your colors shine??

On the flip side, Pride kind of embarrasses me.
I don't feel like is does a super job of representing the gay community.
It's not something I would take my family to.
Sure I want them to support me and to love that part of me
and to be involved in my life.
But exposing them to the outrageous, extreme things that happen at Pride??
No thank you.
That would not help me bridge the family gap AT ALL.
We get pinned for being "sinners" and "unnatural" and "perverts"
and then we walk around the streets of our cities dressed like this:

or this...

or this...

or this...

Unnatural?  I don't see anything unnatural.  Do you???

Can't we tone it down a little and let the world know

that we are just PEOPLE?

We have jobs and drive cars and eat food and poop and breath oxygen

just like everybody else!

But then I remember.
This isn't our everyday.
Most people at pride are in jeans and t-shirts anyway.
We don't dress up and party like this any more than other people.
Saying that all gay people are always this extreme and in-your-face is like saying that all people who attend the 4th of July parade ALWAYS wear red, white, and blue, walk around in large groups blowing horns and throwing candy at small children, and hold strings attached to giant, floating balloons made to look like their favorite cartoon characters.
That's just silly.

Though I may not totally agree with all that happens at Pride,
it's a celebration!
Celebrating who we are and being able to accept and love ourselves
is worth a party if you ask me.


What do you guys think about Pride?
Love it?
Hate it?
Would you change something about it if you could??

Dupree Hits Me. Yes, This Is A Cry For Help

One thing needs to be set straight, and it’s not me. Yes, I’m gay. Yes, I’m going to BYU. But the only thing that needs to be set straight is the fact that Dupree does hit me. Not that I don’t deserve it mind you. I do deserve it. But still…

Anyways, I’m a gay BYU student who is afraid to stand out in the crowd. My job is to work with 5-6 year old kids and, well, have fun! Want to talk about the ideal job? I get paid to work with first grade kids all day! And as such, I get to see several things about Mormon kids that may dispel some myths. First, one of the activities that I get to do with my kids (I usually get groups of 15 or so) is making flags. I would have thought the most common things that my kids would draw would be the American Flag. Nope. It’s a rainbow.

Obviously, the kids don’t get the symbolism for the rainbow. They take their flags and wave them everywhere, not thinking about anything else. So… what does this mean? KIDS HAVE TO BE TAUGHT TO HATE THE RAINBOW. They aren’t born hating it, even if they are Mormons.

What is BYU’s biggest problem with gay people? It seems to me that we act like dirty stained glass windows at BYU. Yet, unlike stained glass window’s, we can’t be cleaned. We are a little more permanent. So is that the problem? BYU can’t stand that they can’t change something? Irony, since BYU’s biggest problem seems to be their inability to change…

Now, I’ve been very lucky to have all the roommates at BYU I’ve had thus far. One guy was Georgian (accent and everything) one guy was British (yes, he was VERY popular with the ladies) and even a roommate who’s twin I dated. So yes, very lucky. But now I have a roommate that I have a hard time respecting. We get along great. We both play similar board games (even if I always win) and just have a lot of enjoyable “bro time.” (DO NOT judge me for using the word bro. It was the best way to phrase it.) But, on the first day that we met, he told me his goal was to get married within a year. Given, he had just come off his mission, but still, he was a freshman and THAT was his only goal. I can’t stand people who are THAT desperate to get married.

However, even with my roommate’s desperation to get married, the one thing I have the biggest problem with is that he PROFESSES how much he can’t stand gay people. I’ve never been put in this situation. He doesn’t know I’m gay, thus we get along great. So, what would he do if I told him? Is our relationship fake? More importantly, should I tolerate living with him for another year, or, just as worse, another month? Should I tolerate that type of environment? Hmmm… Questions to be solved another day.

Side Note. I'm going by "Lee" for the blog.

Gay Toast

I saw/read/dreampt/hallucinated/séanced (I can never remember where I come up with these things. It’s entirely possible that I just invent them my very own self and am truly just that original and awesome, but I like to attribute them to external sources so as to maintain a façade of humility) this idea about why should the designation of gay marriage even exist because it’s just marriage, isn’t it? Like just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you have to throw that into everything you do, as in I ate gay elevensies (at four in the afternoon because that’s how I roll), took a gay nap, had another gay snack, and took a gay shower. It’s just not necessary. (Although I guess technically it might be with the marriage thing because the gay is pertinent information, relevant to the marriage relationship, but still, the idea is kind of funny. I personally rather enjoy the idea of preceding everything with the word gay. Just think how much easier it would be to augment word counts when writing essays.)

So then I was thinking. Because, you know, I like to think. I’m an excellent thinker. In fact, in a previous life I got a pretty tight statue made of myself thinking because that’s just how good I am at it. Actually that might have been Patrick Warburton, but the truth is like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie pop—there’s no way for the world to ever be sure—so I’m claiming it because no one can refute it. Anyway, thinking. The way I figure it, the more I think, the more brain cells I power through, the more snacks I can justify eating. It’s all about the snacks. So thoughts: Being gay (because again, I sometimes think gay to encompass all the letters in LGBT) is only one part of who I am, and as much as I love gay snacks, that’s not always snackily relevant to what I’m snacking on or to the millions of fans I later Twitter to about what I have gaily snacked on. Sometimes gay doesn’t matter because it doesn’t come into play when I’m schooling you at bumper bowling or when I’m hammering the puzzle pieces together because they’re being stubborn and not lining up quite right even though I know they’re meant to fit together or when I’m designing a secret plan for secret entry into Area 51 (it’s going to be big).

My point is, gay being only one facet of all the things that make me who I am, I feel that I have a very legitimate justification* for not telling people because maybe it’s none of their business and not medically relevant. Unless we get into a situation when they need blood and I’m the only one on the planet who is a match and thus the only available possible donor. Then I might tell them so they could make an informed decision as to whether they’d rather die or have my gay blood coursing through their veins.

That being said, now that I’m done typing on my gay computer I’m probably going go eat a gay sandwich. I’d go gay fishing, but I just don’t have that kind of time.

*Also because I’m a coward and terrified to bring it up. But this way I can get around it. A little bit. For at least a little while.

Are There Angels Among Us?

A lot has happened to me over the last couple of weeks.  In fact, my entire life has turned completely upside down.  I’m angry and frustrated and sad almost all the time.  Frankly, these feelings aren’t new to me but it’s almost like there is salt constantly being rubbed in very deep, very open wounds.

I don’t like it. 

