A Praise Chorus

I should be confused right now.

Things kind of "un-tapered" last night...

But I feel ok. I don't feel a spiritual gyration. I'm trying to be more patient. I'm not perfect; I don't need to know and understand everything right in this moment. I'm not trying to justify my actions; I'm just done being angry with me.

"I thought we were done," she said, "but then you called, again, and I felt something rekindle." She knows. By the way, I'm trying not to use key words in my posts because I found my blog surprisingly quickly when googling other blogs like mine...

And then he calls. Of course they both happen within an hour of each other. "I love you," he says. "I miss you." No one has ever said that to me before, except in a familial setting.

I feel like I should be torn up right now, but I've come to grips with the fact that my emotions, apparently, lack any sense of rationality. I've just learned to expect that they be confusing, unreasonable, uncertain, imperfect. As much as I've clung to objectivity and rationality in my life, I've loosed my grip, suspended my expectations.

I'm not in a race, I don't have a deadline... well, that's debatable...

It's going to be ok-- that's what I keep telling myself. It feels good to believe it.

Rescued

My life has become surprisingly more normal. Weird. It's coming back under control, again... stabilizing... thank goodness.

Things have tapered off with him. We still talk every day, but it is more platonic, more like I think we originally intended. There was no conversation that we had, but I think we reached a silent understanding. I want to give the Gospel a fair shot, so does he. I can't believe I'd obtain an answer to my question if I'm not willing to do what the Lord asks me to do. I told myself I was done trying, but I need to give it one more chance. One more.

My life has been productive, though. My days actually have movement, content. For a while, I was just running, swimming, and tanning all day. It sounds nice, but believe me-- it gets old. I want to add value to my life, my existence.

It's weird how my pandora songs seem to reflect my post in a strange way. Maybe it didn't do that initially... but it does, now.

What made the difference? The focus is back on me. Not in a selfish way, but I'm the one who decides what I feel and how I'm going to react. I love him. I still do. But I can feel myself sewing my heart back up, repairing, building the tower.

I thought I needed it. I thought I needed someone there for me, to be there for someone. So when everything started coming unraveled, I started coming unraveled. But there's purpose to my life, and having purpose has provided me with a sense of comfort. I'm going to be ok. I can feel it. I guess that was what I was really needing.

My life is a roller coaster. It's ok. This is an up, and there will, inevitably, be a down at some point. I'm starting to get used to it... not that it makes it any easier. But life is good and beautiful and strange. Mysterious in the worst way possible. A horrible car accident where I can't look away. It's that wrenching movie where you somehow know the ending will be a happy one. It's full of random, miniature insights that make us smile, put us at peace... without reason or explanation. Strange and beautiful. It may sound cliche to you, but I can't find more appropriate words to describe it.

Gifts and Curses

You're brave.

I guess I should maybe stop and clarify something. If these posts belonged to someone else, and I were reading them, I would have killed myself by this point. I am unendingly frustrated with the things I do, the cycle I'm forcing myself to live in. I would hate me if I were you (a general "you," no one specific).

So, to the general "you," go to hell.

I was reading someone else's blog post, and he seemed down on himself for the confusion that he was causing others. He actually apologized for how confusing his life is. I feel bad because this isn't for you. Yes, my blog is open to the world to find and read. If you're curious why I wrote it on here, read my first post.

But I'm not sorry, nor will I ever be, for my situation in life and my approach, my attempt at reaching some kind of resolution. To disagree is your prerogative. To write is mine.

Anyway...

I think I can be brave enough. I've been doing what I'm supposed to, as far as the Gospel goes. And I've admitted to myself that it is not my sole chance at happiness in life. Having said that, I really love it, and I'm glad I'm getting back into the things that I've been forgetting for the past six or eight months: reading scriptures, praying, family prayer, FHE. I'm glad to be approaching it with the question in mind. I'm glad that I can be honest with myself, with God.

