Things Left Unsaid

I’ve been thinking a lot about my cousin’s death. She committed suicide last July. We were really close growing up but when I moved to Utah I just kind of put her (and the rest of my family and friends) in a box labeled Oregon and forgot about her. I remember the week she died I was thinking about calling her and I never did. I remember that way back when I was in high school I really wanted to talk to her about some boy drama I was having and I never did. And then when I was coming out I wanted to tell someone in my family and almost called her up but then remembered she was gone.

I don’t know why my cousin took her life. I think about her everyday and can’t wait for the chance to see her again and tell her I still love her even if I don’t understand. When my therapist asked me if I had suicidal thoughts last week I told her it didn’t matter either way, I couldn’t do that to my family. I couldn’t leave people behind questioning what went wrong. I don’t blame my cousin. Her life is her decision. But I wish she would have called me and I wish I would have called her.

I wish I wasn’t left here thinking I could have saved her if I only I would have picked up the phone.

I wish there weren’t so many things left unsaid.

Things Left Unsaid- Disciple

If I Die Young- The Band Perry

Leaping Into Clarity

Let me tell you a little story. 


A few weeks ago I quit my job, declaring December 30th (tomorrow) my last day.  I don't have a job lined up (with the exception of a few little odd jobs that will keep me afloat for a bit).  I have been putting off pulling the plug for a while, trying to find another job to jump to so that I could be sure I'd be ok financially, but I couldn't ever find anything.  It finally got to the point where there was no doubt in my mind that it was time.  Time to quit.  So I did!


I have had a plethora of different reactions from people.  A lot (and I mean a lot) of people are super stressed out for my sake, worrying and sweating about whether I'll be able to find a job.  I've received countless lectures from well-meaning friends and coworkers about how important it is to have a steady job to support your family and yourself and save for retirement and on and on.  I've been called ungrateful for not valuing my job or the "security" it offers.  A few of my friends have been really excited, knowing I've needed to make the change for a while.  And me?  The moment I put in my notice I felt peace and excitement (two emotions which are, for me, strangely similar in feeling).  I am so ridiculously at ease about it all.


Two years ago I might have had some of the reactions that my friends had, but I've learned by now that if I follow my heart/soul/spirit/whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-it, I always get what I want.  It always works.  Always.  And I am SO much happier when I do.  That doesn't mean I won't have to live in my car.  That doesn't mean I'll suddenly win the lottery and be able to pay off my bills and retire.  But the answers (along with the job, the money, the new acquaintance who has just what you need, the housing situation, the new ideas...) always come around in perfect time. 


So here I go, leaping into another void, just like Indiana Jones! Sometimes you don't find the next step until you've taken the leap.  Sometimes clarity doesn't arrive until you jump.  And if you've ever been bungee jumping you know that feeling you get in your stomach when you jump (that excited/nervous "holy shit I just jumped off a 50 foot tower!" feeling). 

I've always wanted to be Indiana Jones!



So here's to leaping.  To taking the jump before you see the net.  To the grand adventure of following your heart.  Really, REALLY following it, even when it makes no rational sense.  I'm excited to have more time for me.  More time for the mountains.  More time for writing and reading and being. 

Sigh.  I can't handle it.  Life is just so damn good.

I'm late I'm late I'm late

First:

Sorry for being late...again.

Second:
I decided to save the essay for next week, since things are going to be crazy for me (lots of applications and rearranging things back at my apartment.) I've been visiting with my boyfriend's family, and so I've been intermittently in and out of an internet connection. I may have to move back to Dallas in the summer because of a lack of money, but I'm not the only one who's broke in this crazy economy. I do have the reassurance that if I do, my boyfriend may be coming with me for an internship. It's not set, but... (crosses fingers)

Third:
I'm churning out applications as fast as I can, and working hard on my novel at the same time. Since the 16th of December, I've written 25,000 words for my novel. I have 14 manuscripts that are past that length, but I'm determined--whether the path takes me through hellfire or high water to get just one book done before Febuary is through. I'm tired of not having anything done. I don't want to go to graduate school until I've got at least one manuscript under my belt.

Fourth:
I'm fairly sure that I've found myself on a cultural level, when it comes to bisexuality. I promised long ago that I would look into more of lesbian culture, but it seems that I wasn't being true to myself. I do have gender issues and matters of sexual orientation that I'm still looking to explore and iron out, but I'm doing it with my boyfriend in hand. We would both understand if I came to the understanding that I only loved women, and I would understand if he ever told me that he had come to a new understanding of himself in the way of sexual orientation.

It may affect my own views of myself, but away from the ideals of gender, I feel like we lock together so well. Some of our roles are reversed, we're quirky, and we're weird. He loves funk, I love soundtracks. We both love jazz and South Indian curries. Dark chocolate, fantasy novels, short stories, 90s references, leaning on each others' shoulders and having staring contests that last for hours...all I have to say to all of that awesomeness is a resounding:

I've also got a little surprise for the week after next (perhaps not as great as Jo's and Tiffany's, but still cool.)

See ya!

-Amber

And to all of my readers:

PONIES

Christmas Secret

Happy revealing-of-my-secret day everyone!

So, I'm sure you're all wondering just what's going on and what the deal is about my secret. Here it is.

Tif and Jo Aug 2011 Northern California--beach near the Redwoods

Her name is Jo (yes, as in the Thursday blogger on this very blog), and we've been sort-of together for just over 5 months now (January will make 6 months).

She's been my secret for this long because we were worried about BYU things. But, I'm done with all that school stuff (maybe a story for another post), and I want to tell the world that I'M IN LOVE WITH JO MINER. I really really am. She's wonderful. Magnificent. Marvelous. Amazing.

Here's the whole story from the very beginning.

On July 9th I woke up in my hammock in a grove of trees at Smith and Morehouse campground next to a beautiful reservoir surrounded by beautiful mountains.

Okay okay, I won't go into quite that much detail.

Here's the short version.

We met at a women's outdoor group camp-out on July 9th.

After making a complete ass of myself I finally managed to get her number.

The next weekend she came with me to Goblin Valley for a small camp out and game of night capture the flag.

We hung out a few times a week after that little trip.

