Not Alone (Round 2)

One of the biggest reasons I want to blog about being a gay Mormon is because in my experience it can feel extremely isolated and lonely.  A part of me wishes that I could just reach through my computer screen and hug all of my fellow gay Mormons, and tell them it's going to be okay.  But then I realize that I am really introverted, and I don't actually know you, and as much as I want to comfort you, I don't know you, so it might be weird to just hug you... So, the next best thing is just to tell you with words that you aren't alone.
One of my best friends (who also happens to be a gay Mormon) told me about how much he struggled shortly after his mission, and how this video helped him at that point.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ym0jXg-hKCI
I know that I've already made a blog post about how if you're a gay Mormon, you aren't alone, but I wanted to repeat that point. You are not alone.

Marriage

                “So, do you think we should break up?” I don’t want to say the words, but they slip out of my mouth anyway.

                “I just don’t see myself getting married,” he says.  “I used to, but I gave that dream up.”

                “Why?” I know I sound desperate.  I am.

                “I just don’t think I need it to be happy.”

***

                My parents aren’t exactly what you would call happy.  My dad has a porn addiction.  He’s been working on it their entire marriage, but every single time he slips up, my mom takes it personally and goes into her downward spiral of self-blame and depression.  I didn’t know any of this until my sister told me a couple months after my mission, but it’s happened about four times a year since they were married.  She didn’t know until after the temple sealing was done. 

                It’s not just the porn addiction either.  They see the world in totally different ways.  When my mom found out I was gay she took it upon herself to ‘fix’ me.  It was her job to talk it out and to somehow convince me that I wanted to be Mormon more than I wanted to be gay.  When my dad found out, he told me he would love me no matter what, and hugged me.  My mom blames him, because he’s ‘encouraging’ me to be gay.

                It’s not that I want my parents to get divorced.  I love having parents that are together, it makes things less complicated.  I don’t want step-siblings or step-parents.  I don’t want to have to choose which parent to visit; I don’t want to have to have awkward moments at my future wedding.  I’ll admit that’s selfish, but they can be happy sometimes

***

                “I’m getting so tired of kissing Gary,” my sister says.

                She and I are alone in my car on a weekend road trip.  Both of us just need to get the hell out of Cache Valley. 

                “Why?” I ask.

                “After ten years of marriage, it just feels expected,” she replies.  “I miss when it was romantic.”

***

                I shouldn’t want to get married.  All I hear about it is that it takes so much work.  I’ve watched my sister and her husband from the point where they were that newlywed couple, who you were embarrassed to be seen with in public, to the point where some days I wonder if they’ll make it.  I’m pretty sure he cheated on her a few years ago.  It’s never really been said directly, but my mom has only now started to like him again, and I remember the summer when my sister wouldn’t even talk to her husband, because he had hurt her so deeply.

                Between my sister’s marriage and my parents’ marriage, I’m pretty terrified that Andersons are not meant to get married.

                I can’t get over it though.  I know it takes work, I know sometimes even with work the marriage itself just doesn’t work.  I get it; I understand why I’m supposed to be cynical and anti-marriage.  I know why I’m supposed to love my life as a bachelor.  But I can’t.  I try, and I’ll admit that I have a damn good life as the single man that I am.

                But I imagine waking up next to a man that I love, ever single morning.  I imagine having someone who is my go to when the world falls down around me.  I imagine being able to fall into his arms, and remember that no matter what I have him.  I imagine being that pillar for someone else, being able to hold him in my arms, to wipe away his tears.  I imagine raising children together, and making a thousand mistakes along the way, but having someone there to help me be a better dad than I could be alone.

                Maybe Andersons aren’t meant to get married. But then again, maybe we’re just stubborn enough that we are.  

Defining Moment

I woke up every morning of my freshman year of college hating myself.  This habit continued for two years.  Every morning I woke up and realized that my life would be nothing like the fairy tale that I felt like I had been promised. I was never going to have the temple wedding that I was supposed to be aiming for.  I would eventually end up telling my parents that I was gay, and I would have to see the heartbreak splattered across their faces.