I was reading through the first journal I ever kept. I started the day after my baptism. I journaled almost every day for two years. If I missed a day (which barely happened), I'd account for it in my next day's journal entry. I realized that I really did try to do everything that I was supposed to. I had forgotten how good I was trying to be... how good I was...

"Because of the blessings I've been given, the mercies I've been granted, because of Heavenly Father's love for me and mine for him, I will do everything I can with the gifts I've been given to make the most of my life. I do this because I have finally started to realize how much has been given to me, and maybe, somehow, living my life in the best way possible can serve as a testimony of my gratitude to Him, for Him."

I wrote that. I was 16. I was thinking about my life up to that point-- about the things I had done wrong, the person I was and the weight that I felt as a result.

But my energy, at that point in my life, was focused on gaining a deeper testimony of the church. Yes, I believed it was true before I was baptized, but the testimony I had wasn't strong enough to keep me planted in Gospel dirt as it stood. I had questions-- lots. I had questions that came from my father's pre-baptism, anti-mormon requirements. I needed to know. And then, I saw how proud my mom was, my siblings follow in my steps, members tell me how much they respected me... I felt weird. I felt like I had been thrown into a place with a lot of external expectations, and I didn't want to let people down.

I worked, I prayed, I pushed, and I succeeded in accomplishing everything that everyone expected of me, but the growth of other parts of my Gospel self that were crucial to my spiritual development were retarded, forgotten. A problem that needed to be recognized, understood, solved was forgotten.

I understood. I knew during that time shortly after my conversion and baptism. I knew what I needed to deal with, but I wasn't sure how. And I can follow myself through my journals; I can see how it was something always in the back of my head but a permanent "second" on my list of priorities.

That's why I'm experiencing gyrations at this point in my life. I've developed in halves... or half of me developed.

At least I'm beginning to understand. At least I'm trying to fix it.

And to you, a specific you, if you ever read this: Don't apologize for what you are and how you deal with it. We do the best that we can, and the people that don't matter eventually disappear, and that is infinitely better than allowing ourselves to disappear for someone else's sake.

Daylight

It's great. I kept hearing the song in that Bacardi commercial, and, though I've never actually had a mojito, it made me want to listen to this song and drink one.

Actually, before I joined the church, I drank my fair share... never beer. Cognac, Vodka, gin (when I got drunk enough that I couldn't taste too much), scotch...

It's brave to pave your own path. It's brave to be willing to let go of what you know. The future: whenever I think about it as an idea, it always seems ethereal, swirling and cloudy... something almost too delicate to be treated with anything but extreme caution, prudence, rationality. I guess I envy the people that can throw caution to the wind, so to speak. And, at the same time, I think it is brave to choose the well-traveled path if... it isn't chosen as the result of some external pressure.

What am I getting at? I don't know. I just don't know if I'm brave enough sometimes. I think my desire to live a straight life really is caused by some sense of external pressure.

It's weird. Feeling this way is so weird. I try to keep my life so balanced and perfect, purposeful. I guess I've tried to treat it objectively-- objectively because I was afraid of facing what I felt. To build a wall, to shut out the thoughts allowed me to accomplish what I've caught myself doing: trying to meet the expectations of others. I was so proud in thinking that I wasn't doing that. I just didn't notice. And then I have this whole experience, and I know that this is in no way meeting any expectation that anyone has for me. It couldn't be further.

And I feel good. I feel weak, confused, happy, devastated, empty, fulfilled, driven, scared. I feel things that I haven't allowed myself to feel for a long time because I was scared of what those feelings would do to me. They're things that expose the qualities that I've fought so hard to hide: humanity, imperfection. I was afraid of people finding out. I want my parents to be proud. I don't want to add stress or chaos or confusion or a reason for them to be ashamed of me. They're proud, and I can see it. They're proud of the things I've done, the person I'm trying to become. My siblings. My friends. I'm so bruised, and I don't want them to see it.