We'd watch movies, build forts, hike up the canyon, have picnics near waterfalls, play guitars at the park after a rainstorm.

We went on our first real date on August 15th. It was a double date with my little brother and his girlfriend at the time because that's what he wanted to do for his birthday.

We were both completely in love with each other by this time, but neither of us would tell.

At the end of August/beginning of September Jo and I went on a trip that changed our lives. It cracked our souls, broke our hearts, and opened our eyes. Jo blames it on the trees because we went to visit the Redwoods in northern California, and the trees have a lot of soul power. It was a 10 day adventure through a dozen different forests, stopping to play in a couple lakes and rivers and to eat pizza in delightful artsy towns. We saw a lot of different sides of each other on that trip. I think we both loved everything we saw--even the ornery, worn-out, and the i-haven't-showered-in-ten-days sides.

I nearly drove myself crazy on this trip because the whole time I just wanted to hold her hand. And then a few times I just wanted to kiss her real soft so she could feel all this love emerging from my heart. I didn't, of course. Because I had BYU to stay in compliance with. And it really tore me apart.

On the last day of the trip I couldn't take it any longer. We were driving back towards Utah...probably somewhere in the middle of Nevada when I decided to hold her hand. Just thinking about it now gives me butterflies.

When we got back into Salt Lake she treated me to dinner. The greatest thing is that even in public she wasn't afraid to be seen with me. She even put her arm around me. And I looked something like this:

My hair stuck up like that because it was THAT greasy. Did I already mention that she wasn't embarrassed to be with me in public?? :)

Anyway, after our trip we both had a hard time with being away from each other (because we spent 24 hours a day with each other for almost 10 days). Like I said before, our Redwood adventure changed our lives... Basically there was no more denying that we loved each other.

Because of BYU things we decided to set up some boundaries so I wouldn't get in trouble. I decided that hand holding was okay--I felt like I could hold her hand and still be in accordance with the spirit of the honor code, but I decided that kissing was off limits.

That lasted a month. And at the beginning of October I broke my own rule. I kissed her. But, she didn't kiss me back. I felt rejected. She felt confused. The next day I tried kissing her again. She kissed me back. We've been kissing ever since. Not continuously--that would get exhausting and my lips would probably fall off...

What I'm trying to say is, I'm in love with the most beautiful person ever. And the best part is she loves me back! There's no one else I'd rather spend all my time with. And nobody else who knows just how to play the way I do. We go for walks, swing on the swings at the park, crunch through leaves, hike in the snow, camp in the livingroom, dance in the kitchen, make tree pizzas and peanut-butter playdough figurines.

Okay, (I'm writing this on Friday because I won't have a chance to get online Sunday) so here's the real secret: Jo and I are doing Christmas things with some good friends, and she's staying at their house on Saturday night to be there in the morning on Sunday. She thinks I'm coming up on Sunday morning, but I'm actually going to get there Saturday night. :) teeheehee

If you want to read her posts and see just how wonderful she is then click this or just go to the tabby thing at the top that says Jo.

Christian hating Christmas

Okay so this is possibly the most blasphemous I’ve ever been. Besides that one time I laughed at my mother saying that I ate Jesus. She doesn’t really get the symbolism in the sacrament. Anyways…

Christmas. I hate it. I’ve tried to like it. Claimed I’ve just been in a bad mood but no, I hate it.

It’s not because I think it’s a commercialistic something or other put on by Toys R’ Us.

It’s not because I don’t believe in Christ. I do. And I’m very thankful that He gave His life for me. But His birthday is a bitter reminder of everything I’ve lost.

Here’s some background on me. I have a flippin crazy family. You think your family is bad, I got money that says the Potter’s can take them. And we all pretty much had a love hate relationship. We all loved each other and had one another’s backs but it wasn’t surprising for someone to take a swing at someone and it was guaranteed that someone would pass out drunk.

See in my family there was my great-grandma Sarah who had her five children who all had children and then they went and had children so there was a few of us. And the only time I remember us all sucking it up and getting along was for holidays. Christmas, Halloween, Jamboree. We would try to get along and I think it was just for my Grandma Sarah’s sake.

Now I was raised by a few people. My grandma Sandra and grandpa Paul mostly in my childhood and my grandma Sarah through my teen years and my mom would jump in every once in a while.

So what were you supposed to gather from that.

I once had a big family that had holiday traditions

I was raised by four main people mentioned above.

When I was a junior my life kinda fell apart. Okay it split down the freaking middle and most of the time I feel like I’m still trying to find my ground. And a lot of people don’t know how messed up everything that happened in my family made me… But here it is.

My grandma Sandra was murdered. Or she committed suicide. Thing is no one really knows what happened. Point is she’s dead and my grandpa is in prison for it. There goes two people that I loved.

My brother (up until last May) hadn’t been sober since her death and my mother relapsed also. Down for two more. At this point I was living with my grandma Sarah who I loved very much. My time with her was the most normal and happy I can remember. We fought. Bickered. I was a bitchy teenager and she was a grumpy confused elder. But we would also watch the news together. Go to Mario’s and share a sandwich. Split a coke. Milkshakes at the lake. Drives to Winco. She was my life during my teen years because not only was she taking care of me, I was taking care of her. She has Alzheimer’s. She lives in a home about an hour away from where I grew up. She had a stroke the first week of my senior year and I had to go live with my mom. After that didn’t work out I went and stayed with a friend for my senior year.

Point: I thought I lost everyone I loved in a sixth month period.

And I’m freaking bitter about it. I don’t like holidays because they remind me I’m alone.

But the thing is I know I’m not. It’s just easier to pretend I don’t have family back home because really what do I have? A woman who can’t remember my name? A mother who has chosen all of her boyfriends over me (sorry mom but it’s true)?

I got aunts and uncles and cousins who all have their families. Friends in the same situation. It doesn’t matter where I go cause I will constantly feel like I’m imposing because it’s not my grandma’s house, the night before Christmas, with all of us there pretending to be elves and Santa, passing presents and eating snacks that we would have for every family gathering. None of it will ever be my family because my family will never be whole again…

Okay I’ve ranted because well this time of year makes me really depressed.

But there is hope. This year I plan on visiting the elderly on Christmas day. When my roommate gets home we’ll make a Christmas dinner together like we did last year. I’ll start my own traditions while incorporating some of what my family left me.

