How I Fell

I was raised like most every other mormon girl, with the continual pressure, prodding, persuading and brainwashing that i would grow up to be a stay at home mother, with a loving husband and plenty of children. 

Becuase my parents were so restrictive and afraid of everything, as far I knew, the word gay meant happy until i was in college when i would learn that peers i had had in high school had "come out" and i saw the gay kiss between Rachel and Melissa on 'Friends'  (College got weird for me, after that).  I was always taught that men loved women and women loved men and there was nothing else. Nothing else was REAL.  Anything else I would ever hear of or see would be fictitious or between two people who were just playing around like two drunk girls on spring break in Miami, and that those people were misled, or acting out or bad!, but most especially, that those people were definitely not in love.

I kissed boys in my late teens, I dated men in college.  I felt attraction, I liked big, hard, muscle bodied men.  I loved/STILL love my male friends and number them among the most loyal I've ever had.  I have an ease with males that has always been difficult with females.

I've felt drawn to women since I was 12.  I was never allowed to go to friends' sleepover parties but dreamed of being able to make what Anne Shirley of 'Anne of Green Gables' calls, a "bosom friend'!  (no pun seriously intended)  When I was younger, females made me nervous.  I was quiet and self conscious around them, always wanting to stay cool and collected, but I simply came out, instead, the quiet, sweet girl who never spoke.  

Years later at the age of 25, I had renamed myself as a friendly, outgoing woman and involved myself in lots of activities with other women. 

 I was married and living in Philadelphia with my husband of 4 years and my first baby girl.  I had a best friend.  A woman, even!  She and I had met while our husbands went to graduate school in Michigan and when they both got hired on by the same company in Philly, we were thrilled.  She even had her baby girl a month before I had mine.  

It was at this time that I had openly claimed female celebrity crushes, Scarlett Johannsen  and the incomparable Julie Andrews. (YES, I'm serious. she is one classy lady. besides, her as Mary Poppins, mee-oww!) and I was beginning to admit to myself that I truly was attracted to women, although I kept it a deep, fantastical secret that revealed itself in my dreams often. 

My friend and I became inseparable.  Gym, shopping, hanging out, movies, baby stuff, walks, parks, we even went and met one of the cast of 'Twilight' at our local Hot Topic during the 'Twilight' craze.  I loved her. And then I realized, rather terrifyingly, that I didn't have just friend love for her, but I was attracted to her.  

I dreamed sexually about her. I looked away at the gym when she changed, I looked away when she was climbing in the pool in her bikini. I looked away when she washed her gorgeous long hair in the shower afterwards... So much looking away.  So many feelings.  So much wanting. 

She divorced her husband and moved back to her parents house in California. I had my second baby and moved to a little town outside of Houston, Texas.  

That's when I fell in love.  With her.  With the girl of my dreams, and there was no awkward, scared 19 year old, fumbling over words, but a brave, confident woman, ready to be who I really was. 

The first time I saw her, she was at the community swimming pool, sitting on a pool chair in her bikini, impossibly tan, impossibly cool, impossibly sexy!  I was mesmerized and drawn as if by an invisible electric tentacle. When I saw her I thought 'I want to be her friend' and Before I knew it, i was saying, "Hi, I'm Mina."

And she replied in her impossibly adorable accent, "Hey. I'm Veronica".

And the rest... Is for next time. 

When I Came Out By E

Five months ago today I was sitting across the table from my mom at our favorite restaurant.  It was my birthday lunch and I was super nervous because today I was going to tell her why I broke up with the guy she wanted me to marry, a guy I had been with for two and half years, a guy I loved.  This guy and I broke up because I decided that I liked women.  The following are the reactions of my family members after I came out them.

Agnostic Mom: Am I supposed to be surprised?

Blonde Sister: You’re an ally, not one of them! *tears*

Mormon Brother: *high five* Was that everything?

Red-headed Sister: Can I get back to my movie?

Mormon Dad: Nothing can change how much I love you.

The only adverse reaction I’ve gotten from the members of my family was from Blonde Sister.  She hates the idea that I like women because for my entire life she’s seen me as one way, liking only men, and now she has to see me in a different way.  I have wondered of the last few months why me liking girls is such an issue for her, even if it is because she has to see me differently.  I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why it bugs her so much. I wish I could talk to my sister about things, like girls I have crushes on and such.  Maybe one day… I hope.

Acceptance of Oneself

I relate to three very distinct identities, and I’ll go over each one-at-a-time. The first one, being LDS/Mormon, has been deeply engrained in me as a kid and stuck with me, even during a period of time where I didn’t consider myself one. The values and morals I learned came strongly from my family and extended family, most all of them being LDS in some degree. So I guess you could say that particular others played a strong role in how I viewed myself that way.

It wasn’t always this way, however. Because I also am a member of the GLBT community, I viewed myself when I first came out to my family and friends as not involved in any way with the LDS religion. But as time progressed, I realized that I wasn’t happy with not having religion in my life, and it was my constant feeling as time progressed. Religion was what I based my life on, gay or not, and it gave me happiness in a way that couldn’t be found in any other way.  Secondly, I consider myself musically gifted, as I mentioned.

I’ve taken piano for 9 years and played for about 15 years now, and enjoy expressing myself through this medium. This is important to me because of both the particular other (my family and friends) and the generalized other in mix. The first one is obvious: I enjoy being able to touch my close friends’ lives through music, a medium that I understand and can use. However, I also want to influence society at large, and society can be taught so many great norms that I can do through music. Some of these include temperance, love, devotion, happiness, and so forth. It isn’t about attention for me but rather what I can communicate through music that I cannot otherwise.

Finally, I consider myself somewhat of a geek. This was engrained on me since childhood, as I was considered very smart and into new things. I constantly wanted to be challenged, and even some of my old teachers mentioned that I would get bored easily because I felt like I wasn’t being challenged enough. Plus, I found I love using technology, namely computers and so forth. I’ve worked in technical support for a major wireless company, which I loved doing and could fix virtually any problem that was presented to me. At first, I considered it a negative label because I didn’t have many friends and was constantly teased as a kid. But as time went on, I accepted this as part of who I am, and quite frankly, I love knowing that much more than some of my peers. It’s an identity which I love to show out there.  Moving on, there were many identities that I have that have changed over time, such as being a Democrat/Liberal, open-minded, humorous, and pro-gay.