But when it really comes down to it, I'm the one that's ashamed. I'm ashamed of what I am and terrified that I won't be able to live an "ordinary" life. I was thinking about how much I wanted it, even if it meant potentially sacrificing a certain amount of happiness, of living a life that I wasn't truly happy with. I tried to say that it is what would make me happiest, but as I continue onward, I'm not convinced. I'm second guessing.

I told her. It was scary. I felt so weird talking to her after that. Part of me was hoping she'd say she wanted to stand by me and help me overcome this. Part of me wanted her to just let me go. I don't know why I called her. It had been a month of silence. "She deserves to know," I kept telling myself.

There was no magical connection, nothing that suddenly kindled in me a deeper, emotional connection. Is it just her? Is it all girls?

It sparked a desire, though. A sincere desire. It sparked a desire for me to know, to search, to approach the Gospel with this problem at the forefront-- not a "how can I overcome this?" mentality, but a "do I truly want this?" mentality. I have to find out. I have to find out because I can't win this if I'm not convinced. To fight it would require all parts of me to act unanimously... I sound schizophrenic...

But I feel liberated. I'm searching the Gospel with a clearer purpose... with the understanding that it isn't the only option I'm considering anymore. I tried that. i tried for five years to explore it as the only option to a happy life. That's what forced me to shut out the things I felt, to ignore the person that I was and to try to function on a more shallow level. Right or wrong, I'm not scared to leave the church, if it comes to that. I'm not scared to pave my way.

To experience the pain of regret, the fear of failure, the darkness of uncertainty, the volatility of the future... we are, then, forced to examine our imperfections. We are forced to be human. I am forced to be human.

Over My Head

I gotta turn down the crazy. 

My life is so strange and contradictory. I don't feel like I can even have meaningful interactions with people sometimes because I'm so confused about what the heck I'm doing. And it's my fault. I guess I kept thinking that straddling the paths like this wasn't really doing much to me, but I can feel it actually getting to me. What do I do? I'm not ready to choose, but I can't stay like this.

And as a side note, what the hell have I become? You probably haven't seen a change because it had been happening before I started this blog. Four years ago, I had tons of friends, was really outgoing, weighed 175, was driven to meet goals that I had set and honestly believed I could achieve. I wasn't afraid to fight for what was important to me. I wasn't afraid to disagree with people and could so easily disregard the things they said.

Now, I still have my friends, but I'm not really close with any of them. I can still talk to people, but I feel like I'm completely incapable of connecting with them past a very superficial level. I weigh 155 (not a good thing), I feel a lack of motivation to meet goals that I really feel are important to me. I'm passive, I give in. I really care about what people think about me. My having a good day depends way too much on other people. It depends way too much on him. 

So I'm sitting here, cursing at myself under my breath because it isn't too hard for me to see the difference in choices I have made during those two times. Awkward phrasing-- sorry... wasn't quite sure how to word that. Anyway, it's the Gospel. I know it is. He makes me happy, it's true, but is external happiness. At the end of the day, I don't feel like I have an increased feeling of self-worth because our relationship is based more on hormones. At the end of the day, it isn't meaningful. I can try to pin it on him because he isn't here to defend himself, but would it honestly be different if I felt like he had a greater emotional connection to me? Weird wording, I know. What I'm trying to say is that I can't believe it is his fault that this isn't more meaningful.

I just can't figure out how to stop feeling this way. I'm tossed around by his whims. I try to pull my life back together and reorganize, rebuild, reevaluate, and then it gets destroyed, again. It's like playing blocks with my niece: I scramble to build a tower as fast as I possibly can, and she knocks it over. I try to rebuild, she knocks it over. Rebuild, destroy. She loves it. In all honesty, it kind of frustrates me. But she's 2, so I can get over it.

Damn, discursive post. I'm just confused, so it's hard to maintain any sense of order here. 

Restoring my self-worth-- I guess I can start there. If I hold my breath, flex really hard, clench my jaw, maybe I can endure the pain of separating myself from him. Maybe I can endure his whims. Maybe I can build the tower, again.

Don't Wait

In Sacrament meeting, the talks were about patience and humility. In Sunday School, the lesson was about individual apostasy.