 

In fact, it seems like there is much going on in the world around me I don’t like.  There are mean, nasty people everywhere I turn.  There is extreme poverty the world round and it only seems as though the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. Spouses are unfaithful, childhood innocence is being ripped away from today’s youth at an alarming rate, and there seems to be an endless supply of distrust and pain around every corner and in every home.

Honestly, we aren’t completely immune from these issues; no one is.  If we aren’t directly affected by these issues, there is someone in our lives who is dealing with these concerns first hand.  It sucks.

 

So then, what do we do about it? If you have an answer, please let me know because I have truly tried to sort through this conundrum for quite some time.

Part of my personal angst is that I’m preparing to enter my final semester of my MBA program and I’m a cashier. Okay, I’m a cashier one to two nights a week, the rest of the time I work at our corporate offices or I’m managing the store. But still, I am a college-educated, 27-year-old cashier. 

 

Often when I'm in my register, I can feel the condescending, judgmental looks of the people I am checking out.  It hurts. I’ve always had a complex and worried about what everyone thinks about me. So, when I’m at work and treated like I’m below someone it really bothers me. Like, a lot. 

Occasionally, if the store gets slow and I’m left to my own thoughts, I can find myself in a really lonely, depressing place and it isn’t good.

Saturday was one of those times. 

It was raining out, the customers in my store were all miserable and didn’t care who felt their wrath. On top of that, the wind had really whipped up the pollen in the air and allergy sufferers throughout the supermarket (me included) were constantly rubbing their noses and eyes. Everyone was miserable - or so I thought. 

I was truly getting down and depressed and I didn’t see any possible way of changing my mood. That was until an older gentleman came up to my check stand with a big, warm smile and a giant armful of beautiful flowers. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was my own personal angel sent to pull me out of a potentially dangerous situation.

“Good morning, sir, were you able to find everything okay today?” I asked.

“I most certainly did, young man, thank you for asking,” was his kind reply.

“Wonderful!” I said. “How are you today?”

Then he said something that really stopped me in my tracks.  Like, literally, I stopped what I was doing and looked at him to see if he was serious.  He was.

“I’m so good, son,” he said. “If I was any happier, I’d need to be split in half.  I am happy enough for two people.”

And so the exchange briefly continued.  His genuine happiness and generous smile were both infectious and I am so grateful I met him this weekend.  It’s almost as though he effervesced goodness and happiness.  I was jealous. Well, maybe not jealous but I was definitely envious.  I wanted to be that happy and warm and kind and generous and… and… and….

So this is my goal.  I am going to strive to be good, and happy, and warm, and kind, and generous, and ___________ (fill in the blank).

I’m not sure how, just yet, but I will be better. I have to be; I need to be – I can’t live with the burden of this much pain forever.

So, here’s to change. Here’s to us and to our happiness!

Both Sides Now

Hi bloggers.
So, it's been decided that I will be around for a while now.
Back as a regular Sunday blogger.

Since I've graduated from BYU I'm now free to think and say what I want, so I've made a few more videos on my channel "Both Sides Now: Mormon and Lesbian"


First of all: I GRADUATED FROM BYU!!!!!





Second: No Longer Mormon





Third (because I know you wanted the next one since I mentioned it in the last one):
Losing My Religion--Stages of Grief




I encourage you all to actually watch these on YouTube and to post comments (because I would feel so validated to have comments--encouraging or otherwise). Also, stay tuned for more vids to come. You'll definitely want to see the ones that happen in July :)

~live your own truth~

50 Followers!!! and LGBTS Flash Fiction

Hello Everyone! We now have Fifty Followers. 50!!
We also have 38,421 page views. That's a lot.

I just thought this might be a nice time to celebrate.

I've also had someone submit a few flash fiction pieces to me and it got me thinking about how cool it would be to have a few LGBTS fiction pieces on here.

So, if you like to write fiction and you like to do it in a flash--send in your pieces. Flash fiction is supposed to be short. Concise. Clean. The word-count limit is 75-100 words. Leave out the "to be" verbs, the adverbs, and the excessive adjectives. Get your creative mind cranking!

Send your submissions to tiffanydemings@gmail.com

~live your own truth~

Keep Calm And Kiss A Girl

I would have given up my eternity if it meant I could have just one lifetime with you.

I wish I could somehow make people understand how I feel right now. But that’s selfish. I don’t want people to feel like this. I don’t want to feel like this. But anyway it makes writing a bitch. How can I write when I can’t even think? Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I need to write to get out what is inside of me, clogging up my soul, somehow making me heavy and empty at the same time.

How does one explain that feeling? Being weighed down and empty at the same time? How does my mind fucking do that? I guess I should give it props for being able to play tricks like that. My mind is spinning.

So you might be wondering what the quote has anything to do with anything. I thought of it when I was younger. I thought I was pretty profound back then. I was dealing with joining the Church and being in love with a girl. I guess we know which one I would have chosen. But that’s not an option, I guess it never was. But I still love her, and I guess I always will. And that has my mind spinning.

I hooked up with a boy. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it. I wanted to curl up on my bed and be alone. All day long that’s all I’ve wanted. I wonder when I’m going to start to want company again. But not right now. Right now I just need to figure out what the fuck I thought I was doing and what this means to my sexuality. I think I might just be straight up lesbian. And that has my mind spinning.

I miss a lot of people. Want to call them up, even when I know it’s impossible. I want to go home even though I don’t have one. I want to run away but I don’t have anywhere to go. And that has my mind spinning.

I need a pause. I just need a minute to get my head straight. I need to realize that people are dying and starving and my mediocre problems are nothing. I need to love myself more, even if that seems impossible right now. I need to be alone. But I also need a hug. Someone to hold my hand and tell me I’m not a fuck up. I need to need to not be alone. I need to figure out a lot of shit and then maybe my head will stop spinning.

Blown Away- Carrie Underwood

"Some people called it taking shelter

She called it sweet revenge

Shatter every window till it’s all blown away,

Every brick, every board, every slamming door flown away

Till there’s nothing left standing,

Nothing left to yesterday

Every tear-soaked whiskey memory blown away,

Blown away"

You First

You are the most important person in the world.*
Yes, you.
You don't need anyone else's approval or consent to be who you are.
You are amazing
Right now.
You don't need to wait for the job
or the relationship
or the location.
You are perfect
just
as
you
are.

You best know your answers.
You are the master on you.
Nobody else has authority to tell you what you need
or how you should be living or loving
or what you should be doing
or thinking
or believing.
You are the only you there is
And you know what you need.