Song Of The Week!!!

Glee- Do They Know It's Christmas

Well I don't like Christmas, but this is still a good song. And the episode really showed a true meaning of Christmas, selfless-ness.
Love you Guys!! Merry Christmas

My Winter Pick-Me-Up

Last week I mentioned how I needed a pick-me-up, something to brighten the nothing-but-gray that surrounded me and seemed to be creeping inside my heart.  I needed to find something to remind me of the beauty and the color that is out there, of the vibrant life that is inside me.  There is so much life and beauty to be had, but I was forgetting about it.  I needed a reminder.  So, off to the thrift shop I went, and look what I found:

A new hat!

It is definitely serving it's purpose.  While wearing this hat, I can't be blue (or gray, as the case may be).  I put it on and automatically am brought back to myself; to my creative, life-loving, joy-filled, dance-wildly-in-the-kitchen, full-of-love self.  There is a small tag on the inside of the hat with the name "Lois" written carefully on it.  The " I " is dotted with a heart, which is extremely fitting.  I like to imagine how Lois would have worn that hat, how she would have put it on before going about town.  I imagine her as an older lady, thin body, silvery hair, smiling face full of wrinkles and love.  Can you imagine this hat on such a head??  Would she have worn a cardigan to match?  Perhaps shoes instead?  A sash?  A handbag?  Only Lois knows, but imagining her joy while wearing her hat definitely augments mine when I have it on.

The moment I get home from work, the hat goes on.  I wear it around the house.  I wear it in the car.  I wear it while talking to my mother on the phone.  I wear it in the bath.  I wear it everywhere.  How could I not??  The bright pink contrasted with a beautiful yellow daisy is making this bleak winter much more bearable.  The holidays are not my "most wonderful time of the year," nor is the cold, cold winter with it's gray skies and gray snow and gray streets.  And then there are so many expectations from family, so many memories of traditions and beliefs and relationships that are no longer.  This year is easier than last, but still tricky to be sure.  But with my pretty pink hat, I can do anything.

I need to insert a caveat here: seasons are useful.  I love seasons, each with it's own purpose and perfect timing (referring both to earthly seasons and our own inner ones).  I don't think running from the changes we experience is the best idea since the ups and downs and warms and colds of our lives are what shape us and facilitate our own growth and expansion, but there's nothing wrong with having reminders of the bright times, eh?  Just because it's winter doesn't mean I'm dead.

I'm off to my family's house for a holiday celebration.  And yes, I'm wearing my hat, my bright new reminder that there beauty.  Everywhere.  Even when it's cold.

Holidays and Oh Jeez Holiday Food

This week is a little less focused than most for me. I have a lot of free time, and not just because I'm unemployed. It's the Christmas season, and I'm spending it with my boyfriend's wonderful family.
Some may feel that I am betraying my sexual orientation by loving someone that identifies as a man and has all of the biological trappings of a man. Not really--being bisexual means that I'll love whoever I please, but I've been over this before. Seth's a wonderful guy, and I don't think I'll be looking further for a partner. I could have more time to go clubbing and partying and flirting around with girls, but I think I've found someone amazing. I'm open to having another go at female relationships if I ever break up with Seth, but we're doing really well together. We make the same silly sounds, dance the same silly dances, and read books together when we can't think of someone crazy to go do. As far as love goes, I think I'm good.

I haven't pressed charges yet against stalker-man. I should, but I'm waiting for him to call me again. If what he was doing was anything more intense than calling, I wouldn't be waiting. As requested in the comments of my sexual abuse post, I would heartily suggest Intercept and the psychologists under Karen Malm as awesome psychologists. Most health insurances that cover mental health have networks for you to look up psychologists in the area, and after being through eight different psychologists in my life, I would suggest people that identify as LGBT in some regard. While straight psychologists can certainly help, the added identity on their end helps in processing my emotions and perceptions. I was also wrong to say that females never sexualize males through media--there is also female enjoyment of men in romance novels. Again, any call you make is up to you, but I think romance novels are kind of gross. (This is someone who has written romances in several manuscripts where I don't focus on the romance. I don't like making a romance the plot of the story. Does that reflect a personal preference for making other goals in my life more important? Perhaps. Perhaps it's also telling that I tend to write about slavery, religion, and most of all--the power of perspectives.)
Seth's family is LGBT-friendly, and so far, I haven't had any flak from relatives on the subject. I can't wait to start baking and cooking for the Christmas dinners. I've already eaten a half pound of eggnog fudge...but I really want to make this. <-- Yeah, I have a pinterest account, and if you're the sort that loves collecting visual media, this is the site for you, I promise. I just hope that I don't gain the weight of the United States throughout the holiday.

Happy Holidays! May the love be with you.
-Amber

Someone is in Mexico City

I have a younger brother who is on an LDS mission.  Of all the people in my immediate family, I have the hardest time with him.  He is.... "benevolent" in his prejudice and pitying in his charity.  He is very misogynistic, and preachy.  We are both arrogant and stubborn, which doesn't help any.  He immensely disapproves of my transition, although he is very ignorant of the entire issue.  My little brother likes the person I'm with, and can see that she makes me very happy, but insists that I'm in for the shittiest experience of my life because of my "lesbianism", ex-Mormonism, atheism, and transition.  He has been barely supportive of me since I came out as a lesbian, and has been very sparing in supporting me when other family members harass me.  He holds grudges like no one else I know: every year, I get an ear-full about how I stopped playing with him and started playing with other friends when I was nine.

We don't get along.

This is also the brother that I grew up with, traded toys with, played games with.  He is only two years younger than me, and the youngest in the family.  We're closest in age and... I don't know, we grew up together, and that meant something.

And now he is on his mission and writes home about the drunks he made fun of, or the foolish investigator who wouldn't accept this as an answer:  "If you pray, and feel good, it means it is true.  If you feel bad, it means you prayed incorrectly."  Or about how Obama says Christ was not the Savior and Obama is wrong!

I am tired of our relationship always coming back to this:  An integral part of my Self is about being trans and being attracted to women.  He is embarrassed, disgusted, and pitying of this.  He is unwilling to educate himself.  So, I am not satisfied, and he is "not satisfied".