Ok.

Forget December

Let's try this, again.

I was going to talk about it, but I was just thinking that the feeling would maybe go away. It didn't. I feel kind of empty. I feel the gyration. Retarded.

I've gotta take a second to sound a little crazy. It helps me, sometimes, to picture myself in the future I would have according to the things that I think I want... you know? Like when it came to deciding whether or not to audition for those music schools or go to BYU, I thought about what my life would look like 10 years later according to those two choices. So I pictured what life would be like if things somehow did work out for him and me. I couldn't feel a certainty that things would be good, that I would be happy.

I felt so sure of it. I felt so sure when I was talking to him the past couple of nights. But I woke up this morning and somehow felt the piece that was missing from me. I was doing good-- I was feeling like this was something I could be ok with. Now, I'm not sure. These damn gyrations. 

If I'm going to change things, I have to be fully invested, you know? This can't be a whim. This can't be something that I can only halfway commit to. If it is going to work, I need to be willing to make the complete change, to let go of everything holding me back. But it hurts. It hurts to think that I'd have to let go of him. It hurts to think I'm winding up just to be a little more disappointed, broken, bruised. 

That's what I should've written about. I thought avoiding it would make it go away. It didn't. 

It just comes down to my testimony. This is something that I'd potentially have to fight for my entire life, alone. The thought makes me scared. If I were more faithful, I could be ok with that. If I had a stronger testimony, I would be able to approach this with the certainty that things would work out in the Lord's time, and that would suffice. I'm so tired of these spiritual gyrations. I was hoping they'd make me numb at some point-- that this rending I feel would deaden, subside. It hurts.

Does it ever stop? Does fighting this stop the hurt? Does giving in stop it?

Sweetness

Sometimes, my pandora station surprises me with an amazing song that I haven't heard in forever... "Sweetness," for example.

I am so tired. This may be a short post because I need to go to bed soon. My dad is doing this pretty intense landscaping project around the house, and I'm helping... he's paying me a lot to help, but man, it is hard work. The weather is really nice, though, and I can't help but feel ok with the situation. I think I was really looking for something to add meaning and purpose to my time back home. This is certainly something that can do that. 

"Te echo de menos," he tells me. "Te quiero," he says. Does he really understand what that means? I have to believe he does. I miss him, too. I love him, too. Ugh! Please, don't read this. For you, it's old and trite. For me, I still need to experience the release I receive from verbalizing this stuff. He pulls through. He always pulls through. I realize that he's the same guy that I fell for in the first place. I realize that my life is decidedly happier and more meaningful, that I don't feel like a freak or recluse, that I'm not destined to live alone. I feel like there are a thousand things swirling around me, clamoring for my attention. And then we talk, and all of that stuff falls to the ground, lies still. It doesn't matter. To have someone that cares feels so nice. To have a sincere connection with someone is liberating. It's something that I haven't had before, you know? And I'm not supposed to feel this way, I know. That's what the church says. But I can't deny the fact that I can seriously feel my insides tingling when we talk. I can't deny the fact that there is a legitimate connection with him-- something physical and emotional. And I can't deny that I feel so happy. I hate that I can't. I just can't. He means something to me, and I can't disconnect, I can't turn off that part of me. In my head, I know that this is wrong. In my heart, though, I feel like this is right-- this is what it is supposed to feel like. And now that I've felt it with someone, I don't feel like I can settle for anything less in my life. It's there, you know? That feeling that I have that makes me want to get up in the morning and make something of myself. It's  him.

In other news, my scholastic fate is currently being held in the hands of a committee that decides if I'm good enough to be accepted. If not, I'm feeling way too good right now to let it destroy my life. I can't believe I'm heading back to school in four or five weeks. I'm not ready for the drive-- that's for sure. I'm not ready to go back without him, either.

Hit or Miss

Vacation was nice, but it is good to be back home. I don't usually feel like leaving in the first place, but my family likes to go... so I go along. It was fun, but I don't like to be out of a routine.

