I'm just going to say it and you can think I'm a jerk, but whatever.

I miss the old Queerosphere, and when I say old, I mean before the Tribune article last year. This time is also known as before most of you had blogs in the QoS. Those were better days.

PS I miss Ward Cleaver.

has it really been a week?

Ack!

I had a few consistent posts and then I sort of forget I had a blog for a week. I hate when this happens.

Samantha and Darrin came to visit me [hey, I can believe whatever I want to believe, OK?], we had lunch at our favorite place, and then they went to play with the FoxyJ and Master Fob.

It’s been Education Week in this area of the world, and that means that work has been kind of crazy, I’m so glad that I had today off. I celebrated by waxing my eyebrows and purchasing more hair product.

On Monday I hung out with Carry On at Lagoon, we partied it up, rode the new roller coaster, which was actually worth staying in line forever for. We ate at Costa Vida, my second favorite place ever. After dinner, we watched Superbad, which was such a terrible movie it made me want to curl up in a ball and cry. After that fiasco, I’ve taken away Carry On’s movie picking privileges.

Today Stephalumpagus forced me to go to an Organ recital today. It was painful. I decided I like the sound of a piano so much more than that of an organ.

I’ve felt good the last week or so. It’s been a nice change. Hopefully feeling OK will last. I’m working on some things that will keep it a little more in reach than it has in the last 8 or so months.

Anyway, I’m so done with this post. I’m going to go do something…or something… like watch a romantic comedy and eat junk food.

Last night I began wondering what my life will be like when I’m older. Will I have anyone to take care of me if or when I get ill, or perhaps what will I do when I become too old to take care of myself and have no family to help me?

I must admit this was the first time I’ve thought about this. When I’ve visualized my future, it never really goes that far. I remember a reoccurring dream when I was 17; I died of leukemia before I was even thirty. I’ve never really been fantastic when thinking about what I would like my life to be when I’m twice, or three times my current age.

My parents worry, I know they do. They worry about if I’ll choose to take my life, if I’ll leave church, or what will happen to me when they pass away.

I woke up this morning, afraid that my life was going to be lonely, that I was going to actually live, and I would have to face that loneliness and decide what to do with it.

mmmm mid-grade corrugated paper products. delicious

Today while I was unpacking items [2008 temple calendars] at Your Local Inspirational Bookstore, I noticed that there was a certain size of box that had a very interesting name.



Yes, at YLIBS we even have religious references on our shipping products.

Wow.

The Church

OK it's after 1 am and I'm tired, but I wanted to write about why I'm grateful I have the church and the gospel in my life. It'll be short, since this post is mainly

1. I have a knowledge of deity. I know how I relate to them, and even though I resist communicating with God, He is always there for me. If it wasn't for the church, I never would have had teachers to help me help me start to develop a relationship with God.

2. If it wasn't for me being taught the law of chastity when I was younger, I would be the biggest slut right now. Well, more of a slut than I already am.

3. My job, I am still working at Your Local Inspirational Bookstore and I'm happy some of the time that I'm in a good environment. Even though there are stupid men from rural Utah who call and insist that scouting is necessary for any young man to consider him a worthy Aaronic Priesthood holder. PS my manager has given me an exorbitant amount of time of over the next quarter and a half. I'm really happy he's so freaking awesome about it.

Anyway, I would like to rewrite this post in a more devotional fashion because there are so many things I love about the gospel and even things I love about the church.

PS, anyone planning on attending the Evergreen Conference?

Penelope Shoes

I currently have 27 posts saved as drafts for this particular blog. I can't publish any of it. I wish I could have kept my readership at a distance, I'm too scared my friends read my blog, there are things people can't know about me: I'm too broken, too ugly, too scared.

Someone like me shouldn't feel so sad. I have friends, an OK job, a car that runs well, and a few people that I know care very much for me. I really do have everything--why can't I be happy? Why can't I feel whole?

“Hemingway has his classic moment in "The Sun Also Rises" when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt. All he can say is, "Gradually, then suddenly." That's how depression hits. You wake up one morning, afraid that you're going to live.”

I can only give you everything I've got.