I remember rolling out of bed on my mission one morning and realizing that no matter how hard I tried I was going to end up failing, and I wanted to give up.  I knelt and tried anyway, and I began to pray, but the words just wouldn't come.  I tried to pray for the people I was teaching, for my family, for anyone else besides me. I tried to pray for the people who deserved blessings, rather than the monster that was just pretending like he belonged in California teaching others about God.  

But the words couldn't come.  All of my words were drowned in the ocean of self-hate that I had spent the past two years filling.  I was here teaching strangers that God loved them, and I really felt it for them.  But on that day I realized how jealous I was of them and the love that God had for them.  

I don't know how I got up the courage to ask the question, but after a few minutes of just kneeling, struggling to think of anything to say to God, I asked it.

"Do you love me?"

I felt it.  That feeling that Mormons are always trying to describe. It always sounds too good to be true when they describe it.  Some of them will say warmth. Others describe it as chills.  About eighty percent of them will start crying when they describe it.  The other twenty percent just get that dreamy far off look as they try to describe how how they feel.  

It was security.  I wasn't ever safe in my own hands, and suddenly I felt like I had been taken away from myself and placed in the hands of someone who would soothe me.  I felt that despite the fact that I was gay I was loved and worth protecting.

Suddenly I became one of those Mormons that tried to describe that feeling, and all I could do was repeat the maddening cliches.  

I'm not saying that this happens for everyone.  I don't know why it happened for me.  All I can really say about it is that there was this weird assurance that I didn't need to hate myself anymore.  I didn't know where my life was going still, and I was not attracted to the next girl I saw, or the one after, or any of the other thousands of females I have seen since this moment.  But in that moment I caught a glimpse of what self-love felt like.

The hatred didn't just disappear forever.  It always creeps back, but I have this moment that I remember of pure complete love consuming me, and it's what I cling too when I'm almost drowned in self-hatred.  I know what it feels like to love myself, and it's a flawless feeling.  

Child of God

"We should not underestimate or overlook the power of the Lord's tender mercies.  The simpleness, the sweetness, and the constancy of the tender mercies of the Lord will do much to fortify and protect us in the troubled times in which we do now and will yet live.  When words cannot provide the solace we need or express the joy we feel, when it is simply futile to attempt to explain that which is unexplainable, when logic and reason cannot yield adequate understanding about the injustices and inequeites of life, when mortal experience and evaluation are insufficient to produce a desired outcome, and when it seems that perhaps we are so totally alone, truly we are blessed by the tender mercies of the Lord and made mighty even unto the power of deliverance.  Some individuals who hear or read this message may discount or dismiss in their personal lives the availability of the tender mercies of the Lord.  We may falsely think such blessings are reserved for other people who appear to be more righteous or who serve in visible Church callings.  I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are available to all of us and that the Redeemer of Israel is eager to bestow such gifts upon us." -David A. Bednar
Sometimes I wonder why I still claim to be a Mormon.  Sometimes it really hurts given my sexual orientation.  Sometimes I don't want to go to church anymore.  That's a thing.
But sometimes something beautiful like this is said, and I realize the reason that I hold onto the Mormon church is because I've been taught something there that resonates with me.  There's this fundamental truth in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints that we are children of God.  God is literally our father, and as such, he loves us.  Maybe I love that so much because I'm arrogant and I love the fact that some all-powerful being is looking over me and has a personal interest in my life.  Maybe I love that idea because I'm so incredibly insecure, and it's comforting to know that even though sometimes I look at my life and realize that it is a complete and total mess, there's a God above who still loves me.
Whatever it is about that knowledge it's a powerful influence in my life.  I will forever be thankful for that belief that is a part of my character now.  No matter where my life takes me from here, I am and will forever be thankful for the belief that I am a son of God.