I will elaborate on being open-minded, for I wasn’t there for a time. It was a difficult change for me because in the LDS religion, you’re taught to view things of a negative nature as bad and to not explore them for fear of temptation to do evil or sin. I’m sure this is how it is with many religions, but it is strongly expressed in this religion.  Well, I did because I knew I was gay, something that completely contradicted the church, and so I ventured out into that aspect of myself. These experiences made me realize that I need to accept things objectively. Great and awesome ideas come from those outside of the church while at the same time hurtful and detrimental ideas also come, which made me inquisitive into how everyone works out to be. It’s simple really: I can be exposed to anything I would like but don’t have to take it at face-value. I can, for myself, decide whether something is of worth to involve myself with or to shun out based on my personality and beliefs.

Being involved with the LGBT community has taught me that. Now I’m happy to be open-minded to anything and everything and not take a side until I understand both sides.  Finally, on the activity of those who gave me traits, I was pretty surprised at what people view me to be. I consider myself very shy just because I don’t have many friends and don’t like talking one-on-one with people. I get intimidated and scrambling for things to say because I don’t usually stand out in a crowd. Why I mention this is because I had nearly half the class say I have an outspoken or outgoing personality. I do definitely in class because I’m passionate about learning (always have been), so in that respect, I can see why people would see this in me.  I will admit, however: I would love to be known as outspoken in real life. I guess it’s my past that changed how I viewed myself. I was always shy as a small kid, and I guess it carried over into the person I am today. Maybe I should get out more and enjoy life and talk to people. I’m sure they can’t hurt me, right?

(Excerpt from my Thinkpiece III assignment- COMM 1010)

Introductions and Greetings!

I

Well good morning and hello! Is the graphic a bit much? ;)

I found a request for "Breaking the Silence" for blogging, and I'm happy to be able to write for them! It took me a bit to get started, but I'm happy to report I'll be writing just random things, posts, requests, poems, and personal experiences as it relates to my own ideas. So without further ado, let's begin!

I guess the best way to start is by introducing who I am and why I want to blog. My name is Terence Waters, a 29-year-old gay man living in Salt Lake City.  I currently do freelance work, graphic design mainly, along with another full-time job, being a full-time student, and have many hobbies. I've found a lot of enjoyment in various activities, but particularly in the arts, including playing music and piano, the theatre, drawing/sketching, reading and writing, blogging, public speaking, technology and telecommunications, PCs, dining out, networking, and the business world. I also crave knowledge, for reading is a beautiful thing, especially when it involves current events and so forth. I'll constantly post interesting reads I've found on Twitter, Facebook, and Google+, and love just gaining insight on anything and everything!

In my personal life, I've experienced quite a bit in my coming out story and sexuality, and I hope that somehow my experiences I write about in my blog posts touch those who decide to read them. I hope to also help some of those experiencing trouble dealing with same-sex attraction, especially in wake of the LDS (Mormon) Church and its principles, for I was exactly in that same place. Because of my experiences and trials, I found that reaching out was the best way to help me deal with my worries and feelings, and maybe my blog posts can help you as the reader if you're in this situation as well.

To backtrack, I was (and technically still am) a former member, and still recall how difficult it was to be able to come out and talk about myself to my family, my friends, even to me solely. My father was a Bishop and Stake High Councilman, my mother a Relief Society President, both still married, enjoying life, and worked hard for their income each day to provide for our family.

As for me, I was in the Aaronic Priesthood, consequently trying to understand the urges I was feeling as a teenager while at the same time being full-time in school, working through life, landing a scholarship for college, and graduating as one of the top students in my high school class. After coming out (i.e. explaining openly that I am a gay male) during college, I then experienced various trials, confusion, and even diseases and health problems in relation to trying to find my true self. But through constant understanding and love for myself, great emotional and spiritual help, and overall amazing friends and family, now I can truly say I am a happy person for being the person I am today: gay, a designer, and a newly mature man based on my trials and experiences received. It is not just about the same-sex attraction in my life; rather, it is instead a part of me that still allows me to be a productive member of society...which I now can say has enlightened my life.

I plan to use a lot of these details (both good and bad) in future blogs, for I do not wish to bore you personally as my reader right off the bat here. Instead, I wished to give you an understanding and knowledge of what it is I truly wish to write about and to introduce myself to you, the reader of my post in "Breaking the Silence". I'm rather excited to get started and share some of my personal experiences and life's journeys to better help you, the reader, see what great things a man or a woman can achieve while also being a part of the LDS/Mormon AND LGBT Community. And also, I'll add some fun stuff, like poetry, random, appropriate jokes I'll encounter, and even personal experiences that I hope will entertain and inspire you!

Finally, I welcome comments and will read each one received. Feel free to ask questions, and I will make a reasonable effort to respond if I am able. :) Come, my fellow reader, and explore with me the deep, inner regions, of my inner psyche. Be amused, entertained, and uplifted ;)

~Terence Waters
@terrokkinit on Twitter
Terence Waters on Facebook

Conviction

Matt here.

I went back to Sacramento over the weekend to visit my family, and I had a great time. If I were to give colors to the things that happened, they were mostly yellow and blue and white, with one purple exception.

My parents and I were having a little picnic, and it was gorgeous. I was telling them about life and my recent dates and then we got to talking about my younger brother. When my dad got up to throw some stuff away, Mom talked about a conversation she'd had with the little one. (The little one is 20, but I'll persist in calling him the little one until . . . well, probably always.) The little one seems to be spinning his wheels and not being too concerned about it, or anything. A while back Mom had a sitdown with him and said that she felt his life wouldn't turn around until he started getting back into the church for himself instead of going as a condition of living at home.

Predictably, he brought up the "But Matthew" defense: Matthew doesn't have anything to do with the church anymore and look at him! He's doing great.

Mom's counterattack surprised me. She pointed out that although I'm a-Mormon now, I was quite into the church until I was, I dunno, eighteen or so. She said she'd never seen someone with such a strong testimony, and if I weren't into dudes, I'd still have that testimony now.

When she told me this, I responded with a "hm," and moved the conversation along. (Because how awkward, right?) It made me think of my youth in the church, though, like I haven't in a long time.