I don't want to post, but I probably will press the publish button instead of the save button. I still want to be gone.

I woke up today feeling like nothing was holding my body together, I feel wretched and worthless... it's never a good sign when I wake up like this.

This is surely just some residual effects from the really lame panic attack I had Monday morning, but this is ridiculous. Why can't I get over it?



I need to be still be away for a while. I don't want to do this right now.

I'm still on vacation

Hey, it feels so good not to feel obligated to write, I've actually contemplated shutting this one down.

Anyway, I just wanted to throw a link out there to one of my favorite blogs ever. I've met this kid and he's incredible, and his writing is just as amazing. I resonate very well with what he has to say and it's beautiful. So take some time and head over to...

LDS Eunuch

anyway, I'm still gone.

This dance is mine.

I'm tired of feeling like I can't write in this blog for fear of receiving more concerned emails begging me to open up to the sender. Chances are, I don't trust you or want you in my life.

That being said, I won't be updating for a while. I hope you all understand.

Heh

Hey Samantha,

Remember that one time that Smurf's friend came out to his mom as an autosexual?

I think we found a way for her to meet her meet her soulmate. Finally, a solution for all the other autsexuals in the world!

Birthday. woot

Okay, I need to put this up really quick so people don't think I'm evil and very ungrateful.

stephalumpagus, the book is incredible, and so are you.

Thank you Beck for taking Samantha and I to lunch. It was wonderful meeting you.

Thanks Samantha for the flowers they are beautiful.

And to everyone else, thanks for the texts, phone calls, etc. You did more than my parents did--since they decided to go camping and ditch me :-D

so, once again. thank you, you made it a really special day.

Hilarious.

The Lovely Bones

Back in my high school days, I was relentlessly involved in the journalism program, newspaper and yearbook was my life. I loved writing satirical articles, book reviews, doing layout, and I felt like I was in control with a grease pencil in my hand. One particularly drizzly February afternoon while I was a sophomore, I was reading The Lovely Bones for the book review that week. It wasn’t particularly fantastic, but it was an interesting story, I had to give the author that much.

I finished with school and one of my neighbors gave me a ride home. I stepped out of the car into the cold moist air that was so unlike the Utah I knew. I remember the stark blue cover of the book looking particularly striking against the yellow grass that was covered in snow only hours before. I walked up to my house and noticed the light coming out the window from my brother’s room. He had a mobile of a self-portrait hanging in the middle of his room. I could see that swaying back and forth.

I’ve already told the story about finding my brother’s body, although I have always left out the detail that I was holding that book. The Lovely Bones. There was the only person that helped me feel grounded into my family, now just laying on the ground in the fetal position, a pile of lovely bones. I wonder if he was happy as he injected the heroin, or if he was scared like the little girl in the book.

I couldn’t finish reading the book. I wanted desperately to prove to myself that I conquer the feelings of loss and just finish that damned book. But a year later the book was still on my nightstand, mocking me. Needless to say I never wrote the review. Defeated, I gave the book back.

When I moved back to Provo, I was at Barnes and Noble with Stephalumpagus. Meandering through their bargain buys section I spotted it again: somehow the reduced price of five dollars and ninety-seven cents made it look weak.

The Lovely Bones now lies underneath my bed, please don’t tell it that I’m still scared to read. I don’t want that book to have any more power of my life.

This is the moment.

Many of you who know me personally can attest to the fact that I love playing at parks. Swinging is one of my favorite feelings in the entire world, I would do it all day if I could. You know I care for you if I've taken you to a park, played on the swings then we've talked afterwards.

There are two times I've gone to a park in north Provo, which is my favorite mostly for sentimental reasons, that I've learned something that has been extremly important.

One of them happened last spring or early summer. I was with SkyBluePink and another friend we used to work with. The stars were particularly bright that night.

"There are many stars in the sky, you just need to choose which one to follow."

No one could have more perfectly said what I needed to hear than she did then. It's something that I think of every time I see the faint lights in the sky at night time. "Choose which one to follow."

Then on Monday the 9th, I was at that park with Max (Here's to Hope) and he asked me to tell him three things I love about myself.