Sometimes it's hard to tell
with all the voices
and opinions
and emotions
flying around...
But it's okay.
It's okay not to know.
There is beauty in not knowing.
There is so much to be discovered
in the questions that you ask.

They may not approve.
They may scoff and laugh and get angry.
They may call you selfish
Blind
Cowardly
But follow your heart anyway.
Live for you
and nobody else.
Because it is in learning to love you for you
in seeing that you are beautiful
and in falling into deep, passionate love with yourself
that you are more able to love everything
and everyone else.
But you first.

You first.




"I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."
                        - Rainer Maria Rilke




* Thank you, B1, for reminding me.  I sure love you.

May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor

Ha! I just mixed my book references! By which I mean I’m going to, and then I will have.

So. The thing that has been sitting in my brain for the past as-long-as-it’s-been-there is breaking some important news to my mom. At first the Important Thing I was considering divulging was that if you drink enough purple Kool-Aid—like seriously massive quantities, as in to-be-measured-in-liters-rather-than-thimblefulls immense—your urine will turn green. And, conveniently, given the insane amount of liquid you’ve just consumed, there will be a lot of it. And it will be very, very green. Unless of course you opt for the highly-concentrated option and eat the powder mix directly with a spoon like brown sugar (People do that right? Eat straight brown sugar out of the cute little brown-sugar-holder that goes in between the flour tub and the salt tub? A very sanitary practice, don’t you agree?), in which case you will have very little urine to excrete, but what you do have will be even more vibrantly green. It’s a trade-off, so each person just has to use their own discretion.

But no, I decided that this Thing would never do for telling. My second option was more with the lending-itself-to-being-dramatic, but not so much with the being hyphenatable—which is a very important quality to me, even in spoken speech wherein the hyphenation is not immediately obvious, especially to an illiterate housesmith such as my mother—and so I dismissed it offhand.

At this point I was scrambling for a suitably important Important Thing, and starting to panic a little bit that I might not be able to conjure something adequate in time. But then it hit me: Duh, Bailey, you’ve got issues; go with that.

So then I had a secret all picked out; my attention shifted to delivery.

Here’s what I came up with.

Step one: Apply generous amounts of Harry Potter. Or just page 187 of Book the Third (“third” being a word that used to be “thrid” but has since evolved through the process of metathasis—you don’t need to know this for the test at the end of this post*, but it will be important for Life Knowledge, at some point). If you have memorized this page, you may proceed to my outlining of step two. If you have not, or if you would like a refresher, you may go to the library and check out their copy of the book, hope that no one has stolen page 187, and read it yourself. Hopefully you are not illiterate as is my mother. If this is the case, get someone to check out the book for you, have them read the passage, and then ask them to draw you a picture to illustrate.

Step two: Interpret said reference as follows:

Harry asks Lupin why the dementors affect him so, to which Lupin replies “It has nothing to do with weakness….The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have” (HP3, 187). Interpretation: “Look, Mom, I have this weakness for girls. Well, I mean, it’s not really a weakness  per se, because that’s just silly. It’s more of a strength, I would say, like being paralyzed in the face of hooded essence-of-fear. You know? And if you think about it, it’s not even really my fault. Actually it is: I must have been very unrighteous in the premortal life and this is my punishment. You may think it’s harsh but this is what I deserve after all that sitting in the back of God-class sniggering with my delinquent friends and eating peanuts extra loudly to disrupt the more diligent angels. Not everyone did that, so not everyone is gay. Which is probably a good thing because otherwise how would the species survive? So, are you all clear on where gay** babies come from? Good. Moving one then.”

Lupin says “Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them….Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself…soulless and evil. You’re left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life” then tells Harry that he has nothing to be ashamed of (HP3, 187… Honestly, have you not gotten the picture by now?! It’s on page 187! Sheesh). Interpretation: “So Mom. Let me give you some more details on this whole gay thing. First of all, we’re basically not even human. I’d call us curs or something, but that would be an insult to the curs of the world. I would also call us dementors, but that is too cliché and so overdone; honestly, not original at all. We go where no one else will go, like into fox holes underground. They’re kind of small so usually a pretty tight fit, but hey, someone’s got to do it. Being all crammed in there, we actually end up displacing the peace and hope and happiness and goodness. As well as the baby foxes, which is truly a shame. When we’re not in fox holes, we sometimes like to mingle with the real people, but they don’t usually like that very much because we steal away the sanctity of their marriage*** and such, selfish jerks that we are. Sometimes we also steal babies, but I don’t see how that’s relevant so I’m not even going to bring it up. The other main result of our existence is Corrupting the Youth. Seriously, I’m considering having my name legally changed to Socrates, what with all this youth-corrupting going all. Actually I’d like to start a campaign to get everyone to do that; it’ll be like a world-wide George Foreman phenomenon. I’m very excited. Think of all the children we could turn gay! Soulless and Evil, that can be our motto; I’d like a flag of it, at least, and preferably T-shirts. Or maybe tattered black ethereal robes. Then people will have a mental image to pair with the worst experience of their lives if they’re ever unlucky enough to cross paths with one of us.”

Lupin tells Harry that “The fortress [Azkaban] is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks” (Were you not listening at the last citation! It’s page one eighty-sev—oh, actually this one is on 188. My apologies). Interpretation: “Um, I’m not sure how this is applicable. But it’s a powerful image, don’t you think? Yeah….”

Step three: Dismiss offhand any confusion as to how gay people can be both innocent young Harry and the demented dementors. The metaphor is sound. Trust me. If you don’t understand it, you’re thinking too hard. Or not enough. If t his is the case, go read Goldilocks to get your bearings and reset your level of thinking to just right, then get back to me.

Step four: Repeat as often as necessary. It’s a complicated analogy, so just keep explaining it until it makes sense or everyone’s brains melt.

And voila! Important news broken; check. Bam! Be impressed.

*There is no test at the end of this post. There is also no monster at the end of this book. Oops, I’m going to insert a retroactive spoiler alert here. And also point out that this is yet another book reference; I’m pretty proud of myself for getting in four separate ones in one post.

**In my head I use the term gay to generally encompass LGBT stuff.

***Okay, I didn’t have another asterisk-worthy comment; I just wanted to see if you would scroll down to the end a third time. Sucker.

19 Months and 97 lbs.

I’m a big guy.  I haven’t been small since I was in elementary school and even then I was still pretty tall for my age.  As I got older, I also got bigger.  And bigger. Then I got a “grown up” job at a desk all day and I got even bigger.