Coming from a wholly Mormon family and being homeschooled through junior high and high school, I didn't know anything but Mormonism. By nature and nurture I was quiet, thoughtful, good natured, and--above all--earnest. In fact, while I don't know if I had "a testimony," when I was a younger man I was full to bursting with faith and trust and self loathing. I can see how that might come across as a testimony if you call the last bit "humility." Being as well in touch with the loathing as I was, my first instinct was to judge my mom and to be hurt that she misunderstood my childhood so thoroughly.

My second thought was, what if she's right? What if the loathing is just my current interpretation of what actually was humility or . . . something. Or what if the loathing was incidental to the earnest faith and trust, which are the actual components of testimony? I guess you could see it that way and not be horribly mistaken and out of touch. In that sense, sure, I had a phenomenal testimony.

What I worry about with that interpretation (or whatever variant of it that my mom has) is that it could easily be twisted into a way to discredit me, my thinking, and the person I am now. It could be quite the tool for patronizing: "Well, you _would_ think that (you're into dudes!) but that's okay, it's not your fault, you knew what was right before your struggle corrupted you. Run along now and let the straight people talk."

I don't know if this is a widely held attitude or not, but it frightens me. I feel strong and confident most of the time, but then things like this happen and I realize that there really are a lot of ways to see the world, and not all of them play nice.

Don't judge me.

Matt here. This will be short.

Today I wished again that I were straight. I was watching a show, and two of the main characters were finally getting it on after thirty-some episodes, and I wanted to be him. I wanted to find her attractive, I wanted sex with a woman to be enticing. I wanted to be like the other 95 percent of humanity.

Some years ago, when I felt like this, it made me wonder if Evergreen was on to something. Heck, I think they were on to something, even if their conclusions about it were wildly wrong. I do crave straightness, I wish I were like straight men. It makes sense to want to be normal. Evergreen was wrong, I think, to suppose that straightness can be cultivated, but not in identifying the craving.

I remember being very young, perhaps seven years old, and wishing on a star. I wished to be Wolverine. There's nothing wrong with that. Wolverine is awesome. Being straight is awesome. But I'm not Wolverine, and I'm not straight.

There are worlds and worlds of alternative universes in my head. Sometimes they make me so sad and dissatisfied with the world as it is. It's hard to feel sometimes that being gay is also awesome.

Roommates, Now and Then

Matt here.

Things are going well for me here in the Bay Area. This coming week I'll find out whether or not the Navy wants to hire me. Last week I was approached about a job with a nonprofit, so I have a safety net in case the military isn't in my future. I'm buying a car on Monday.

And I love my roommates. The outgoing one and I go out every other week or so--last night we went to dinner, a show, and karaoke with a bunch of friends. The quiet one and I go to the gym together four or five times per week and have lovely discussions about the DOD budget or immigration or whatever happens to be on NPR. Every now and then we'll all go out on a hike together or something. It's such a pleasure to share a house with them.

My last set of non-family roommates and I also got on well. We lived south of BYU in a four-person place we called the Cozy House. Two were brothers, everyone but me was a choir boy. We also got on well and did things together, but when it came down to it there was always a bit of an elephant in the room: They believed in Mormonism, and I didn't. They thought homosexual activity was bad, and I didn't. They were as kind and sweet as could be, but those disagreements (and the pressures of coming out at BYU, blah blah blah) put a damper on things.

It's interesting to see the contrast. There are things I miss about the Cozy House setup, like Brian's tendency to do big messy building projects in the kitchen or Spencer's tendency to talk about fantasy novels or Jeff's tendency to bring people over, but the things I don't miss are heavier. Constant worry about the future of my eternal soul. Being the only one who doesn't share wads of Mormon assumptions about life. Inability to trust myself.

Sometime soon--possibly this summer--I'm going to meet up with one or two of the guys and see how things are now.  I wonder if we'll get on now, if the elephant will be bigger or smaller. I wonder if our disagreements will matter.

Oh man! Thank you for reading through my reminiscences. I wanted you to know some of the context that's in my head as I prepare for next week's post, in which I'm planning to discuss the pros and cons and maybe the how-to's of keeping and maintaining friendships with Mormons after dropping their church.It's something I think of rather often, and I imagine at least a few of y'all do to. I hope you'll enjoy it.

I feel warm and bubbly, like a hot tub.

Matt here.

After a two week whirlwind of applications and travel, I'm installed in a house in Berkeley, California. I love it here. I fell in love with the city while I was here doing my first publishing internship, and coming back is delightful. There are flowers everywhere, like I remembered, and it's cool in June. The buildings are all old and, well, crappy, but in the right frame of mind "crappy" becomes "filled with character," and I have the right frame of mind these days.

My parents came to help me drop off my couple-few boxes of stuff and take a look around, and they happened to meet one of my roommates. There are two of them, friends I met shortly after graduating, gay guys who got together soon after I met them. One has LDS history, the other doesn't. My mom is very pleased with the arrangement because apparently the missionaries stop by for dinner every few weeks and give a little lesson, and she hopes I'll come back to church someday. Long odds on that, but I'm happy that she's happy with my friends and what I'm doing.

I'm certainly happy with it all. I love that I'm at a point in my life where I have solid relationships with people who've known me post-BYU. My history is slowly flaking away like dried mud. Or . . . dandruff. Or something. It feels inexpressibly good to know these people who didn't know me when I was in denial or depression. It makes all that negativity seem further in the past. It makes my current happiness seem more effulgent.

The next few months will be interesting. I set up a Grindr account the other day, and my roommates and I had fun going through and deciding who to block right off the bat. From that interesting service, I already have a couple of coffee dates. And in the past few days I walked down to the university and found an armful of places I want to go, including a gay and lesbian center; I went to an old movie night at a local theater, and after that to another gay couple's apartment for wine and witty, innuendo-laden conversation; and I had the first of an unknown number of dinners with the missionaries. I had my first day of nonprofit interning, and submitted the last papers for my Navy officer application. (Forgot about that, didn't you. So did my recruiter.)

My life right now is full of movement and laughter and introspection and light. Hope. I hope yours is similarly outfitted.

The Discussion at Home

Matt here.

Picking up from last week, I'd just asked the elders to come over to my house so we could talk. They were in the city proper and I live out on the edge, so they said they'd be by in about an hour.

***

I'm a believing person. If you tell me you had a good time on our date, I'll believe you. If you say you're allergic to wheat, I'll believe you. If you say you care about me, I'll believe you.