Nothing too interesting happened. I was the one that drove most of the way. My sister and mom both fell asleep, and I went fast, like I always do when I'm the one that has to drive. Of course, my mom wakes up and is like, "Wow, we've made really good time." Of course we have, mom. I was going almost 90 for the past three hours...

I got eye-raped when we were shopping. It was this shorter, very femme, but kind of cute (though not my type) guy. I actually didn't even notice, but my sister did. I guess she turned around and caught him slowly staring me up and down. He made eye contact with her and then looked away. She started cracking up. When we got out of the store, she told me what had happened. She imitated the guy, and it was kind of gross that someone would do that. It actually made me feel kind of dirty... just because I had absolutely no idea it was going on, though I would have probably gotten confrontational if he were doing that to my face. Good story,  right?

Then, I was watching a really, really great tv show that I never knew existed until yesterday. At one point in time, one of the actors said, "It was just supposed to be this way" or something... I can't quite remember. But I got to thinking about the word "supposed." Was my life supposed to be this way... and who decides what is supposed to happen in the first place? He does, I guess. But the moment we fall off of His path, how can we tell if He is still supposing things to happen? I mean, if I left the church today and decided to live a gay life, would anything that happens regarding that choice be a supposition? I use this in the context of the saying and recognize that the use of the word isn't exactly correct. But I'm trying to make a point here. It made me wonder how much of what has happened in my life was supposed to happen.

I guess it shouldn't matter. The things that maybe weren't supposed to happen can still be used in my benefit if I'm willing to learn from them. But was I ever supposed to meet him? Talk about draining my resolve to fight the fight. "The fight is still worth it," I used to write after every journal entry. It was my little sign to myself-- no one else would know what I was talking about. It's hard, now, to feel that it is still worth it. Maybe I'm supposed to feel this extinguishing desire in order to make me understand and kindle it more? Maybe I'm supposed to stop fighting this? Maybe supposing that things are supposed to happen in a certain way is just a way to cope with it?

I got home and mowed the lawn. The lines are straight, and that makes me happy. I saw little bits of the bunny in the ditch, but I didn't feel too bad about that. We used to have red foxes in our ditch. The fox pups (or whatever you call them) would come up into our yard. We'd throw pieces of ham to try and get them closer to us. Then, we'd lie really still and wait for them to eat. Eventually, we got to the point where we could feed them out of our hands. It was pretty sweet. In hindsight, I'm really glad they didn't eat my finger or give me some weird disease, but they were cute.

Why did I fall for you, buddy?

What made you fall for me?

These damn gyrations.

Always Be

I'm glad something less depressing was playing by the time I decided to actually start writing.

I've decided that I have some kind of weird attachment disorder or something. I was feeling kind of bad today because it seemed like he wasn't talking to me too much. Then, I started actually thinking about it, and I went back and counted, and he's sent me 20 text messages by 6:30 p.m. I'm crazy. I have too high of expectations or no confidence or just don't like being away from people or something. Having said that, things are great. He's great. I'm happy. He's a good guy.

Meanwhile, I found out my swollen foot was a bone spur. That's a good thing since all it means (unless something goes really wrong) is that I need to loosen up my shoes when I run long distances. Did that, pain went away. Now, if I could just get rid of my shin splints-- I know it is the treadmill. I have this weird obsession with finding out exactly how far I've run and what my time is. I need to find some good trails here and give up on my obsession with becoming the best at everything... because it is a little unreasonable.

So, I kind of want to revisit my actual reasons for sitting down and blogging the other night... before my guy sent that text.

I was sitting somewhere (not the important part... and I forgot where exactly it was) and thinking about the church and what I wanted and what he wanted and my family and friends in the church and friends outside the church and what it really was that drives me to do the things that I do in my life. Oh! I remember. My grandpa was going off about the end of the world and how everyone we know and love is going to die a horrible and painful death shortly following the inevitable and approaching collapse of the economy... apocalyptic, to say the least. Naturally, I tuned out. Then, I got to thinking about this one mini-series that was playing on tv that had to do with Revelation in the Bible and the end of the world and some lady giving birth to a goat and some goat giving birth to a baby and a baby randomly appearing at a ship. 