Last summer I went to visit some family in Northern California and I weighed myself for the first time in several months.  I was shocked and ashamed.  I didn’t know scales went over 300 lbs and I came in at 312.5 lbs. which meant, since starting my big-boy job five or six months earlier, I gained an additional 40 lbs.  Excuse me! What the hell was my problem? I was already too big when I was hired and, somehow, I managed to pack on an extra four bags of potatoes.

At the time I started an immediate quest to lose weight and I was somewhat successful.  Over the next six months I lost 25 lbs.  I was feeling pretty good about myself and I was comfortable with my rate of weight loss.  Then the holidays arrived and I fell off the bandwagon and gained back eight of those pounds. Determined to make up for the setback of the holidays, I joined Weight Watchers and lost a mere six pounds.

Now my life is in such an awkward place that I can’t seem to find the motivation to eat properly, exercise, or even get enough sleep.

Turns out my body is in a rut.  I’m in an even bigger rut and, as as much as I piss and moan about how much I HATE being fat, I don’t do anything to change it anymore.
 
Today marks the day I embark on the next year and a half of my life, here’s to losing 97 lbs.


Today’s Weight:      292 lbs
Goal Weight:          195 lbs
Current Loss:         0 lbs
Total Loss:              20 lbs

Filling in

Hi.

Remember me?



















It's been a while. A long while.

Most beautiful soul <3

So, here's the story:
Almost a year ago (in a couple months) I met the most beautiful soul.
I fell in love.
We hung out a little.
Turns out she kinda fell in love back...
We hung out more.
We went on an amazing trip.
We held hands.
We cried.
We kissed.
We laughed and played and liked each other at the same time.
Meanwhile...
I had a crappy roommate who liked to "spoon" with her boyfriend on our couch  at 4 am.
I approached said roommate and her crappy boyfriend.
Then I got a number of calls from my bishop.
At first he was like: hey come in for tithing settlement.
He left messages.
Sent  me texts.
Had his little minions call me.
Then out of nowhere he says, if you don't contact me back then I'm taking your endorsement away.
WHAT?
I call him.
He says some people said shit about me.
I said, I don't know what your'e talking about. Nobody knows shit about me.
I didn't finish my classes that I was supposed to finish.
I told the bishop I would not meet with him to work things out.
My dad died.
I applied to a couple other colleges in case BYU decided to kick me out over the shit someone made up.
Got accepted to a couple colleges.
Enrolled in another college.
Went to class at another college for a day.
Dropped all my classes.
Went back to the bishop.
Met with the DEAN OF STUDENTS!
And jumped through some hoops and finally finished my classes!! at byu.
Long story short, I graduated from the Lord's University.
Just now.
Like in April.
Except I just got my diploma a couple weeks ago.
It's official.
I put it on the fridge and everything!
So, now I'm back out of the closet.

Or maybe I'm out of the rock crevice?...)

And here to tell you that I'm absolutely in love with Jo.
The most beautiful soul.
My best friend.
My adventure buddy.
My lover girl.

oh yeah and Ry is on hiatus right now. She may or may not be back. I guess we'll have to wait and see. 

I just thought I'd fill in a few of the gaps :)

Aren't we so cute?!

~live your own truth~

When You Don't Give A Damn Make A Dam!

So I had a lot of options of things I could have talked about this week. I could have discussed Mother’s day or the anniversary of my grandmother’s murder or how I’m still so indecisive about what I’ll be doing next fall  or how I’m trying to build up confidence or finally write that piece as to why I go by Dupree and not Sarah…

Basically I have a lot of ideas. But I don’t really the emotional capacity to write about any of them. I don’t know what has been wrong with me lately. I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to talk to friends. Curling up in bed with a book is the only thing that sounds good and even that is a last resort. So because I just don’t give a damn at the moment I thought I would post my summer bucket list. I made it the other day when I was trying to get out of my funk. Didn’t help much but it was interesting.

Summer 2012 Bucket List (In no particular order)

Get a tan

Go on 5 dates (be asked for at least 3)

Allow myself to receive help

Raft down Provo River

Climb Timp?

Decide what I want to do next fall

Become dining hall coordinator

Go to Nickel Arcade

Sing more

Go to at least 5 concerts

Read at least one intellectual book to counteract all my YA novels

Be honest

Hold someone’s hand

Tell HER how I feel

Get over people

Learn to let go of the pain

Refill my Prozac and cut down on the anxiety/ learn how to relax

Paint

Be kissed

Write my grandfather and missionary

DANCE like no one is watching

Draw out the tattoo I’ve wanted since childhood

Learn to trust people but not blab about every inconsequential detail

Be more social

Become comfortable with my body

Love myself enough to stop wanting to hurt myself

Love the new “Bob”

Tell my secrets to Mom

Stop waiting for Mat to show up and apologize

Treasure the happy moments

Take pictures

Feel sexy as much as possible

Do the ropes course for real

Moonlight ski rides at Sundance

Longboard down the canyon

Visit Timp caves

80’s & 90’s night

Don’t be so quick to judge

Stop skipping meals, just eat healthier

Fix Rici, show her some love

Be comfortable as a misfit but don’t disrespect your bosses

Walk in the PRIDE parade

Have an open mind at mandatory church

Create a budget

Dance in a lightening/rain storm

Watch Modern Family

Laugh at myself

Lay in the hammock with someone

See a show at the SCERA

….

And I reserve the right to add more to it. I’ll let you guys know if I happen to cross any off.

Love you guys!

Song of the Week

Shake It Out – Glee cover (Florence + The Machine)

I’ve been listening to this on repeat. It’s helped me calm down. I like it. I guess that’s all I have to say about that.

UPDATE!

The other night I had a jam session with some friends. We all just sang random stuff and then it was just a couple of us singing the Black Parade. So I think this applies to singing and being more social (and maybe being more comfortable with myself because I have a TERRIBLE singing voice :P ).

And the other day I was able to let a friend pay for my lunch. Receiving help!

Love you guys!

-Dupree

Classic

Oh hey there!  Yes I am still alive; I know you were all hoping I would just go away forever and slowly disappear but blam I am still here. Oh and I know it is thursday but hey surprise you get two posts today rather than just one a day; you're welcome ;)

So that picture above is a picture of my lovely and amazing parents. Oh I freaking adore them.   But this brings me to my next point; do you think it is possible to love someone but love a certain point of them more?  That probably didn't make sense but let me explain.  I love my dad but we don't exactly see eye to eye on all points and I feel like this wasn't always so.  There was a time when we got along much better and his habits and passions were so much better;  while I still love my father and always always will, I think I love that version of him, long forgotten, the most.