One thing I've believed in is that the church has its members' best interests at heart. As a teenager, a few of my home teachees were inactive, and when we'd visit them every month I'd get a distinct sense that we were imposing and that they didn't really want us there. I couldn't figure out why. To me, it seemed like a nice thing, to have people who would check up on you and make sure you have help if there's a crisis. Yeah, we'd do a little spiritual thought thing that I guess could (in retrospect, did) get on people's nerves, but in my mind at least that was secondary. The primary purpose was to let them know we were willing to help with whatever they might need.

I haven't been hometaught since my first year at BYU, and that's hurt. I bring this up because in my handful of years as a less active or inactive member, I've also never been visited by the missionaries.The two are linked in my head because I had a different idea of what it meant to be inactive--I thought I would be pursued. I mean, isn't that one of the standard ex-Mormon rants, that they never leave you alone? Just because I didn't want to go to church doesn't mean I didn't want any contact.

But as I've mentioned, I'm trying to take Joan Didion's words to heart: "Character--the willingness to accept responsibility for one's own life--is the source from which self-respect springs." I called the elders because I'm tired of waiting for the church to come to me. I guess part of my goal for the visit was to assert myself. I'm still here, I'm still a member. What are you gonna do about it?

***

In the end, I committed to read the scriptures every day until our next meeting, one week later. I expected something like that going in, and I'd've been disappointed if they hadn't asked. There discussion that led there was interesting, though.

First, Elder M (the redhead) was gone; they were doing exchanges. When I answered the door, I found Elder H (with the interesting voice) and Elder T, who was gorgeous.

Damn, I thought. One of the reasons I'd been so comfortable around Elders H&M was that I didn't feel a physical spark with either of them, so it was easy to focus on other things, like religion or whatever. Elder T was just shy of my height, green eyed, and had a beautiful smile. I would find out over the course of our discussion that he was also my age, having left on his mission a few years later than normal. Damn.

I led them onto the back porch, where I'd put out a couple of green plastic chairs in a triangle. They didn't know this, of course, but the back yard at my parents' house is my special place. I've spent more time out there than anyone else in my family, playing around or swimming or laying in the sun or whatever. It added something to my sense of security, being on my turf. I took the chair with my back to the pool, so I could see the house on the off chance that someone came home early. (I was supposed to have the house to myself for a few more hours.)

For a couple of seconds we just sat there. Then I told them a little about me: not sure about religion or God or anything like that, but raised in the church and wanting to take another look at it. Came out at BYU, inactive for a handful of years.

Elder T started with (what seemed to me to be) a curveball: "What's the most important thing to you?" And of course I knew they were expecting me to say family, and I wracked my brain to come up with a different answer, but after a couple of seconds I gave in because my family actually is the most important thing for me. But I followed it up with an similarly important second thing--"my independence." We talked about our families for a bit, Elder H complimenting my parents effusively, as he should, but they didn't press into Plan of Salvation territory, like I'd assumed they would. Elder T said he totally understood having difficulty submitting to authority, since he was an "alpha-male" type, and I privately agreed, fervently, with that.

Elder H asked me if there was some particular event that pushed me away from the church. Later he'd confess that since finding out he'd be coming to California he'd been afraid of Prop 8 coming up, and that explained why his face fell when I told him there were two things: first, Prop 8, and second, the utter lack of spiritual confirmation I've felt. I explained that while I believe it's entirely possible to be a good person and be against gay marriage at the polls (e.g. my parents), I can't excuse the church's role in the awful, dishonest Yes-On-8 campaign.

Both missionaries were touchingly sympathetic. Elder H, I'm pretty sure, is actually in favor of gay marriage and feels very conflicted about it. Elder T distracted me with that damn smile of his, so I don't remember exactly what he said other than affirming his belief that the church is led by inspiration. Neither missionary tried to treat it as inconsequential, which I appreciated.

After a time we moved on to the lack of spiritual confirmation, and I'm not going to tell you most of this part.  The three of us were open about the things we knew and believed and hoped, and we all shared some things that don't see daylight all that often, even for them as missionaries I would guess. Elder H talked about different ways that the spirit might manifest itself, though, and Elder T cautioned both to be sure I'm not expecting some grand miracle and that getting a testimony of God or the church could take years, as it had for him. (Remember that he's twenty-four.)

We wrapped up by setting a place (a nearby park) and time (same time, one week later) for our next meeting. I showed them out, and made a list of study questions for the coming week:

1. Do I believe in God?
2. Do I believe in Jesus?
3. Do I believe in the Mormon church?
4. What would spiritual confirmation be like?

And if you'd like to find out how that went, as well as hear about my second meeting with the Elders, that's what my next post will be about.

***

Unrelated: What My Daughter Wore
Unrelated: Do You Hold Hands?
Semi-related: Ben and Matthew

Just Imagine

Matt here.

Imagine you’re in the back yard at your parents’ house. Well, my parents’ house. There’s a patio, two lawns, and a long deep blue cold pool. Wind, sunshine, sculpted concrete. You’ve just finished weeding the flowerbeds around the ancient splintering fence. Probably that’s the beginning of a sunburn on your neck, you notice as you lean back on your heels and wipe the sweat off your face.

“It’s good to see you again.”

Ice, fire, a tiny earthquake up your spine. You turn around and see him there, white stubble, t-shirt, cargo shorts, barefoot, and that smile you remember in your soul.

You scramble out of the dirt and hug him, crying. “You're back!” you mumble into his shoulder, in the sun. The wind. On the sod you laid fifteen years ago, grown into itchy green puffs.

The man is God. He proceeds to tell you that the Mormon church is his, and he wants you to never be with a man again. (Be with a man, anyway.) He would like you to marry a woman or be celibate, whichever you like best.

***

Could you do it? If all doubts about the Mormon church, being gay, and God’s will were removed beyond a doubt, if you knew, could you do Mormonism?

This is a useful question, I think. You know I am often not impressed with the gay community’s attitudes and arguments. Blog posts and articles like baby vomit, dribbling out at more or less regular intervals, saying “We can’t be expected to do that. That’s too hard. We’re not strong enough.” I hate these posts, I hate how they limit us, how they imply we're not enough on our own, that we need boyfriends, husbands, or partners to be happy, successful, and vibrant.

Our worth is not dependent on binding ourselves to another person.