Christmas is here, and I wrote him a letter... measly at best because I can't think of anything to say except that I hope he will have a good Christmas.  It is really important to my parents for us to get along.  It makes them happy, and that makes me happy, and they can't for the life of them and all their effort, understand why in some ways, I don't like him.  We all have negative and positive parts of our personality, but it seems like most of his negative personality aspects seem to coincide perfectly with a type of personality I don't want in my life.  Not that I'm breaking off our relationship--- we will continue to have our superficial relationship.  At one point, I told him that he wouldn't have as close a relationship with me as other people who I may consider family.  Perhaps I should be more benevolent, but I can say now that I do not want to make much of an effort to be close with someone who cannot respect me as myself, a man and a person attracted to women.

Death and a Secret

I didn't manage to post last week because I was in Richfield helping my sister take care of my dad. He went downhill pretty fast after falling down. Basically he aged like 20 more years than the smoking had already aged him (making him about 98) and he couldn't do much on his own--even though he sure thought he could.

He was in a lot of pain, so my sister tried to make sure he was comfortable and had plenty of pain killers. He didn't make it easy because after only a few hours of sleeping he would jump up out of bed and run to the bathroom. And when I say run, I mean he would hobble as fast as he could making everyone nervous that he would hit the ground face first. My sister didn't get any sleep, and when she finally fell asleep I couldn't bare to wake her when I needed to leave for a little breakfast thing with my mom. Dad was asleep, Sister was asleep. I was only gone about 30 minutes. I came back and Dad was on the floor with his oxygen tubes tangled everywhere. It looked like he had tripped over the walker that we left next to his bed in case he tried to get up before we noticed. That didn't turn out so well.

Taking care of an ornery old bastard is hard to do. He'd get mad anytime we tried to help him because it hurt. We'd try to lift him off the floor and back in bed and he'd yell "Get the hell away from me" or "Leave me the fuck alone." We knew it hurt, but we also knew that it would be more comfortable for him to lie in bed than on the hard floor. So, we picked him up (not an easy task because he's a fairly big guy). He punched me in the leg. Good thing he didn't have the strength he did before the cancer because he could've done a lot of damage. I admit, I didn't have the patience for it and it pissed me off. Not only did he bring it on himself by smoking for all his life, he had to go and make it even harder for us by being a bastard all the way to the finish line.

The hardest part though, was watching him suffer so much and being ready to let him go. I've known for almost two full years that he's had cancer and that he would die soon. Seeing him right before the end was almost unbearable. But, I couldn't let my sister feel completely alone, even though I wasn't able to be there the whole time. I left on Monday night to get back to work and do a few other things and I was planning to go back to Richfield again to help for the following weekend. He didn't make it that long. He died at 4:30 am on Thursday. The yuckiest part was all the varying emotions my family had. Some were angry. Some level headed and ready to start the responsibilities of funeral planning. Some hurt. Some unsure. I'm sure that we all felt a wide spectrum of emotions in only a short time, and that made it even harder to understand my own emotions. But, overall, it was time. I'm glad he finally let go. He sure put up a fight, but it was time.

To show you a piece of my dad, here's the picture we used for the obituary. I'm glad my sister agreed to let me use it, because it really is my dad.




Now, hopefully so you'll spare me the "I'm so sorry" comments about my father's death (really it's okay, it was time and I will process it on my own just fine without your condolences) I'm letting you in on a little secret.

That's not true. I'm just giving you a sneak peak at my little secret.
All I'm going to say is, there's this girl.
Come back next time for the full story :)


~live your own truth~

What If I Don’t Like Green Grass?

So I’d like to tell of an adventure I had two nights ago. I had just failed my last final when I got invited to 80’s night: a night of crazy outfits and dancing at a club in SLC. So of course I went (which is why I am writing this Saturday morning and posting retroactively). Now some more background info on me to understand this. I LOVE DANCING! But not alone. I don’t go dancing by myself. I feel like it would totally be lame so I usually go with this one particular friend. She gets hit on A LOT and hates it. So I always feel the need to keep a look out for creepers and warn her if any spot her. But this night I didn’t have to do that, (though I still love dancing with you girl if you are reading this!) I could just zone out and completely lose it (as I do when I dance). So when got there and all split up, it was cool to be alone. I could dance like a freak because no one I knew was watching. IT WAS AWESOME! Anyway so back to 80’s night. I’m dancing, totally achieving dance flow when this guy tries to put his arms around me. I delicately give him the shove but he keeps dancing in front of me. And I was cool with it. We laughed at the music and had a good time but after a while he asks me if I didn’t like dancing with him. WHAT? I let you stay there didn’t I? I didn’t run away? I was having a good time. But apparently because I didn’t want to grind with some dude whose name I didn’t even know, I didn’t like dancing with him. Men: so touchy, so needy. Anyways. After this I went back on merry way, alone.

Alone. Usually I hate being alone. I feel like no one wants to be around me, or call me, or text, or email. Just totally alone. Even now with my roommate gone for break I should be totally happy. I get my room all to myself, I blast my music, I don’t pick up after myself. I should be totally enjoying all of this. But I’m not. In fact, I’m moving to my work in a few days just to be around people.
So the confusing mess I’m left with is why was I so happy alone at the club and not alone at my apartment and the conclusion I came to was that I chose to be alone at the club. I was the one leaving, not the other way around. I hate being left (abandonment issues are so not fun).

So… How do I apply this to my love life? Or better yet stated my lack-of-love life. I hate being without a significant other. Why? Because I didn’t choose this. There are plenty of guys I am into. Plenty of guys I have asked out and made known I was into them. And I’ve never had a boyfriend (unless you count the two in elementary school who coincidentally both happen to be happily gay now, but I don’t, it was elementary school). But either way how do I even know that having someone who likes me will even make me happy? How can I know if the grass is greener on the other side when I’ve never hopped the fence? Who knows if I even like green grass!!!????

So…

Dilemma: no significant other

Solution(s): (1) find a significant other or (2) choose my loneliness

Well I tried number one. Total fail. And after watching He’s Just Not That Into You I’m tempted to keep trying. And I probably will keep being pathetic.