Weird, I know... Dang it, it would take way too long to elaborate on my train of thought. Suffice it to say that I ended up thinking about myself and the church. As if it were a giant epiphany, I realized that the decisions I'm making really have a lot to do with my testimony-- everything, in fact. See, if I truly believed what the Church taught, I would believe that at some future time and place (maybe even after this life), I would be relieved of this gay mormon crappy thing. It immediately evoked images of the 2nd coming (thanks to my grandpa and that awful mini-series and a little bit of "Testaments" or whatever). At that point in time, I think I'd be "cured," so to speak. Or maybe a few years from now, I'll meet a really amazing girl that I could start a family with. 

Maybe

That's the problem. We've talked about this. I like procedures and predictability. There is nothing procedural and predictable about maybe. Well, that's what got me thinking. If my testimony were stronger, there would be no maybe about it. I would recognize that the only uncertainty would be when. But I don't have that testimony. Or I don't have the strength to go back to that lonely, hard, self-loathing (though I don't believe it should be intended like that) fight. There is something really quickening about liking somebody who likes you back. I always had to date girls in fear. But this is different. For the first time, I feel alive.

And you read it and diagnose, formulate opinions and approaches so easily. Objectivity, although I don't believe you fully possess it, gives you an advantage. The choices-- I see them. I do. I see countless possibilities and unknowns.

I actually feel physical pain when I try to fit the church in.

I pruned the birch tree and laid brick for a birdbath in one of the gardens. It's level. It's stable and exact. I think it is my way of trying to control my life, you know? All of the uncertainty that exists, at least I can have this one thing be certain and exact. 

Africa

I do some pretty strange things. "I like your abs," he told me. Just between you and me, having a six pack has way more to do with your diet...

So I was sitting at the dinner table and eating my chicken breast, cucumber, carrots, apple, blueberries, and hard-boiled eggs and wondering why the heck that stuff tastes so dang good to me. Then, I ate a couple bites of leftover cheesecake from the cheesecake factory and wondered what the heck I was doing eating something with that much saturated fat. Then, I wondered why I even cared to begin with. Then, I remembered my abs. Then, I wondered why it mattered. Then, I thought of him. Then, I wondered why I cared so much. "I just want to get married and have kids like everyone else in my family," he told me. It's honorable. Will he succeed?

Dammit! You get a play by play:

"Si, me gusta mi hombre de (mi estado)..." he just texted me.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. I can't stop being in freaking love. This is retarded. This is seriously the most ridiculous thing I've ever dealt with in my life.

I kind of pride myself in being the sensible one in my family. I'm usually the one that pulls everyone together and hashes out some kind of plan or talks sense into people or whatever. I think being rational is respectable and preferable to the rash decisions that one would otherwise make. And then it goes away. 

I rationalize it. He doesn't like you. You can't do this. He doesn't want you. He wants a family. You don't even know if this is what you want. You have to move on and let it go. Ok, I can do this. I can let it go.

BAM. "I like you." How the hell am I ever supposed to come to grips with this? I love this guy. I do. I do.

Dang it, buddy. I want you to be happy. I saved the e-mails you sent me, and I read through them last night. I realized that I started to fall for you even before I met you. How did I kid myself into thinking that I was wanting something platonic by that first time we met? I tried hard to convince myself that there was nothing between us, that you had no interest in me. But you broke me down. You broke down those defenses I had built up... the ones that kept me from connecting with people past a certain point. It made me vulnerable. It forced me to face things.

My dad was always critical of me. He always said things. I felt so crappy. I felt like I could never be good enough. I always wished he'd hit me more and say stuff less. I could write the physical stuff off as wrong. But the verbal stuff-- I couldn't tell how much of it was true... either way, I believed it. I've forgiven him, but I still deal with the consequences. 