Yet, even though I believe that firmly, I don't know if I could do it, be a gay celibate Mormon.

When I drafted this a couple of weeks ago I thought I could, but I've noticed something about myself over the past long while: I go through phases. Happy phases, sad phases, dedicated phases, procrastinating phases, believing phases, cynical phases, asexual phases and homosexual phases and sometimes the barest flutter of a heterosexual phase. A couple of weeks ago I was willing to believe, focused on the good bits of Mormon theology—the happiness, the expansive vision, the family, the inclusion.

Then I volunteered serving food at a community event, and I flirted with a fellow server, and I started focusing on the bad bits—the uncertainty, the dystopia, the solitude. And in that phase, which is ongoing as I publish this, I don't know if I'm strong enough to do Mormonism.

I figured that if I didn't have doubts about the church, there'd be nothing to it but throwing myself into the church and its activities. I'd serve a mission, which I am in fact still young enough to do. I would at least date women, a thing I haven't done since I was a teenager, and maybe marry one. Even if I didn't, I'd lead a full life, heavily investing myself in the church community, improving it and being improved by it. And they would love me! I would be adored and celebrated, showered with love like the prodigal son.

But, knowing myself, knowing about my waves, how long would it take me to discredit what I'd seen, or rationalize it away, or find some kind of loophole? Especially since the lovely active excellent life I would be leading would not erase the phantom ache of my absent other half, which, with all my doubts and worries, I found unbearable before. I have a feeling that in some years, a decade or two at the outside, I would be back to miserable indecision. Maybe I'd get other witnesses to boost me up and keep me believing, but wouldn't I have gotten those before, if they were forthcoming? I feel somehow that those continuing witnesses are less realistic hypotheticals than a visit from God.

***

The realization that maybe I couldn't do Mormonism does not, of course, answer the question of whether or not I should try.

***

I wonder how this would turn out if all his shareholders were Mormon.

"We are also driven by meaningful work, by others' acknowledgement and by the amount of effort we've put in: the harder the task is, the prouder we are."

True Equality Won't Come with Marriage

A peaceful spring break quickly turned into a hectic one. Surprisingly, the continuous plans I made to keep me busy weren’t the most hectic part of it all. Dinner and Jersey Boys, a Giants game, and catching up with friends were the least of my chaos. The most frenzy came from Facebook and this symbol:

and my having to explain my position.

This post is not about arguing for or against the issue of same-sex marriage. That’s not the point. I myself am weary about marriage as an institution, specifically because of the inequalities it perpetuates and small population marriage is even applicable to. I invite anyone to click here, here, and here, for more reading on this topic, as more educated people have been better able to articulate their thoughts on the matter.

And yes, I do realize that this issue reaching the Supreme Court is historical and could produce significant legislation, so that’s not what this post is about. 

What this post is about, however, is how the issue of same-sex marriage is being deployed as a solution to injustice towards the LGBTQ community, the solution to everyone’s problems. And as I struggled to formulate my opinion on the matter, Jack Halberstam, Director of The Center for Feminist Research at University of Southern California and queer theorist, came as my saving grace with the following quote:

"Get married by all means--gays, straights, whatevers--but don't confuse recognition with liberation or the cementing of social norms with social justice."

Amen.

If anyone needs any proof that other and more crippling problems persist, then I wish I could show you my Facebook News Feed, filled with posts from conservative LDS Facebook friends that directly and indirectly denounce not only same-sex marriage, but most importantly homosexuality and being attracted to members of the same-sex. Attraction. Within these spaces, many are not even at the point of grasping the acceptability of individuals interested in members of the same sex, and allowing these people to express their interest through romance and relationships. Even if same-sex couples are granted the right to marry, there are still many problems facing people in the LGBTQ community. The fact that people identifying in such a way can only be accepted in my church if they abstain from romantic relationships is one issue, as it’s unfair to deny anyone to feel and experience the Christlike emotion of love, and build a family, which is one of, if not the, most important teaching of the church.

I admire those allies in support of same-sex marriage, as, for some, it reflects a genuine interest in gay and lesbian politics. But I beg that these same people become allies to the LGBTQ community as a whole, and keep this vigor and passion in issues much more plaguing and vital to the larger community. There are causes and actions more worthwhile than changing a profile picture, and these movements call for personal involvement to work towards solutions towards these problems. Because when “faggot” continues to be yelled at me as I walk down the streets of my community at night, I must admit that same-sex marriage is only a pit stop on this journey, with stops of homophobia, acceptance in religious spaces, and LGBT youth and homelessness needing to be addressed. There are many more issues plaguing the community that are vital to the mere survival of some. Before marriage, survival and basic necessities must be met first.  

I don't give a shit.

Let me just start out by saying I don’t agree with a lot of things gay Mormon bloggers say or think. I think many of them are parroting things they’ve heard, agreed with, and so decided were right. I think that if they have spent time thinking about the concepts they write about, it is only in a spiral of self-confirming anecdotes, not a critical exploration and certainly not with any desire to see if “the other side” might have a point. The blogosphere in general feels to me like the whining of four year olds coupled with the writing level of teenagers. I am a dispirited, disappointed, unhappy camper. And bitter a little.

Now, today’s topic: the gay identity. I don't think this will be my only post on the subject. I’ve lost count of the various pissing contests over “gay” versus “same sex attracted” and whatever else, and I just want to say, I don’t give a shit. Personally I think “same sex attracted” is fine, but I don’t use it because it’s stupid long even if you abbreviate it. “Gay” wins on that front even though I don’t feel it’s entirely accurate for me because “homoromantic asexual-leaning” is even longer than “SSA,” and “queer,” though otherwise my favorite, still has a negative connotation. You know. From the days when it still meant “weird.”

When I was seventeen I went to an Evergreen conference in SLC, and for about a year after that the distinction between “gay” and “SSA” was a big deal for me. It helped me acknowledge my orientation and my religious disbelief more or less separately, since there was a space in Mormonism for “SSA” but not “gay,” and at the time I couldn’t have dealt with both. “I’m same sex attracted, Mom, not gay. I’m not going to live the lifestyle.”