But I guess I just need to choose to be alone. Or at least pretend like this is my choice. Maybe it’ll be like dancing and I’ll realize I actually like it a lot better. Who knows? (Seriously, if you have a solution COMMENT) Anyways…

That’s my rushed post for the week. Sorry I don’t have something more awesome or profound but next week we can talk about how I hate Christmas even though I am Christian and it can be awesome! Love you guys and have a great break for all you college folk!

Oh… I almost forgot Song Of The Week

Two, one for each solution

Keep waiting for my Superman by Taylor Swift



Or go have fun with Cindy Lauper at 80’s night!

Winter

(my sentiments exactly)

Winter.

I'm feeling the weight of it today. 

the cold
the murky inversion
the sharp air in my ears and on my face
the snow
the icy roads
the cold
the cold
the cold
did I mention the cold??

I miss going up the canyon every afternoon to spend time with the trees and the rocks and the little rivers.  I miss the sound of the birds singing their songs.  I miss the crickets.  I miss the sun.  I miss the warm breezes blowing through the leaves.  I miss color.  Everything is so gray, gray, gray.  Blech.  And then there is all of the commercialism associated with Christmas.  All of the obligatory gift giving.  All of the expectations from family and friends about where you will be and what you will do and how you will act.  Ew.

I want to be done with all of it.  I want to buy a plane ticket to Sunnyside Anywhere and stay there until April.

But perhaps I'm just being restless.  Winter is, if nothing else, a wonderful reminder that there are seasons.  There are times and seasons to everything.  EVERYTHING.  I see, in the seasons and the weather, a reflection of my own inner seasons.  I, too, shift and change and go through seasons.  This is a continual theme for me.  Perspective, perspective, perspective.  (Feeling warm and fuzzy yet??)

But it's still cold as hell. 
It just is. 
And I don't have to like it. 

I can have all the perspective in the world and still hate the cold.  So today, I'm going to give myself a pick-me-up.  I'm going to go to my local thrift shop and purchase a new hat, or a superhero cape, or a pair of grandma glasses.  Maybe some bright orange shoes?  Perhaps something with glitter or sequins??  Who knows what kind of treasure I will dig up?  Whatever it turns out to be, I am going to wear it as a reminder that even though everything around me is gray and dead and gray and gray, I am not.

No.

I am very much alive.

Drowning in my own thoughts...

Hi there everyone! It feels like it has been forever since I have posted on here but oh, it's only been a week. So this past weekend I had the chance to do something that I have never done before; I went dancing at a gay club. It was honestly a total blast and I had a great time. I rode up with a bunch of friends from USGA (BYU's LGBT group of awesome-ness) and within like 20 minutes I felt totally alienated... I am apparently totally alone within the group even though it is where I thought I would feel as if I belonged.

I am mormon folks and that's just the way it is. I believe in romance, sex after marriage, raising a traditional family, etc etc etc. I have the mormon ideals engrained into my being and those are things that I am not going to give up. Well as we drove it rapidly became apparent that I am the only person who is still a virgin and stands firm in my beliefs, even if they are old fashioned.

Then there was a group of us guys all hanging out at a mutual friends house and we began to talk about crazy crap. Well I was yet again the only virgin in the room. I don't really care that they have had relations; really it doesn't phase me, but I just wish I wasn't the only one who held close to the mormon beliefs. There are multiple guys in USGA who are returned missionaries and still wear garments but are grinding it out with men on the dance floor and are only too willing to share all their explicit sex stories. Why am I alone here?

I am beginning to even wonder if I will be able to find someone who is like me. I need someone who will love me for my odd habits, unique tricks, and childish fantasies. I don't want someone who will date me just because I have a dick... if you want to screw than go find some other horny bastard to screw, not me. I want a relationship, not a one night stand.

Are there any other gay romantics out there or am I a lone island in a sea of horny men?

Fortunate

I am very fortunate to have my parents.  Before I was out, I told my father who later told my mother.  They were both so troubled, and one day in Barnes and Noble, they found Carol Lynn Pearson's book "No More Goodbyes."  My mom read most of it that night, and they decided that they wanted me to have the best coming out possible, and it was important to them that I felt safe and happy.  Well, when I came out as a lesbian, I was fairly ignorant and so were my parents.  We loved each other, but we both made mistakes, crossed lines, spoke important hurtful truths.  For the first several months, I had a hard time feeling heard because the response would so often be that I needed to understand that they were hurting.  They were always polite and kind to my girlfriend and have treated our relationship with respect as well.  When I came out, I was impatient.  I knew it had taken me so long to get where I was, but I wanted my loved ones to put aside my sexuality and love me for me.  My parents and I both did some things right and others wrong.

I moved away, and they went through papers in my room, including my journals, and what had been recorded, and what they read, was someone who had been in a heaping load of pain.  By the time I moved out, I was angry at almost every member of my family and I was glad for the separation.  I did talk to my little brother who told me that my mom hadn't stopped crying for two weeks, and that whenever anyone would mention my name, she'd cry again.  I think it's because they read those entries.  Three quarters of a year later, I called them and told them that I was transgender.  My father said they would love me no matter what, and that it was going to be an adjustment on their part.  He said, "I bet you've lost sleep over this."  They were empathetic and open and scared.  I sent them PFLAG's pamphlet "Welcoming Our Trans Families and Friends", and my mom read through it all.  Eight months later for Christmas, my mother restitched my father's stocking to have my name, Jack on it, and restitched my old stocking to have my girlfriend's name on it.  My father introduces me as his son, and they are both proud and happy of me.  My dad has been fighting for two years to get anti-discrimination laws in housing and employment to be voted on by the American Fork city counsel, and that will finally happen tomorrow.  My mom told me a few months ago that one day she realized my being gay or my being trans didn't actively hurt for her anymore.  That is beautiful and wonderful.

This last holiday, a person who used to be a very close and very good friend, met with me to chat.  She just got home from a mission and stopped by the house, because I asked if we could meet up.  She hasn't seen me since before I transitioned, and made a point to mention that I look exactly the same as I did pre-transition.  After a talk that led me to determine we go our separate ways, I remarked to my parents, "In my opinion, I do not think I look 'exactly the same' as I did two years ago", and my mom piped up with a disappointed (in my friend) quip, "She just needed to say that for herself."  It bothered her that someone had purposely pushed, for the sake of their own comfort, my female-ness forward.  I don't want to make it out like I think that my parents are emotional morons, so it's a miracle that they get me at all, but in this world, parents like these can be rare.  I am fortunate to have the parents I do.