My father goes through really intense phases of obsessions.  For example he got into scout patch collection a few years back and was insane about it.  As in stay up late and search for patches on ebay kinda crazy; we now have 6 LARGE binders full of different scout badges.  Literally thousands.  Know what he does with them today?  Nothing.  They sit in a closet somewhere and gather dust.  This is the nature of my father.  Pick something new, obsess over it, move on and abandon it.

When we first moved into our new house he took a third car garage and turned it into an incredible woodworking shop.  I am not joking when I say he had it decked out; every tool you could imagine, organized walls with ever tool hanging exactly where it goes, it really was quite an incredible sight.  But there you have it.  That was his obsession at the time, so as the process goes, it is now disgustingly abandoned and full of junk.  My father made some of the most incredible things in that shop.  Beautiful furniture, not just nice standard stuff you would find at Ikea, my father was obsessed so he learned the craft.  It was such a good time not only for him but for the whole family.  His beautiful creations made our home a beautiful place to live and continues to do so today.  My mother loved the things he created as did all who came to the house and could see his beautiful handiwork.

That is the father that I feel I love the most and I miss that time. My father was a creator and got a sense of accomplishment out of his craft.  Now he has just moved on to destroying things.

His latest obsession is guns and off-roading.  While I don't mind either of this I have to say that I don't like the culture or people mostly associated, a.k.a. rednecks and white trash.  Don't get me wrong i love to go out and shoot targets and watch them explode, I am not passing judgement just simply making a statement.

So now my father is turning into pretty much a redneck.  He just talks car parts and keep buying guns.  Why in our family of 4 do we need 7 guns?  We don't.  When he gets bored he will literally set up targets on the hill behind our back fence and shoot them from his bedroom window.  We live in a suburban neighborhood as in our neighbors houses are less than 10 feet on either side of us and he is shooting gun our of our window.  Super trashy says I.  Then the other day a beautiful crow (my favorite bird and yes I realize they are a pest) lands on our back fence and my dad goes to shoot it.  WHY!?!??!?!?!  There is no point to shooting a crow ever unless you are in the birds and being attacked.  I stopped him and he was so grouchy about it.

See what I mean, my father in turning into a white trash old man who shoots birds from our back windows.  I am not white trash and will avoid it at all costs.  My mother is a very fine woman who dresses flawlessly and has amazing tastes from music to food.  Why can't my father go back to those days when he still was a classic example of a gentleman?

I still love my father and I can not express that enough but I miss the old him; I love an outdated version of my father, the classic model.

Have you ever felt this way before or am I being a monster?

I Believe In Magic

I don't really think much about marriage equality.  Probably because I don't care for marriage.  I don't need the label of "marriage" to show my love or level of commitment.  Maybe, after almost tying the knot myself, it's that I've realized marriage doesn't equal love.  Maybe, after watching my parent's nasty divorce, none of it seems worth anything.  Granted, it's not legal for me in most places anyway, so whatever.

I do think a lot about equality though.  It's something I have had on my mind quite a bit this week.  The primary emotion I feel while thinking about equality is sadness.  (And frustration.  With perhaps a little bit of anger.  But mostly sadness.)

I'm sad that it's even an issue.
I'm sad that I live in a world where people can't just love each other for who they are.
I'm sad that politics have gotten their way into everything, including my love life.
I'm sad that "god" is used as a weapon and that such horrendous mistreatment is done in his name.
I'm sad that I am considered flawed, evil, mentally imbalanced, imperfect, diseased, rebellious (....) simply for loving the way that feels natural; that feels right.
I'm sad that it's a "fight" for my rights, for basic, HUMAN rights.

I get really excited for the day when I won't have to worry about being sneered and hollered at by passersby when I am simply holding my lovergirl's hand in public (and yes, this happened a few weeks ago.)  I hate that when I think about places I want to live, my mind jumps to the topic of whether or not I will be safe there as a gay person (North Dakota is out.)  I can't wait for the time when kids don't have to be afraid to come out to their families, when there won't be so many gay suicides, when love will be love will be love.

I believe in miracles.  And I believe that someday none of this will be an issue.

Someday.

El Diablo

What I’m thinking right now: AHHHHHHHHHHH!

True story. It’s what I’ve been thinking for the past three days straight. It’s been a very intelligent and insightful week, as you can tell. Obviously.

So now you’re wondering what has caused me to have such deep ruminations. (I can read your mind, so I know these things. Get used to it.) Answer: The Devil, under the clever guise of my “innocent” neighborhood dentist. Okay, oral surgeon. Whatever. Either way, he’s the mortal enemy that the human race has been facing for the last six billion years. After the Evil Emperor Zurg, I mean. Duh. But that goes without saying.

Anyway. As I was enduring my twice-daily (and by twice-daily I mean twice-annually) penance for sin, that is, getting my teeth cleaned, I was thinking it wasn’t so bad as it used to be when I was a little. Mostly because now that I’m a bona fide responsible adult they don’t feel the need to gag me with fluoride anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the elements, but I really hate fluoride. Just don’t tell it so; I don’t want to give it some kind of complex or have to feel responsible for it having no self esteem or whatever.

So it was all going fine and dandy until they decided now is the time to juice me up, slice me open, and steal away my smarts. Which I keep in my wisdom teeth, naturally. I mean seriously, where else would you put them? Gotta go with the cliché. Apparently the time is ripe and I have no choice because if we don’t act now, the cyst will burst or become cancerous and infiltrate my sinuses or go all Columbine and take out the rest of the cells in my body. So it’s very pressing.

Which brings us to the present train of thinking: AHHHHHHH! Oops; I meant, AHHHHHHHHHHH! I’m terrified of this. Am I the only one that’s terrified of this? Probably. Why would you all be anxious about me being sadistically cut on? Unless you’re one of those freaky people who feels empathy for other people. Weird. While we’re on this pity bus though I should mention that they won’t knock me out either; just funny gas to make me calm, which I think is a ploy to sedate me so that they can then rob me blind and leave me all beat-up and bleeding on the side of the road outside their office. In any case, I’m thinking that the underlying message of this withholdal is that this meeting is a BYOD party and I’m supposed to arrive adequately drugged out so as to be able to handle it.

On other, less one-track (AHHHHHHHHHHH!) brain waves, festers the idea of that other fear. You know, the one where I tell people the truth about this secret I’ve got. That terrifies me very much as well. Probably more at an AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! level though; but it’s hard to judge precisely. I’ve been thinking about it more. Maybe if there was a deadline that I couldn’t get around, like with the appointment day for that stupid wisdom teeth thing. I of course cut that square out of my calendar, but somehow I don’t think that will prevent it from coming. But at least I tried. I’d have deeper thoughts on this subject, but they have been crowded out by the incessant AHHHHHHHHHHH!ing. Maybe if I could just find the volume knob to at least tone it down some….