“SSA” let my put the whole question of liking guys on hold while I dealt with the question of “Is Mormonism God’s thing?” It simultaneously let my parents get used to the idea of me being attracted to boys without pushing the possibility of a flesh-and-blood I’m-sinning-with-this-guy boyfriend in their faces. A year later when I’d more or less decided against Mormonism and started using “gay” around my mom, she was upset a little, but nothing like she would have been if I’d insisted on “gay” right away. You will probably never convince me that there is no place for “SSA” as a descriptor. I say that if the distinction is important to someone, let them have it.

This is another way of saying that I don’t fully identify with “the gay identity.” You do? That’s great. That’s excellent! I’m happy for you, but don’t assume everyone agrees just because they’re gay. Some of us use it only because it’s the closest approximation to truth, not because it’s truth itself.

Two old blog posts pushed my mind to this topic last week: This woman kept her religion and her gay identity. This woman did not. Their writing made me think.

***

I passed the Navy officer aptitude test. (Mentioned it here, remember.) My score was in the top quartile, so I’m cleared to continue my application. 

Related: This week I will think about a boy who, if I go into the Navy, I will have approximately zero chance with.

***

In case you want to laugh / cry.

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Homosexuality is a Choice and Other Logical Fallacies

It's finals week soon! You know what that means? Doing everything in my power to avoid studying. xD

This includes thinking about some deeply intimate subjects including why Mormons can't come to terms with gay people.

This is a lot larger of a question than you think. So, let me tackle something simpler for the post and something that I feel very strongly about: why do at least two of my siblings tell me that being gay is a choice? One of these siblings will be graduating in psychology with a masters in April. He has been studying it for six years. You would think that someone who has been a field where "gay" is a common topic would have seen the research that states gay is not a choice. And he has. So why does he deny the truth?

So, let me start with some basics. Assuming that being gay is a choice, a gay Mormon has four choices:

1) Leave the church.

2) Live a heterosexual lifestyle.

3) Live a life of celibacy.

4) Live a gay lifestyle while staying in the church.

So, let me look at this from my brother's perspective when trying to decide which is the best option. Obviously, he doesn't think leaving the church is an option. Clearly not in line with church teachings. Similar to option four, living a gay lifestyle while staying in the church. Obviously, that is wrong.  People can't be committing sin all the time, especially serious, sexual sin, and stay in the church. In fact, that lifestyle, if reported to the Mormon church, will result in excommunication, essentially option one. So, from my brother's perspective, one and four are not even real options.

Option two would seem the most appealing at first. Someone lives a heterosexual lifestyle, gets married, makes babies, shows up at family events with a significant other of the opposite gender. But my brother isn't that superficial. He is smart and would see the problems with this. This lifestyle isn't fair to the woman. She would not be getting the love she deserves. Sex is not just a physical thing. It is emotional, spiritual as well as intimate. A gay man simply cannot provide all these to a woman he married to fit into Mormon social norms. Besides, these marriages don't last. There aren't any stats and numbers out there about how many of these result in divorce, but there have been case studies done. And these indicate that the couple can be happy at first. Sometimes as long as two or three years. But things fall apart.

If being gay is a choice, this leaves us with option three; to live a life of celibacy. Which, according to my brother, just isn't fair to ask of someone. Mainly because celibacy just isn't lack of sex, but lack of dating, kissing, holding hands, flirting (something I see couples around BYU do on a daily basis). Asking gay Mormons to live a life without love, to wait until life ends to begin to find love, is just not fair. He knows he can't ask this. So he doesn't.

Instead, he chooses to deny data, deny truth, and say that being gay is a choice. Because, with that decision, it isn't God who is condemning us to this celibate, miserable lifestyle, it is ourselves.

So, this is why Mormons believe that being gay is a choice. Because to believe otherwise is to believe that God doesn't want us to find love until death. According to my brother, it has to be our choice because God only makes perfect beings, not gay people.

And now I'm angry again. I tried to understand my "masters in psychology" brother and it only leads to a spiraling argument that makes no sense; that being gay is a choice simply because is the best way to deal with homosexuality and the church.

I'm a scientist. I believe in truth. And this sort of thinking makes me angry. Take logic. Build on it. Emotions do matter. Don't factor them out. But don't disregard truth so your world, your emotions about the church, make a little more sense.

Anyways, hope I didn't rant too much.

Turkey Day Frustrations

My sister's name: Sal

My sister's husband name: Sam

My relationship with Sal before I told her I was gay: Good

My relationship with Sam before I told him I was gay: Decent/Okay

My relationship directly after I told them I was gay: Great

My relationship now with Sal: Strained

My relationship now with Sam: Great

I mean, don't get my wrong. Sal is totally accepting I'm gay. Totally. Everything is fine. I mean, she says I don't have to be Mormon. I don't have to be straight. Sal even wants to hear about my dates with my half asian. And then, something clicked with her. I'm going to BYU. I signed an honor code. I shouldn't be dating men. I shouldn't be not Mormon. Hell, I should even quit BYU for destroying my integrity. And this is just the start.

Sal. "You know, mom has a reason to be upset you're gay. She wants to spend the rest of eternity with you, and you're choosing to not let that happen. She isn't getting what she wants." (Paraphrased)

Me. "..." (Not paraphrased)

Sal. "You're not my responsibility. My kids are though. And if one of my kids tells me their gay, I would have major problems. I want my kids to be in heaven with me. And their choice wouldn't let them be there with me." (Paraphrased)

Me. Well F*** you! (Not really said, but clearly how I felt.)

Oh. I hate contention. So, I didn't respond. Just sat back, played with her baby, gave him the love he would deserve no matter who this 3-month year old turns out to be. And listening to Sal, telling me how conditional love can be. I'm not a romantic person. I don't believe in unconditional love. But I still can't understand, I can't respect, what she is saying.

Sal goes to bed. I'm wrapped up in the book I brought. And Sam emerges from the bedroom to play games with me (Carcassonne, Word Press ect.) and to talk. He abruptly apologizes for his wife's behavior.  And he respectfully disagrees with her. Maybe he just said this stuff because I was winning all the games we played (an uncommon, but not rare, occurrence) but I think he meant it. I think I'm the same to him before and after. Thank God someone in this family of mine understands and isn't feigning/trying tolerance.

And for the record, being gay IS NOT A CHOICE. Get over it people. It simply isn't.

Short summery of my family now at this point.

Father; Knows I'm gay and largely ignores it. Relationship remains the same.