Honesty Is Honestly the Hardest Thing For Me Right Now

Disclaimer: This is highly religious and highly sexual, therefore making it highly personal. If you have a problem with any of the three, I am warning you so you can turn back now. If you want keep reading, please do. I would love for you to hear my story. If you like it, leave me some love; I definitely need it. If you don’t, leave me some hate. I’ll understand, even if you don’t.

I dislike lying. I feel like people should just tell the truth always and be honest about their feelings, because otherwise what is the point of even creating relationships? I’m a hypocrite. I’ve been lying to everyone for so long I barely even know who I am, and I’ve decided to come clean.

I’m a pansexual. Cool term right? I was way happy when I heard it, finally something that completely described me. According to Wikipedia, a pansexual is someone who is gender blind, someone who doesn’t notice another’s gender. One girl described it as “all pansexuals are bisexual but not all bisexuals are pansexual.” To me it means being attracted to a person’s personality. My friends used to joke about how I had crushes on the “not-hot” guys but that was because I just could look past a douche bag attitude even if the guy was hot. Sure, I’ll drool over Taylor Lautner all day but it’s superficial. I’m a substance over style kind of gal. But that also means I don’t care what parts you have. So yea . . . I’ve been attracted to women. A few actually. And here’s the kicker. I’m a Mormon.

Yep, I’m a Mormon. I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was baptized about three years ago. It’s been a rough ride. Lots of times I turned my back on the Church and said I wanted to live my own life. Why? Because I liked girls. Because I liked coffee. Because I like a list of things that just aren’t in harmony with the Church. And I was too confused to make myself in harmony with the Church. I thought Christ and God didn’t love me, couldn’t love me. That made total sense to me because I didn’t love me, didn’t accept me. I still have problems loving myself. But then something amazing happened. I won’t share all the details, but I knew God loved me and was paying attention to me. It was amazing. But I didn’t get it. I sinned. I liked girls. I damaged my temple; chemically, emotionally and physically. I’ve drank. I’ve cursed. I’ve blasphemed. Drank, cursed, and blasphemed all on a SUNDAY! But in that moment I knew God loved (and forgave) me, and even saw part of the plan He had for me.

I would love everyone. To me there isn’t hetero or homo; we’re just people who deserve love. Need love. I need love, you need love. We need to love ourselves.

So that’s all my two cents for the week. God loves us all, I love you all. I still dream of a temple marriage and to raise my children in the Church with an open mind to all people. And accept the fact that I can be attracted to women. . . It’s not the end of the world. I just hope we all realize that no matter what, it’s never the end of the world. So many times I thought about taking my own life because I hated feeling so out of place. I didn’t because I was terrified to meet God and deal with that shame. I still don’t exactly have a place, in a way I have two. My LGBT life and BYU/LDS life, both living in harmony.

And now you all know. I hope you’ll understand that this has always been who I am. And also that ‘coming out’ is a terrifying yet liberating process. Only four of my friends and one member of my family know I’m a pansexual. My very close people who have shown me support and love. But I want my other friends to know and more importantly I want the rest of my family to know. And I didn’t know how else to tell you. So yea. . . I hope you all still love me after this. Because no matter what I’ll still love you.

Thanks!

Another disclaimer because I know my family will be wondering :)

BYU Honor Code:

Homosexual Behavior

Brigham Young University will respond to homosexual behavior rather than to feelings or attraction and welcomes as full members of the university community all whose behavior meets university standards. Members of the university community can remain in good Honor Code standing if they conduct their lives in a manner consistent with gospel principles and the Honor Code.

One's stated same-gender attraction is not an Honor Code issue. However, the Honor Code requires all members of the university community to manifest a strict commitment to the law of chastity. Homosexual behavior is inappropriate and violates the Honor Code. Homosexual behavior includes not only sexual relations between members of the same sex, but all forms of physical intimacy that give expression to homosexual feelings.

And on a happier note the Song of the WEEK!!

What else could I do besides Glee’s version of I kissed A Girl. Santana was forced out of the closet and I didn’t want to put myself in that position, so I decided to come out on my own terms. Plus I have a HUGE crush on her and now I can say it without fear :) <3

Glee- I Kissed a Girl

And number two! I hinted at it in the title. I heard this song in the gas station the other day and I thought that that line was perfect. I haven’t been able to be honest in so long. But past are the days of hiding.

It's the elephant in the room

And we pretend that we don't see it.

It's the avalanche that looms above our heads.

And we don't believe it.

Tryin' to be perfect

Tryin' not to let you down

Honesty is honestly the hardest thing for me right now...

Kris Allen- The Truth

How To Be Alone

Today I want to share with you one of my most favorite videos.  I love everything about this video.  Everything.

The poetry
The music
The content (oh, the content)
The girl (I'm basically in love with her)
The illustrations

There is such amazing beauty in being alone.  Have you discovered it?

Living Magically!

So I am going to talk today about something that I think is just so important and that is magic. You might now stop reading because you are thinking 'what the heck? Is he a crazy person?' but yes I am going to talk about the magic that is all around us.

I think that as children we are able to see magic in the simplest things. I know growing up I loved to read and my imagination was my best friend. I spent my lunches in the library and would get in trouble for reading under my desk. If you think about children and how they are able to be facinated by the simplest things. I was obsessed with making 'magic potions' as a children and on occation my mother would try my horrible mixtures and then pretend to like them. (they were usually made from anything I could find in the fridge). My brother and I used to have superhero capes that my mother made for us, mine was a dark blue fabric covered in planets while my brothers was bright red and covered in cars, we were super N and super K. We would fight of aliens and dark wizards on a daily basis. Children are able to imagine a world that is better and greater than it ever will be, they naturally reject reality and make it better.

One of my favorite features about myself is the fact that I think I have mostly held onto the same magic that I was able to see as a child. While yes I have grown and realized that the world isn't made of glitter and rainbows; I am still able to imaging a fantastic world around me. I think this is why I am so drawn to literature and movies; because they are tied to me as a person. I will never be satisfied with reality.