On an unrelated note, and for your pleasure, I will share this fun fact that I just recently learned: Sometimes, if they’re feeling classy, blue wish-granting ethereal ones go by the name djinni. Or, if they’re really rebellious, even djinny. Crazy huh?

When a Church is More Important than Your Child

Photo by BingBing

I'm writing a book about growing up Mormon and gay.  Some of you may know this, many of you do not.  Below is the first draft of one of the chapters; it charts the first conversation I've had with my mother since coming out to her in a letter two weeks ago.

More than anything, this experience illustrates to me how much the LDS Church (and religion in general) holds families and their relationships hostage.  I cannot understand why so many members of the Church believe they have a monopoly on God's love. Furthermore, if you don't fit the Church's mold, you are unworthy of His affection and grace. I don't understand it and I refuse to believe it.

This post is not a plea for your affection or an attempt to fish for your compassion. It's not an attempt to condemn or vilify my mother, either.  It is simply a recollection of my personal experience and an attempted illustration of the damage that can happen when religious dogma supersedes a faith's foundation of love and charity.

Anyway, thank you for joining me in my journey - it is my goal to help ease others' burdens by sharing some of my pain and experiences.

--

 On Deaf Ears

“Where do you want to sit; we can talk at the table or here in the living room?”

“I don’t care, mom,” I replied. “Wherever you want is fine.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s just sit in here on the couches then.”

As we sat down we never broke eye contact.  We looked at each other, carefully sizing the other up, not knowing where to start. 

 

Several moments of the most awkward silence of my life followed.

Over the last two weeks I thought I had prepared myself for whatever argument my mother would throw at me.  In my mind, I had endured my trials with the patience of Job and I felt as though nothing she could say to me, no hurtful insult she could scream at me, would change how I felt or affect me or my resolve moving forward.

I was wrong.

The electric silence came to a halting stop as flood gates opened simultaneously for both of us.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she demanded through clenched teeth and tear-stained eyes.

“Because nobody in this family is bashful about how much they hate gay people,” I similarly responded.

“Yeah, that’s because I believe in the scriptures, Michael,” she replied. “I know how evil this path is and I know people, firsthand, who have chosen to live the homosexual lifestyle and it has destroyed them. If you choose this path, it will chew you up and spit you out.

“How could you do this to me?” she continued. “The first three days I couldn’t eat.  I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t even breathe.  I wake up every hour on the hour panicked that I’m going to lose you to this sinful path.  I’ve started having evil, satanic dreams.  I know the devil has a hold of you.  And in my dreams he is pulling you away from me. But I’ve got you and I am not going to let you do this.  You are a part of this celestial family and I will not let you do this to yourself or this family.”

I wished she had screamed at me.  I wished she’d hurled every British and American insult she could come up with.  I wish she’d said anything but what she did. I couldn’t respond; I didn’t know how to.

My lack of response seemed to fuel her momentum so she continued.

“How long have you been ‘dealing’ with this?”

“I don’t have an exact idea but at least since I was 11 or 12 and started going through puberty,” I meekly replied.

“Did anyone ever touch you?  Were you ever molested or sexually abused by anyone?” she demanded.

“No.”

“Did someone ever expose themselves to you or to anything else?”

“No, mom, not that I can remember,” I responded with an irritated edge to my voice.

“I think this happened when you were a sophomore in high school and saw those naked images of men on the Internet,” she replied.

(I had convinced my parents that an image search of “muscle men” that I neglected to delete off our computer’s Internet history was part of an assignment for my health and team sports class.  For better or worse, I guess, I’m a pretty good liar – especially when it comes to covering my butt and keeping myself out of trouble.)

Actively rolling my eyes and trying to share my dissatisfaction with the direction of the conversation, I said, “Please mom, give me a break.  That wasn’t the first time I’d seen a naked man or woman and it sure wasn’t the last time.  Beyond that, our society and culture is filled with sexuality and sexual imagery. Everywhere! And there’re way more heterosexual messages and images in the world around us than any type of gay propaganda.”

“Why didn’t you come to us sooner, so we could help you overcome this; get you the help you need” she pushed forward, undeterred.

“Mom, did you read my letter?” I shot back. “I have spent thousands on counseling and prescription medications to try and 'get help.'  I am who I am and I can’t be fixed or changed.  I’ve tried.”

“Well, was this at BYU?” she countered. “I read an article just last week in the Deseret News that those methods don’t work.  You said you were suicidal? That was why, I’m sure!”

“I was suicidal in high school.  I told you, I’ve been dealing with this since I was in seventh grade! Counseling at BYU was my final effort because nothing else worked up to that point.  I have done everything to try and change, mom.  Everything.”

“Well, we need to get you better help.  Someone who knows how to deal with this; we need to get you over to LDS Family Services.  I'll help pay for it,” she announced.  “Are you on antidepressants right now?  You need to be.  They will help you beat this.”

“No, they make things worse,” was all I could muster.

And then she went in for the kill.

“If I could take this from you, I would,” she said through choked sobs. “I would take away all of your pain, and sorrow, and temptation.  I would take whatever lies you’ve been told and I would take every unrighteous desire you had away, too.  I have prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him for this.  When I go in for my operation next month, I begged Him to let me die on the operating table if it meant you could be whole and our eternal family could be kept together forever and you could keep your covenants.”

I was dumbstruck.  My mother had just told me she had prayed to die on my behalf; to literally become my own personal savior. I just stared into her tear-streaked face as my own 15 years of raw, religious emotion came boiling to the brim.  I couldn’t respond, I told myself I needed to calm down before moving forward because I didn't know what would come out.

So, without my response, she continued.

“I didn’t get married until I was 27 but I can promise you that there were times I wondered if I was ever going to get married,” she said, believing she was making headroom with me. “If I hadn’t gotten married, I would NEVER have gone out and done ‘anything’ just because I was lonely.  The gospel is that important to me.”

Finally she said something that sparked me out of my silent stupor.

“That’s completely different, you can’t compare the two, mom,” I countered. “You would go through this life with the hope that maybe, someday, you would get married. You could hold onto the hope that you COULD get married.  You aren’t told by the church to live alone, single, and celibate for the rest of your life with no hope of companionship and love.”