Mother. Knows I'm gay and is trying to understand. Feels like it is my right to tell everyone in the family and is prone to jumping the gun and telling people before I can. But she is trying.

Five siblings who know. Two don't care, two believe it is a choice I'm making, and one is like my father; she largely ignores it.

One sibling doesn't know. He professes his hatred of gay people. Apparently, we are the stem of all problems in America. And no one has/will tell him. Because he is a bigot, which, ironically, is a more likely cause for America's problems.

Also, I didn't post last week. If I had, though, the post would have gone something like this...

Half asian is AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!! 

I want this. I want this because I'm happy with him. And don't tell him, but I have got this wonderful date planned next week of which I need several females to help me set up. And it's going to be awesome :)

So Much Love to Give

I’m moving a couple thousand miles away in a couple of weeks and if you’d asked me how I felt about it last month, I would have told you I’m frigging ecstatic.

If you ask me today, however, I’m less excited. In fact, I’m second guessing my decision to go and I’m a little disappointed.

Don’t get me wrong, I still am ready to leave Utah (it will always be home but I am truly sick of it right now).  I also think my new home, Cincinnati, is a beautiful city and I know there is a lot more professional opportunities back east than there are here, but I’m sad.

Why you may ask? Because I’ve started seeing someone and I like him – a lot. 

I haven’t dated anyone, male or female, consistently for over a year.  Because it’s been such a long period of time in between relationships, I forgot how wonderful it feels to care about someone and realize that they feel the same way about you, too.

I forgot how beautiful it feels to share your deepest thoughts, fears, and emotions with someone; to connect on a level that you really can’t reach when you’re ‘just friends’ or interacting with family members.

Similarly, experiencing sensual, intimate moments with someone who you care about and are attracted to can be euphoric.

As I’ve mulled over the last few months of exchanges with this guy, I am beginning to realize how far away from my former faith and church I’ve come. In previous experiences and romantic interactions with men, I have felt overwhelmed with guilt and fear and dread.  Now, however, I feel peace, tranquility, and even love.

Perhaps my change in feelings can be attributed to this guy. I mean, I have to say I think he’s pretty wonderful. But, honestly, I am more inclined to believe that I am finally starting to discover my own divine worth; that I am who I am and that is okay – regardless of what family members or neighbors or anyone else may say or think. I am finally to a point where I believe I’m a good human being who deserves to love and be loved.

As I think back on my years of commitment to celibacy and “Christian service” (rather than coming in and out as gay), I am saddened.  I have so much love to give and I cannot fathom (anymore) the idea of not sharing my love with someone. I am still trying to figure out where I stand with God but, from what I do still believe, I do not think that He wants or expects me to hide my love – or anyone’s love for that matter.

If He exists, He IS love, right? At least that’s what we’re taught. So that is how I am going to govern my life and my relationships.

Now, is my new ‘beau’ my future husband? I don’t know. I do know, though, that I am in the right place at the right time and when I move next month, I will address the changes and challenges as they happen.

Until then, though, I am going to enjoy some wonderful company and a blossoming friendship and relationship. Any time's a good time to love, right?

Ode to a Gay Blogger

My coming out story has been tumultuous to say the least and, unfortunately, it is far from over.  I can say, however, that the greatest strides I’ve made with loving who I am and coming to terms with myself has happened since I started writing for this blog.  Truth be told, my co-authors have helped me cultivate a greater understanding of what it means to be gay and, more importantly, what it means to be me and I will be forever in their debt.

So, I dedicate this post to my lovely co-contributors here at Breaking the Silence, I love all of you!

Lee – 

I know you’re new and I don’t know you that well but I am grateful for your example.  The courage I have already seen you display on this blog and in person truly astound me.  I am much older than you (in fact, you make me feel old but that is entirely beside the point) but you are strides ahead of me in this life and I look up to you in so many ways.

Your strength and example of coming out and being proud of who you are at such a young age is not only impressive, but it is also a testament to your courage and character.  Thank you for sharing your voice with this blog and being a positive example to countless others.  You have truly become one of my heroes.

Bailey – 

You are such a lovely person and I am so grateful you let me into your life a little bit more each week.  We’ve never met and I don’t know that we will ever have the opportunity to meet – this makes me sad.  I hope that one day our paths will cross because you are such a unique and fascinating individual and I know my life would be greatly enriched.  You have so much personality and a strength about you that I think is incredibly rare; love who you are and let your beautiful light shine! You are amazing!

Thank you for taking us on your weekly adventures and sharing your story. I know life can be very challenging and, from what you’ve shared, you may have additional challenges that we haven’t had to address.  I just hope you know that you are loved by many and that all of us on the blog are grateful for who you are and we are all rooting for you!  I also hope you know that you have changed my life for the better.  Thank you for being you!

Dupree – 

I love the visual journeys you often take me on.  I love hearing your dreams, your goals, your frustrations, and your loves.  Your strength and willingness to be who you are so openly and willingly is truly beautiful.  I am so glad you have stuck with the blog and I know that you will continue to bless all of your readers with your sweet personality and outstanding charisma.

I am also grateful for your courage to be so open with your mother, your coworkers, and everyone on Facebook.  I don’t know when I will get to that point (and I will, eventually) but I am so impressed with your strength and I hope you know how wonderful and refreshing it is to watch you be you – all of you – in such a public forum.  Thank you for your sterling example.

Tiff –

First of all, thank you for starting and maintaining this blog.  I know you have been to hell and back and I am so grateful for the example you have been to me and to the countless others who read and share this blog.  The wonderful impact you have made on me and continue to make on others is outstanding. I cannot adequately express my gratitude and love for you!

On a personal level, I am so glad I have had the opportunity to meet you and be counted as one of your friends.  You are a beautiful ball of energy and love and I cannot remember meeting anyone who loves life and enjoys the beauty of the world around us as easily and readily as you.  Thank you for your courage and conviction and your love.  You mean the world to me and I am so glad you are in my life!

Jo –

My dear, once-long-lost friend, I am so grateful you are back in my life.  You are wonderful in every sense of the word.  I don’t think I have ever met anyone so genuine and caring in my whole life!  The authentic manner you live your life is not only encouraging, it is impressive.  I just love you so much!