So here I am, completely terrified that I'm putting myself out there for someone who doesn't feel the same way... for someone who only sees the things that are wrong with me when he's around me... for someone who only remembers that things that are wrong with me when he's away from me. And this guy-- he pulls through. He keeps pulling through for me. And it's weird because I believe him. The only other guy's opinion that I've taken into account so heavily in my life is my dad's, and he hurt me so much that I expected it from this guy. Thats why I put up the walls. How did he break them down? He cared. He kept caring.

You make me happy, buddy. Not the temporary kind. You make me smile during accounting tests. You make me daydream my way through 8 to 12 miles of running and 18 hours of driving. You make me get up in the morning and do something with myself, with my day. You negate the things I grew to believe about myself. You make me believe that I can have a happy life because my life is happy with you in it. I hope you stay. I shouldn't, but I do. 

This wasn't what I had planned to tell you about. This blogging is getting out of hand. And you never, ever have permission to mention my childhood to me. I've dealt with what I can remember and let go of the things that I blocked. I don't want to talk anymore about it.

I'm in love. This guy. My guy. How is this going to turn out, buddy?

Title and Registration

Such a long break from blogging.

First of all, it is settled: I cannot stay longer than a day at my grandpa's without going crazy. It is so messy and cluttered there. I went up early with my mom so that we could help clean, and we also planned to paint one of the bedrooms... if you only knew how big of a task that was.

My grandma was a really, really smart lady. Like really smart. She also suffered from depression and hated living on the farm. She grew up in a pretty well-to-do family until her dad decided to go crazy, sell their house and property, and go raise sheep up in Idaho. Her mom divorced her dad and raised my grandma and her siblings by herself. They were really poor. My grandma served a mission in Louisiana. She met my grandpa when he was stationed at Hill base; they got married and moved back to the midwest to live on the farm. They were really, really poor for most of their lives, so my grandma held onto everything. Her dementia started setting in when I was little. I remember how it seemed like she thought so clearly sometimes and then seemed completely incoherent at other times. She tried to fight it, too. A few years back, I found some journals that she was keeping as the dementia was starting to take its toll. She was trying to hold on. She died while I was on my mission. I felt bad. I felt bad for not learning what I could from her, for not being more sensitive to her situation. I wonder if she knows what's going on in my life right now... I wonder what she thinks about it...

To make a long story short (too late...), the house is really cluttered, and it drives me crazy. I realize that I grew up in different times, and my parents have always had enough money, so I'm not as attached to stuff, but my grandparents have the mentality to save everything they can. I tried to imagine what they thought about as they received and kept some of that stuff. Part of the trip was nostalgic-- remembering the things we used to do as kids: climbing trees, feeding the kitties in the hay loft, watching grandpa feed the pigs, driving the tractors, games we played. But it got a little too noisy with the family, and I needed some quiet time. My sister and I came back last night. We got back home in time to climb up on the roof and see the last half of the fireworks show. It was her birthday today, and we celebrated it with my dad which meant going to his church...

A weird experience. I'll never forget arguing with his pastor... defending doctrines I was just learning, defending a faith I didn't fully understand but believed was true. "I believe that two intelligent people can disagree on points of doctrine," he finally told me. We had argued for two hours. My dad sat there and watched-- it was part of the deal I made to get baptized. I don't know how I managed to hold my own. I don't know how I managed to shut him up.

I was sitting there, though, and feeling that familiar tearing feeling where I think my spiritual and natural selves are going to physically separate.

I thought. I asked Him questions... I told Him I realized that I didn't have great feelings about the place I was in but needed some answers. What do I do now? I know that fighting it is the right thing to do. It may not be the right thing for everyone, but I feel like I still have more to give in the fight. But I'm nervous that I'm just scarring and bruising myself and spending too much of my life trying to fight something that's inevitable. I also felt like I kind of alienated myself from groups of people because I'm gay. I never used to do that.