“It is too the same thing, covenants are covenants,” she countered. “I have a friend who I’ve known for 30 years who deals with this issue. You don’t need to know who it is (I wonder who the hell that is, you only have one single, male, gay friend and he ran away to New York in the ‘90s and then a few years later to San Francisco to get away from his family and the church.  If he’s active in the church now, you can be sure as shit he sowed his ‘wild oats’ before settling back down in to his churchly routine [no, his name isn’t Mitch Mayne] I thought to myself.) but he’s found meaningful service in the church by doing genealogy and serving in the temple.  He’s accepted his cross and lives within the bounds of his covenants.

“If you never marry and just become the favorite uncle to your sisters’ kids, so be it.  At least I would know that you have stayed true to the gospel and the promises you have made in the House of the Lord. Now, I know you think members of the church can be mean…”

“No, mom, stop,” I demanded! “The members of the church are bad enough but you don’t understand the hell I’ve been through. I did everything the church demanded.  Every prayer I’ve uttered over the last 15 years was a desperate plea with God to fix me and take away this burden.  Every time I fasted, I held true to the hope that I would be cured of my unrighteous desires. Growing up, when these feelings didn’t go away but only got stronger, I researched everything and received promises from church leaders that if I only gave more of myself I would be strengthened and that this curse would be broken."

Tears freely flowing down my face; great, heaving sobs rocking my entire body I continued.

“I was president of every quorum.  I did sports and joined nearly every club and group in high school to prove I was worth something. I graduated at the top of my seminary class with a 4.0 and spoke at seminary graduation. I went on a mission and served faithfully.  I graduated from BYU and dated girls and even got engaged.  But for what? I would wake up in cold sweats, terrified that I was going to ruin everyone’s lives.  That if I did get married, I would destroy her hopes and dreams for happiness because I wasn’t worthy; it wouldn’t be fair to her.  I have lived my life terrified that I was going to destroy our family and disappoint you; that I would never be good enough for anyone.

“And then you add apostles who say horrid, hateful things.  Do you know what it’s like being told you are unnatural, that you should be cast out, that you are an ‘enemy to the family’ and that a loving heavenly father would never make one of his children, in his image, with these feelings.  No, you don’t, you don’t know what it’s like to give your life to a church and have it spit in your face and cast you out. To hear that they prefer child rapists and sex offenders in their fold over you, that somehow these monsters are better than you – more worthy. You don’t, you don’t know what it’s like to feel so abandoned.”

And that was it.  Every particle of strength and resolve I had was expended. I sat, hunched over, silent tears streaming down my face, literally bathing my hands in their warmth.

My mother finally came over to my couch and sat down next to me, placing her arm around me and continued her crusade for my soul.

“Oh baby, my sweet baby boy,” she cooed. “It’s okay, together we’ll beat this. We all have our trials in this life.  I don’t know what the rest of my life holds but I can promise you that we all have things we struggle with; we all have burdens to bear.  I have things, your dad has things he struggles with, which is why we’re not going to tell him.  It’s just how he was raised.  He couldn’t handle it.”

I sat silently staring at my hands unable to respond.  Everything I had said in my letter, everything I had said in this wretched conversation had fallen on deaf ears. Every word.

Perceiving my silence as a form of agreement, she continued with a hint of a smile in her voice.

“Everything makes sense, now, at least.  Your anger and frustration over the years, the acne and bad skin; and if that wasn’t bad enough, all the many other trials you’ve been given.  Of all my kids, you had to have the worst teeth, the bad eyesight, the blemishes and be the worst l… well, I mean, you’ve always had a hard time losing weight.  All these things add up, you know? They really drag down on your soul.”

Really, mom, on top of being the gay child, I was apparently the ugly one, too.  If the conversation wasn’t enough of an open wound, hearing your mother call you the “worst looking” of her kids while pointing out your many physical faults definitely was the proverbial “salt.”

Her final sting was the necessary nudge I needed to jump ship and abandon the situation.

I stood up to break my mother’s partial embrace as the doorbell rang.  Fortunately, for my sake, this was the interruption I needed to leave. I gathered my wits, straightened the pillows, and cordially acknowledged our visitor before taking my leave as graciously as possible.

Empty, broken, and lost, I got in my car and drove away.

--

In light of this week's events, I think it’s time to leave.  Maybe I'm running away.  Maybe it’s just a new adventure. Either way, if I am going to live my life authentically and for myself, I need to leave. At least for now, I  cannot do that in Utah.  It’s time to move on – hopefully this time next week I’ll have a definitive answer to where that will be - here's hoping, anyway. Wish me luck!



PS - If you haven't read enough, I have another post today at http://mcwilleyfactor.com that further illustrates my two worlds colliding and slowly merging into one.  It's all about one tiny step out of the closet at a time, right?

WTF Mate?

Ever been mind-fucked? You know when you believe something and then something changes and you’re just like WTF? O.o Yea… Mind fucked.

That’s happened a lot this week. So I wanted to tell you about all of them and maybe there will be a moral at the end.

Story One: I have this friend. Let’s call him Bob. Bob hated the Church. Bob was the only person I could relate to completely. I could tell him anything and never second guess if it was the right decision. He knew everything about me. So the other day I started to talk to him about being suicidal that night. Yes, I’m still dealing with my suicidal thoughts and that night got really bad. But I painted him some great imagery and he asked me what was wrong.

Conversation:

        Me: I’m different. I’m living with 19 good Mormons and 1 like me. I hate being gay right now.

        Him: You should talk to your bishop and pray. That’s what “true to the faith” says about homosexuality But as far as the other things go I have not answer. You can choose to follow God more closely, it’s hard but doable.

EXCUSE ME? Where is the Mormon basher I used to know? I don’t need another preacher telling me what to do. And I told him so. But I don’t want to talk to him now. He’s changed and he’s not the person I used to love. It is evil of me but it brings me to…

Story Two: I am starting to understand why my best friend became my EX best friend. I changed. I found myself and it wasn’t who I used to be when I met her. How can I blame her for not loving me after I changed? It still hurts but I’m starting to be able to let it go. Love her but maybe it’s for the best that we won’t be spending so much time together.

Story Three: Moving on from poor me :p BEST NEWS EVER! And I’m pretty sure the dude who made my day might read this so I hope he knows how happy he made me. Anyways… Someone wrote an article about me! Let me explain with back story and why this is a mind fuck (even if it is a good one).

I don’t really expect people to my blog posts. Maybe my fellow bloggers. And I do post a link to FB every week. I make it totally accessible. But I still don’t think anyone reads it.