Thank you for posting your LGBT Voices entries on Facebook so I could anonymously read them until finally, one day, I had the courage to “like” your status and ask you to submit a guest post.  Within a week or two I was the new Monday blogger and I haven’t looked back since.  You are, in large part, responsible for helping me find my voice and myself.  I will be forever grateful for your beautiful example and for your sweet patience with me.  Thank you for everything and I truly hope you know that you are one of my favorite people (you always have been – at least when I wasn’t jealous of your unnatural musical ability!!!).  Much love to you – always and forever!

Chewed Up and Spit Out

Trigger Warning: Sexual Abuse, Assault, and Rape

Last week I mentioned that Pride was both wonderful and horrible at the same time.  It was wonderful because I was able to see a world of diversity that I hadn’t seen before.  It was beautiful because I saw a spectrum of color and variety that I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge.  And, finally, it was a chance to validate myself and find more courage to become my own authentic person.

It was horrible, however, because I was raped by someone who I thought was one of my best friends and his boy friend.

Friday night, before the festival opened, I was invited to go clubbing with a friend from college and his partner.  I was excited to experience Pride weekend and what better way to do it than by hitting up a gay bar with a group of gay friends.

It’s important to know that these people weren’t strangers. I had known my friend for more than five years and I also knew his boy friend (they’ve been dating for about six months). 

 

They still live in Utah County so they decided to rent a hotel room in Salt Lake City. They invited me to their room to start drinking before we made it to the club.  Drinking in bars is so expensive so why not save as much as you can by “pre-gaming” before you get there, right?

Well, I like to drink and I know it takes A LOT for me to feel anything so I helped myself to a couple of mixed drinks at the hotel as well as an 8-10 oz. Dixie-cup shot of pure pineapple vodka (no ice, just straight liquor).  I hadn’t been drunk in close to two years and I really wanted to let my hair down.

Well, we quickly made it to the bar and continued drinking. At least six bar drinks later, I was three-sheets to the wind and the club was closing.   

We took a cab to Denny’s and after we ordered, it became even more evident that the alcohol was taking its toll on me.  I couldn’t sit up in the booth and I definitely couldn’t eat or walk, and I could barely even talk.

Almost immediately after receiving our food, the three of us left the restaurant and walked across the street to the hotel.  While on our way back, I distinctly remember saying that I didn’t care what they did in their bed, as long as it stayed in their bed and they left me alone.

When we got to the hotel room, I immediately got into bed and, just before passing out, one of the guys gave me a glass of water and some ibuprofen. “You need to take this, it will help with your hangover tomorrow morning,” he said.

I felt safe. 

I passed out.

I don’t know how much time elapsed and, I’ll be honest, my next memories are all very broken and disjointed.

I am not going to go into detail but I was sexually assaulted in every way a man can be assaulted by another man.  Every time I said “no” and garnered enough strength to push off or pull away, they found another part of me to violate. 

These two men had been asking me to make an ‘MJ sandwich’ since December and I have been telling them “no” since then. 

Likewise, I told them “no” when we were all sober when the night began.

I told them “no” at the bar.

I told them “no” at Denny’s. 

 

I told them “no” on the walk back to the hotel.

And, in my drunken, passed-out state during the exchange, I remember saying “no, I’m not ready.”

I remember many things about that night; most of which I wish I did not.  Even when everything was happening, in between blacking out and then being forcibly brought back to consciousness, I remember thinking, “this is my fault,” and “why am I so stupid, how did I let this happen?” And then I would try and force myself to black out again – and I would.

I felt so guilty and dirty and responsible for letting myself get that drunk that I told myself that I deserved what was happening and that maybe if I just let them, they’d finish faster and it would all be over.

In that moment, I had convinced myself I deserved to be raped while the other guy took pictures. I deserved to have both of them violate me without any form of protection and, in that vein of thought, I believed that losing my virginity in such vile, disgusting way was my just reward.

Why? 

Because I am gay.

In the last conversation I had with my mother she told me, “if you decide to live the gay lifestyle, it will chew you up and spit you out.”

And, in that moment, I believed her.

Four or five hours later I came to, alone in the bed and half naked.  I put the rest of my clothes on that had been pulled off me and left the hotel room.

For the next two hours I walked downtown Salt Lake City in an effort to burn off the rest of the alcohol in my system before I took a taxi back to my car and I drove home.

Over the next few days I battled myself and my emotions.  I tried to justify their behavior. Similarly I continued to blame myself. 

Eventually, however, I sought out  friends who truly love me and support me and they referred me to several invaluable resources.

As I’ve reached out to support groups and hotlines and medical professionals, I have come to understand that this wasn’t my fault.  I wasn’t raped because I was drunk or because I'm gay, I was raped because my supposed friends are rapists.

No means no.

While speaking with the Utah Pride Hotline, I was told that this happens a lot.  That predators feed off of newly “out” members of the LGBTQ community because they are easy targets.  Similarly, while on the phone with the Rape Recovery Hotline, I was told that one in six men is a survivor of sexual assault and rape.

I am horrified that this happened to me.  I never thought it would, I never thought it could – I am enormous and I played sports. I didn’t think anyone would even consider doing something to someone as large as me.  I never thought it was even a possibility.  But, beyond my own pain, I am even more disgusted by how frequently this happens and by how many boys and young men are affected. 

 

It makes me sick(er).

So, if you are a survivor or you know someone who has been assaulted, please know that you are not alone.  Please use the resources that are available to you and, most importantly, know that you are not alone, that you are loved and that this wasn’t your fault.

There are many side effects associated with an experience like this.  I don’t know exactly how my personal journey will play out, or how this experience will affect me long term, but I do know that I am strong enough to weather the challenges that have already popped up and that may arise in the future.  I also know that with the right resources and support anyone else in this or a similar situation can also survive and thrive.

If you or anyone you know needs someone to talk to, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.  It’s tough but we can all heal together.

Resources:

Below are a few of the resources that I've found to help me through this experience.

http://www.raperecoverycenter.com/ - They have a 24-hour crisis hotline at 801-467-7273. This is a predominantly female-centric resource but they have been trained and are very generous with male (especially gay/bisexual) survivors, too.

http://www.rainn.org/get-information/types-of-sexual-assault/male-sexual-assault - There is a wealth of resources and information here too.

Me – Please reach out to me if you need any support; I will do all I can to help you.

Google – Truly, if you Google “Male Survivors of Sexual Assault” you will see a wealth of resources that can and will help you.

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~

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?