It's splitting me. It hurts so much. I can't leave the church, though. Not now. Not yet. 

And then he calls, and I forget everything. I forget about the dichotomy that exists in my life. He calls, and I just feel good. I feel happy. I feel content. Is that it? Is that my answer? But I'd need it to be permanent. It's not what he wants.

What do you think, God? What do I do?

I'm tired of this internal turmoil. I'm tired of hurting because of what I am, hurting because of what I feel I can't become, and hurting because I can't reconcile these conflicting desires. 

The Gift

I can't begin to tell you how much better I feel. Stability-- I have it. Temporarily, of course, but I have it. 

We talked yesterday. "I need to stop once I move to___," he said, again. I can relate. Provo was supposed to be that to me. It was for the first year. I still struggled with it, I knew it was there, it wasn't going away, but I felt like being in a new place somehow gave me power to make other things different in my life. So I understand. We tried to figure out a way to see each other before he moves, but neither of us can leave home, and maybe it's for the best. Knowing it'd be the last time, we'd take it too far.

I think it's enough to know that he likes me and that all of this weirdness that I've been noticing has been part of his trying to figure things out for himself. I can't be mad about that. I remember recognizing how much my attempts to figure out my life seemed to interfere with others' lives. It's not me. 

It bothered me so much because I really believed that he cared about me at first, and I felt like things were changing. I attributed it to something I did or something that was wrong with me, and it was hard just because this was a first, and I felt like I screwed things up. He's trying. He's fighting it. And I respect it; I envy it. Why can't I fight it like I used to? Because I remember what it felt like, and I now know what this feels like... this feels a lot better than the long, frustrating fight. But I'm getting ahead of myself. No permanent (or at least intentionally permanent) decisions until I graduate. 

I just feel at peace with myself, again.

I cut a tree down today. Nothing makes me feel more manly than using a chain saw. Playing sports might... if I played them... 

Well, I'm going with my mom to my grandpa's for the 4th... that means spending the weekend away from the internet. It made me kind of uncomfortable at first, until I realized that I can probably cope with life for a few days without being able to jump on the internet every time I need it. It'll be an adventure. 

I used to hate going up to the farm. It meant work. I was six, and I had to go with my mom and older siblings to walk beans. "Walking beans" is where you walk up and down endless rows of beans and hoe out the weeds. "I got you guys a treat for when you finish," my mom told us. It was so hot and humid. I hated it. Halfway down the row, I started losing it. I went back to the truck to get some water. There were some boxes of raisins inside. "What are these?" I yelled to my mom. "Those are for when we finish," she yelled back. I couldn't believe it. These were the "treats" she got?! I started screaming and crying. She sent me back to the farmhouse. I never walked beans again. Haha, that's the end of my story.

It's weird. I can't be mad at him. I can only understand. I don't know what to feel. I don't feel hurt or mad. I just understand that this is what it is going to be. No expiration date prepared me or kept me from getting attached. It was the first time in my life that I genuinely liked someone who liked me back. Ugh, that sounds like something a fifth-grader would say. I was thinking about it, though, and I never had an actual physical and emotional attraction to the girls I dated, and the guys that I fell for were few, far-between, and straight. This was the first time in my life that I experienced anything like this. I went into it knowing that it was something that couldn't last, but it's impossible not to get invested. 

So, buddy, I love you. As gay and retarded as it may sound, I do. It was unexpected. I didn't know how I'd react in this situation because I've never been in one before. I didn't think I could ever feel this way because I had never felt it with anyone else. But if I really do love you, I'll do everything I can to make you happy-- truly happy. While you aren't being cut out of my life, I know I can't fight to keep things the way they are. For you to be happy, we can't be more than friends. For you to be happy, you've got to give this a good fight. I'll miss the way things used to be, but I understand.

Just a side note: If you fight the fight and find out it's not for you, we'll work something out. haha. I mean, hey, this "head-over-heels" thing takes a while to shut down, I think. And I'm pretty sure I'll feel this way about you for a long, long time.