I have three very young cousins that live locally and I get to see them every sunday. It is one of my favorite times of the week because it's a time that I get to be a child again. My father and aunt were both raised by my grandmother who was a very straight forward, no games, no foolishness type of person and honestly I think that would have ruined my childhood. Sadly my aunt isn't the imaginative type so I have made it my duty to use my imagination and help them make their own worlds. So far we have gone tiger hunting in their garden, protected their trees from ghosts via potions, made magic crystals to open doors (rock candy), built a fort to withstand troll attack and many other adventures. We live with the magic around us.

I think if the world had more people who could still live with their imaginations and imagine a better world a more innocent type of magical obliviousness that the world would really be a better place. So I have a challege to you, be magical! Do something you have always wanted to. Make a fort. Eat just dessert for dinner. Buy yourself a gift. Be a more imaginative and fun loving person, be magical

Sexual Abuse

I've mentioned before that I've been through some sexual abuse in my life. It's a very painful subject to talk about, and after my grandmother's recent death, I figured that I should be writing about more light-hearted things.

One of my abusers tried calling me today, after telling him twice two months ago that he needed to leave me alone and that I wanted no contact. Since then, he has tried texting and calling me, but at first, he only did so within the first two weeks, and then once two weeks after that. It's been two months, and he tried calling me tonight.

I've had a swirling pit of nausea in my stomach since the beginning of this evening.

Girls-on-girls is a common trend in porn and in media--two girls kissing and loving upon each other in order to get attention from men. Love between two women being exploited for a male voyeur's pleasure disgusts me to where nausea is creeping up my throat as I write. Before someone suggests the other side of the matter, I can also see how a woman could also exploit that love and how love between two men could be exploited by the pleasure of a female voyeur/porn-viewer. However, the former is displayed more common than the latter in American media and culture.

After my experience with this individual, I do feel that porn is harmful to a person's well-being and psyche. I know I'm speaking to the choir here, since this is a blog oft read by Mormon individuals. I wasn't as convinced beforehand. Granted, this was a case where the individual had been undergoing such hardcore porn for so long, I believe he's past seeing most women as more as servants and tools to his own ends.

There are horrific questions that everyone that goes through sexual abuse considers at some point: Do I deserve it? Do I deserve the pain I went through and am going through?

No. No one does. No one ever deserves being given the choice between sexual abuse and whatever threats an abuser may make. 

Why did God let this happen to me?

This is a question that each person needs to figure out for themselves. In my case, I believe that each sentient creature's free will needs to be respected. On the other hand, I also haven't exactly been on the best terms with God throughout my life.


After my experiences, I would beg anyone reading this blog that has been through sexual abuse to get psychological help. There are LGBT psychologists that can help you if you identify as LGBT, and you never deserve to have your love twisted into a fetish meant to grab the attention of those who you have no interest in. You deserve all of the real love that you desire, and all of the relief that you can imagine. Two straight girls making out in a club to get the attention of guys is not the love you share with your girlfriend, or the love you wish to have with that girl you've quietly loved for years, but never acted in out of respect to her.

In the meanwhile, I'm getting a restraining order on this guy.

-Amber

Smoking Kills

it kills lung cells,

and allows for cancer to grow

which then attacks the immune system

the brain

the whole body

to the point where it is obvious that death will come

sooner rather than later

but it isn't just death of the body

because slow and painful death

kills relationships

kills the future

kills the peace of mind that comes from living everyday without worrying if your father will die today and you didn't call him yet

Okay, I'm being weird with my thoughts today.

Maybe I haven't mentioned this before, but my dad has terminal lung cancer.

He has smoked pretty much all his life, and now at age 57(ish) he is in constant pain from the damage of his cancer.

He has been diagnosed for almost 2 years now, and if he makes it to January then he will have outlived the doctor's original prognosis.

I'm not sure how I feel about this anymore. The cancer and my dad dying, I mean.

I went through a pretty rough angry phase.

I even wrote some poetry about it.

Maybe I'm still angry in some ways,

but now I just don't know what to do or feel.

He's still alive.

And everyday that I forget to call him I wonder if maybe I'll regret it.

I've tried visiting more than I did before.

It's so hard to see him in pain though.

So hard to see him slipping away along with all my dreams of rebuilding the old Fiat and cherrying out the '58 Dodge with my old man.

At least he's become more docile as he's gone through chemo therapy and now has to face the fact that he could die any day.

I think he appreciates his kids a little more than he used to.

And maybe, after I sift through all the anger issues, I appreciate him a little more, too.

I don't know what I think anymore.

It just hurts.

~live your own truth~

Swedish Fish

Why? Because they are delicious.

I used to hate Swedish Fish. I didn’t understand why anyone would willingly put a piece of red gelatinous sugar that was shaped as a fish in their mouth. And then I came to college. All of you university peeps know that you need to the perfect snack food. Something to keep you up while you listen to professor’s drone on about how awesome they are and how awesome their obscure subject is. Mine is Swedish fish. I don’t remember exactly when it started but soon I was just starting to crave them. I have some sitting next me to write now just waiting to swim into my mouth.

Nomnomnomnom.

So that is my profound thought for the week. Because finals are coming and we are all SWAMPED! I should be working on a huge project but I wanted to shout out my love for you all with a little deliciousness to brighten your day!

So grab some fish from the nearest vending machine, hit the library and study up because this semester is over in two weeks!!!!

<3

Song of the week

In the spirit of fun gelatinous sugary treats we have. . .

Gummy Bear Song

It’s ridiculous and sweet! And people call me bear so I kind of love it... A lot!

The Weather

What to write about on a day like today?  Politics?  Music?  The effects of singing ballads to your house plants?  The weather??

Yes.  The weather.

(This is totally what my life felt like today)

I work at a hospital in a department that is tied directly to the operating room.  As a result of today's weather and all the accidents and trees flying around we had an abnormally large amount of emergent cases which resulted in me not having a spare minute to even breathe.  Not one.  I didn't have time to eat my breakfast.  I didn't have time to fill up my water bottle or sit at my desk to stretch my legs.  I didn't have time to take 5 minutes and have one of those little chats with my coworkers that means nothing and yet everything.  All day long people were making demands of me, their stress coming out in the way they communicated.  "We need this ASAP!" "So and so didn't do this, so we need you to."  "I don't care how you get it, just get it."  "Send this up now!"  Everything is an emergency in the OR.  Everything.  Run, run, RUN!