Love Yourself Loudly

"When he decides he doesn't love you, move on quietly and love yourself loudly."
This quote showed up on my Tumblr recently, and (in as cliched a way as I can say this) it really spoke to my soul.  Almost a month ago I went through a breakup with a guy I saw a future with, and it hurt.  I got really melodramatic about it, to the point where my boss walked in on me lying on the floor of my custodial closet listening to Sara Barielles and sobbing.  My boss was nice about it, because generally I'm a pretty good employee, but it was not my finest moment.
For several weeks after the breakup I kept trying to make myself a part of his life.  He told me he still wanted to be friends, and I wanted to do everything I could to be friends with him.  I wanted to do everything I could to make sure that someday he would take me back, and we would have that future together that I wanted so badly.
That life doesn't work for me though.  Breaking up sucks.  Losing a future that looked REALLY good sucks.  Getting found by your boss in the fetal position staring at an iPhone screen while Sara Barielles warbles about a former lover keeping Manhattan sucks.  But it sucks worse sitting on a couch with a man who has been physically closer to you than any other human in your life and realizing that the two of you will never be that close again.  It sucks worse having someone who used to look at you with that cheesy chick-flick face (the one where the guy realizes he loves the girl, and the audience all sighs, you know the one) not even be able to meet your eyes.
So I decided to move on quietly.  Walk away. Put the phone down.  Go out with my friends.  Go to concerts. Go on roadtrips. Make new friends.  Reconnect with old friends.  And in the moving on quietly I learned something incredible.
I learned that I am resilient. I can come back from being the broken heap on a custodial closet floor and stand up and be the man dancing around at a Jason Mraz concert.  I can be the man who is there when his friends break down with ice cream in hand and a shoulder to cry on.  I can be the man who gets lost in a good book, and at the end feels a sense of total catharsis with the world.  It's beautiful. And when I learned that I am this man, I learned what it means to love myself loudly.

If you want my opinion (and you're reading my blog, so I assume you do), the hardest part about being a gay Mormon is dating.  First of all, let's talk about finding someone to date.  There are ways, I've heard of Tinder and Grindr, although I will never use them, and I know social groups exist to help gay people meet, but it can be hard to find someone, but even so, the dating pool is smaller than the straight dating pool.

Then let's say you actually do find someone, now you have to go through the checklist: Are you attracted to each other? Are you compatible? Do you have similar feelings about dating, marriage, and sex?  Are you both comfortable with people knowing you're in a relationship?  Can you communicate? Are there complications that will eventually get in the way of the relationship? There are a lot of very different opinions and very different individuals who are all swirled together in the LGBT community.

I don't want to sound depressing, because I believe in love.  I have this (possibly crazy) belief that two people can find each other, and can make it work, but it takes a ton of communication, and a huge amount of honesty and humility.

I haven't found it yet, but I keep having this hope wake up inside of me that someday I will.

Names

In class the other day, we sat in a circle and discussed an essay that one of my classmates wrote.  She's a quiet girl, she sits on the opposite side of the class, and I literally had never noticed her until I read her essay.  It was a beautifully realistic piece on the feelings that come when you end up having some spiritual dissonance happening in your life. She wrote about doubts she had about the Mormon (oops, I meant LDS faith)  I basically devoured it, and wrote a little love letter at the bottom of her essay, where I may or may not have included the words "You go Glen Coco" twice...
But then I forgot that we're in Utah... Silly me.
There were a few other students who were offended by the fact that she chose to use the word "Mormon" rather than "LDS." The rest of the class period was lost on a debate about the name of the religion, rather than a useful constructive discussion of a fellow student's essay.
I left the class fuming, which is rare for me.  I still don't know exactly why, except that I have this streak of empathy for the little guy who has to challenge common-held beliefs. I guess what made me so angry is that someone in the majority can get offended by a minority voice, but never takes the time to worry that they ever hurt anyone in the minority.