But then I found out people did. And one dude even wrote a response to my posts. He wouldn’t let me read it but he thought it was awesome what I was doing. Someone was finally proud of me coming out.

It helped so much because I have felt so hated and different here. But things are getting better. Even as I sit and listen to people diss those who can’t follow the honor code I am still proud of who I am.

Well it actually works better this week and it is still stuck in my head. 

Somebody That I Used To Know- Gotye

And this song has just been through my head because I've been so stressed. So I need a minute. Just to get my head straight. 

I Need A Minute- Imagine Dragons

Crappy quality but I love it. And it is at the Velour. 

A New Challenge

Remember how last week I threw out into the universe my desire for more love, asking if there was anywhere I was withholding it??

Well, ask and ye shall receive, my friends.

I'm not one to hate people.  I don't think I've ever actually hated anyone.  And I don't really hold grudges either.  I don't like to hold on to stuff (physical or otherwise).  Ask anyone who's ever lived with me.

The funny thing is, right when I try to be more loving and giving, an opportunity presents itself.  A challenge, if you will.  For my job, I work as part of a team.  It is me and the same three other people day after day.  I spend more time with these people than with anyone else.  One of them is a new favorite friend.   Another is a silly woman who is always chipper and pleasant to be around.  The third is a classic drama addict.  Everything is DRAMA!  Something always has to be going wrong.  Someone is always saying something she disagrees with.  The government is out to get her.  So are the administrators at work.  And she's always bitching about something.  Of late, her bitching has started to include me.  I hear from other work friends that she has been saying this or that and criticizing such and such.  Mostly, I don't care.  She can criticize my working all she wants.  I'm still a damn fast and efficient worker.  I get my shit done.  She creates drama for the sake of drama, of having something to talk about.  But when she starts to criticize me personally, my inner lion rears up and I get defensive.  I don't want to sit with her a lunch.  I don't want to spend time in the break room with her.  I avoid interacting with her if I can.  I don't want to play her two-faced game.

But last night it occurred to me that that's all it is.  A game.  She needs to have drama and she will find it anywhere she can.  And my getting defensive and angry and pissed off is only going to hurt myself.  I hate being angry.  It's one of the worst feelings ever.  That's the thing about anger and hate.  They hurt the hater the most.  So I will let her carry her emotions.  And I will carry mine.  I'm going to confront her about some things tonight.  Communication fixes a lot of things and if I'm going to have to spend 8 hours a day with her I'd rather they be open and honest instead of cold and stuffy.  Besides, it's hard to dance around when you try to carry anger with you.  I'd much rather dance.

So my challenge is to learn to love someone who is attacking me.  Possible??  I guess we'll see.  But I'm up for the challenge.

I’m Not a Witch, I’m Your Wife.

I want to get married. That’s what I’ve decided. I mean, duh it would be freaking awesome to find someone that I loved that loved me back and with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life, but I think I want the technical designation of marital union as well.

Let me explain. I don’t care what it’s called, necessarily. Spouse, mate, buddy-friend, partner in crime; the name doesn’t hold a candle to the level of importance of the actual relationship. I like the idea of being officially linked together though because that means we’re stuck together, no just up and peacing out because something gets hard or someone gets frustrated (or frustrating). In my little mind, the level of commitment that comes with marriage is where it’s at.

This is what’s been in my head as of late. Now that I’ve come to terms with the notion that I can’t weasel my way out of having a future and all. Not that it will happen any time soon, but somewhere down the line.

First I’d have to have some heavy-duty conversations with some people. Namely my family. Which scares the crap out of me. So it’ll be a while yet.

And now, it’s time for a picture. Assuming I can figure out how to post one. But I figure it’s high time I learned, so hopefully it works. These guys are straight-up my favorite couple ever. I know everyone loves Ellen, but her sweet wife is one of my all-time heroes.

Coming In Before Coming Out

Well, I'm officially out to the person who I thought was the single most important person to tell in my life: my mother.

If you are following from last week, I wrote a letter to my parents and let them know where I stood on everything.  If you didn't read it, this post may make a bit more sense if you take a second to hop over here and look it over, first.

It didn't go well.  In fact, it went worse than my worst-case scenario.

In my letter I told my parents nearly everything. I told them about my suicide attempts, my time in therapy and on prescription meds, my attempts to be spiritually cleansed "by the laying on of hands," etc.  In short, I spelled out that even though I had tried EVERYTHING to change myself, I am still gay and I'm finally coming to terms with it. And, frankly, if God is out there, I believe He is okay with it, too.

The initial response I got from my mother was a terrifying voice mail telling me that she didn't believe me, that she knew I have "struggled with things in the past," and that she would never show or tell my dad about the letter because it would "destroy him" (three times). She then went on to tell me we needed to schedule a time to meet in the next week to two weeks when we could be alone to discuss my problem.


Now, I realize I have been trying to process this part of my life for more than 15 years and that it's incredibly hard on her and she will need time to process everything, but why the hell would anyone tell their suicidal son that he would destroy his father and family if they knew he was gay?

I would be lying if I said I didn't think about killing myself again this week; it was truly emotional overload and I didn't have the capacity to try and process everything so I shut down and started slowly addressing one issue and thought at a time. Fortunately I didn't try to overdose again and I am still here, alive and kicking.  The reason I didn't, honestly, brings me to the idea of coming in before coming out.

Coming out is a lengthy process and I am far from finished.  Coming in, however, started years ago.  I can't really pinpoint when I started to come into myself but I can remember sterling examples over the years that truly stick out; times when I began to see myself as a whole person.

Wonderful times when a friend would come out to me and I realized that I still loved him/her regardless of their orientation (shocking, I know).  Painful times when I would literally cry on God's doorstep, pleading for change, and then realizing that He wasn't going to change me and beginning to feel okay with that. And still, other beautiful times when I began to process who I was and then verbalizing it on this blog (sometimes I go back and read my older posts and I shocked at how much I've changed and embraced myself).

There are too many memories to share here but I have realized something: I am me and that is okay.  Regardless of what my mother or my father or my sisters or my neighbors or whoever thinks, I am me. And that has to be enough.

I know it's cliche' and I think it's on nearly every openly-gay-person-I-know's Facebook page but I want to conclude by sharing a quotation from Dr. Seuss:

"Be Who You Are and Say What You Feel Because Those Who Mind Don't Matter and Those Who Matter Don't Mind.”

 And the song "Listen" from one of my favorite movies, Dreamgirls. I love soul music and I love the message of this song so much.  I hope you do, too.

All my love,

MJ