But I don't like running.  Not like that.  I'm a soul that needs to do things at my own pace, on my own time.  That is not to say that I am not fast or efficient, because I'm a damn good worker, but days that are as fast-paced and stressful as today don't jive well with me.  I left work feeling defeated, tired, ornery and completely worn.

Now, five hours later, I sit at this computer thinking back on my day and about my crumby job and how much I hate it and the awful weather and guess what emotion I am feeling the most?  Guess??

Gratitude.
Deep, intense gratitude.

I am grateful for the one scrub tech in the OR that said "thank you."
I am grateful for the OR director who took the time to tell me what a great job I do.
I am grateful for the little leaves that, with the help of the insane wind today, found their way into the hospital, reminding me that there is life out there and inside me.
I am grateful for the friend who sent a text to check up on me and make sure I was biding the weather well.
I am grateful for my coworkers with whom I can exchange laughter throughout the day, keeping my heart light.
I am grateful that I am not one of the many people who needed emergency surgery today.
I am grateful that, when I got home after work, I found that the beautiful willow tree in the courtyard (my very, very favorite) was still standing.
I am grateful to have people in my life that I feel connected to and with whom I can share my stories.
I am grateful that I have friends who, at a moment's notice, let me come stay at their house because my heat and power are out for a couple of days.

I am grateful for love.  For deep, real, soul to soul love.  For friends with which to share that love.  For hugs, kisses and hands to hold.  For "I love you"s.  For hearts that understand the things I have no words for.  For souls that can feel the depth of my own and let me feel theirs in return.

Tonight I am just one thing:

Grateful.

I hate being sick and chicken...

So I have no idea what this weeks theme is, as usual. I am also sick and totally stressed about freakin finals so there you have it!

So I thought I would talk about insecurities. I think these are things that all obviously have but how we deal with them is so different from person to person. I have a one major insecurity that I have had since I was 9 years old and it is still my biggest enemy today; I have body issues. I have two sides to my family, there is my mom's side which consists of tall blonde haired, blue eyed, skinny people; and there is my dad's side. Heavy, shorter, and full of natural diseases... oh great. Unfortunately I got a mix of both and one major thing was the metabolism of a dead person. Actually they might loose weight faster than I do by simply rotting.

I was always a little bit heavier growing up but at around 9 I knew it. I haven't gone swimming without a shirt on since I was 9 and I don't think anyone has seen me without a shirt on since around then as well, and yes this includes my family. I always have something on.

Honestly being gay I think has only made this worse because when you think gay you think either super skinny twink or beefcake and I don't fit into either of those groups. I am not massive but I am not skinny either. I have a love for water and also one for fashion and so my weight is something that I am always thinking about.

There are a few different guys that I go to school with that I would LOVE to ask out but in the back of my mind I am literally thinking that there is no way they could ever like me because I am not in amazing shape. I freaking hate worrying all the time but at this point I think I have trained myself into thinking this way.

What pisses me off is that I am a great cook and a healthy eater but I think people assume that I am a garbage disposal. I'm not I just have a shitty metabolism. And if you mention the word 'gym' or 'diet' I might punch you because I have done both. I was on a competitive swim team (as in 4-6 hours of swimming a day and meets on weekends) for 9 years, I play tennis, and have had 3 personal trainers. Nothing seems to work so my next step, accepting myself. I have come to the realization that I need to start to love myself no matter what I look like.

This will take time...

The Single Story

"The danger of the single story."  Even within a subset of a group, there is a variety, a diversity.  I think over the years, the world has embraced larger, and then groups within groups, learning to appreciate diversity further and further.  Trans people have many stories to tell, and there are many similarities and a lot of variety through our, what my mother would call, "realities".  Stereotypes come from a "single story" being told about a group of people.  When trans people don't always fit that single story, there is further confusion, naturally.  By learning and being open to other realities, we can expand our worlds.

My story doesn't include a conscious awareness of my transsexuality as a child, but it does include an epiphany as a young adult.  This doesn't make me any less trans than a child that says they're a girl from the moment they can speak.  I would like to transition and have a lesser form of bottom surgery one day, but this doesn't make me more trans than a gender queer youth who desires no form of transition.  Trans people hold the common thread of having a disconnect between their bodies and gender identities, but past that there is plenty of diversity.  I still have to learn how to listen and learn.  It's a skill!

I try mostly to speak within my own experience.  I am entitled to my own opinions, my own perceptions and realities, but not my own facts.  Hopefully, my skills at speaking from my own experience while not denying other experiences will continue to be honed, through practice and precision.  

Gay Family Values

Maybe I've already mentioned my favorite YouTubers before...but I'm doing it again.

Jay and Bryan Leffew with their adorable children, Selena and Daniel, have created a channel called Gay Family Values which basically just shows their family and how wonderful they are as a gay family. They just want to show how they're just like any other family (although a lot better than most, in my opinion). Here's a vid Bryan made on A Gay Collab explaining what his family's blog is all about.

Here's their wonderful love story. I just adore this family. Jay and Bryan are so great. I love what they're doing.

Guest Post: Explaining the homosexual kissy kissy to children

So I was watching Downton Abbey on Netflix and at the end of episode one there is a little kissy kissy section between 2 boys and my Lydia was watching with me, shes never seen anything so far involving the same gender. And she immediately said "Look Mommy! Its like a Mommy and a Daddy but just two daddies" I said "Yep, some times families have a mommy and a daddy, some families like *insert family in our ward* have only a mommy, some families have a step mommy or daddy like Grandma Julie (her step grandma), and some families have 2 daddies or two mommies", her reply "Oh theres lots of mommies and daddies! And you are MY mommy" Ok all the haters out there... how hard was that really?!?!! Shes not scarred for life, shes not going out and kissing other girls on the playground because she saw that, she accepted it for whats its worth and moved on. *Cheers to raising a new generation that accepts, understands, and loves*