It took me much longer than it should have. I need to think about this more.

just got back from seeing harry potter...

Helena Bonham Carter stole the show. she was absolutely incredible.

Sunday Dinners

My parents and I have dinner about twice a month, and I tend to bring a few people over each time we do it, my brother's kids love meeting all of my friends, and it's nice to have friends there.

Last night AgentKat, John, and Danish Boy came over.

After dinner we went outside and threw tomahawks...I bet you didn't see that one coming.

Here's a picture of the first one Danish Boy ever had stick in the log.




Pretty cool, huh?

Some clarification, please. pt 1

The thread of comments on my last post is now the reason why I won’t hastily write a vague post ever again.

I, like most of you , have counters on your blog so you can tell how many pageloads there are. Over the last few months my average daily page loads have dropped about 40 per day, I can tell when people come to my blog, and for those of you who commented thank you.

Moving on…

I’ve been thinking a lot about my past experiences with meaningful relationships:

From 6th-10th grade there was Suzie. She was one of only two people I told that my brother died. That night I couldn’t stay in my house, so I was in a nearby town staying with my aunt. That’s where she lived, we walked around outside (mind you it was February and very very cold) for almost two hours. Towards the end of our conversation she stopped and told me she’d never, ever stop being my friend. A few months later she distanced herself from me. I was hurting; I had nowhere to go turn. My life continued to fall apart as my brother just older than I was in and out of jail, in different rehab programs. I was alone. My brother left and now Susie left me too. This was when I decided I wouldn’t let anyone near me again.

I had several close friends, they would confide in me everything. This was how I preferred it, I always had the upper hand in the relationship, and I was emotionally detached and had a plethora of dirt I could use on them if they ever chose to pull a Susie.

This is a pattern I continued for the next three and a half years until somebody called me on it.

To be continued (but only if I feel like it)

Dear Loyal Reader,

Yes, I’m only addressing the one person who is reading, I’ve noticed a drastic drop in readership since I stopped posting super happy fun posts about being gay, but it’s my blog, so meh.

I’m having a very difficult time with the concept of having friends right now. It makes me feel kind of lost and slightly angry. I don’t want to go back to where I was a year ago, but I really don’t want to hurt anymore—Now I just need to decide if the possibility of pain is worth real friendship.

I did something scary yesterday, and no, it isn’t what you think.

I’m still kind of sad a lot.

I liked Samantha’s most recent post. A lot. It gave me a lot to think about

Moments of Growth pt one,

In November 2006 I did something very unlike me, I reached out to a friend and asked for a priesthood blessing. One of the things that was promised to me in the blessing was that as I developed a closer relationship with God, He would help me understand all of the things inside of me that were causing me conflict.

In a way I saw that happen last night.

As I knelt in prayer, He helped me put some pieces together:

About a month ago I began the journey of letting go of the idea of living a homosexual life. For the past year I used that as a crutch, I would fantasize about being with a man, either through pornography, or thinking about whoever the love of my life would be and fathering his children, imagining myself in someone’s arms. I found temporary peace in those thoughts.

As I began venturing away from those practices I did my very best to control my thoughts, and keep my mind off of the attractive males of the world. The problem was, I didn’t replace my old coping mechanism. I soon enough found a new one:

Thinking about ending my life.

Suicidal thoughts are somewhat new to me, and although they were somewhat shocking, they were surprisingly comfortable. If my world got too overwhelming I would slip into those thoughts, I found an incredible amount of comfort in imagining my life over. I was jolted quite alarmingly back into reality when Samantha and my mother spoke of my current thoughts. I was scared again. I knew I could never do that.

I was praying last night and I was made aware that I was using the suicidal thoughts the same way that I’d been using the homosexual fantasies. Ideally they both ended pain, they stopped the struggle, and they both made me feel happy in one way or the other.

Yesterday I felt the distinct impression that I need to give up the idea of using suicide as a way of solving my problems. I need to let that go just as I’ve let the idea of having a homosexual relationship go. This needs to be a decision I make every day: and to do that, I desperately need to find appropriate ways of coping.

I love the gospel of Jesus Christ, I love Him and am so grateful for those He has brought into my life to help me.