The David Cure?

**Note--I wrote this in the bleak, early morning hours after "Project Graduation," a community-hosted (all-night) event held immediately after the commencement ceremony of high school graduation. I tell you this for two reasons: the first is that I did not edit myself upon rereading (excepting basic spelling and grammar difficulties), thus I beg that you do not judge my rhetoric harshly. The second is that I cannot say why I posted this entry weeks after I wrote it, although I have a feeling that I am finally reaching into the intangible web that the blogosphere is in hopes of emotional recovery. We shall see.**

Yesterday was my official graduation from high school, and the consequences of this rite of passage are almost as frightening as I assumed they would be. I could talk about the new responsibilities bequeathed me, such as financial obligations, work-related stress, and the onus of being the future generation responsible to find solutions to pollution, starvation, prejudice, and diminishing resources. However, of all of the burdensome gifts that graduation inevitably brings, I find the majority of my struggles surrounding one person. David has been consuming my mind and heart for the past couple of weeks, and I come to the blog (which is, in its purest level, coming unto journaling, which is coming unto myself) in desperate search for answers. This is no passive attempt, for a passive answer is only sufficient for a passive seeker, and my broken heart is passionately waning, in need of great healing.

The beautiful wound that calls himself David has been one of my greatest blessings and trials ever since my feelings for him grew the beginning of last year. It didn’t take long for my longing soul to recognize his; he was an intelligent, confident, reserved, and beautiful man. In all ways, I admired and became infatuated with this guy. I subsequently enjoyed some of the most bittersweet of all my life’s days. I would dream of the next time that I could see him, have a quick word, or catch his subtle smile. I also experienced the most inexplicable depression that year. My feelings for David became so strong that they drove me to change; I knew that I could no longer live with the then-present situation. Whether the solution was death, therapy, or a desperate confession of my love, my starved soul simply would not let me continue in the suppressed fashion that had been its previous course.

Thus, I chose to open up to my parents, two of the most excellent people to have ever graced the earth with their presence. They sensed my despondency and immediately helped me find purpose in life again. I began seeing a counselor about same-sex attraction. I found Evergreen International. I read a thousand books about change, mental health, and the beauty of the gospel. And I attribute all of this to David, the only man wonderful enough to cause me enough sorrow to be forced to change (Ironic?).

I found new perspectives and ways to cope. I tried to befriend David to bring our friendship to something more fulfilling (emotionally). I learned to release some of my own fears and psychoses. I accepted both my manliness and my homosexuality. I changed drastically, but my feelings for David were a constant. Amidst my personal evolution, the constant passion for David remained.

To sum things up in a somewhat more expedited manner, I began to realize as my high school time quickly escaped my grasp that things have not changed. I have officially spent the entirety of my junior and senior years admiring David. As classes came to a close and commencement activities began, much of my joy crumbled beneath me. I felt guilt for loving so strongly someone who will never return that love. I felt sorrow that, unlike other gay "crushes" that I have had, my feelings for David were not fleeting or temporary. I felt shame that, as my best friend was enjoying anniversaries with his girlfriend, I still go home at night and wonder what it’s like to love and be loved on an intimate level like that. And I feel sheer confusion at the fact that, two years, many books, and even more counseling sessions later, I still think David is the most perfect, lovable man that I have met.

And this week, it has all been exacerbated. I spoke with him frequently and have seen him at all of the extracurricular activities associated with graduating. We’ve talked about senior pictures and summer plans. And all of our time together only proves to a stronger point the limited time we have before we forever depart. Yesterday, after graduation, he approached me and waited his turn to talk to me. When I finished my previous conversation, David and I hugged, and he told me that I was "the classiest man [he had] ever known." And then we talked for a moment, and as he walked away a hollowness filled me. As I drove to an all-night party hosted by the community ("Project Graduation"), tears wouldn’t even come; all that I felt was numbness. The most intense pain dwelt inside me. I cannot describe it as anything other than one of the heaviest weights that I have ever experienced, having tangled itself around and throughout my soul for years. And last night I finally felt the full weight of it, and it was hell.

Truly A "Fairy" Tale, Part 1

Once upon a time there was a knight.

This knight, who always donned his armor very seriously, had been engaged in a battle for quite some time. The casualty rate was frighteningly high, but the battle yielded great dividends. The knight felt a strong sense of purpose. He knew who he was, he knew for what ideals he fought, and he took part in the enjoyable brotherhood that could only be forged in a predicament as intense as the battlefield truly was. Although lesion-inducing and exhausting, the battle was home to the knight.

The knight, however, had also heard the voices of distant lands and peoples, all execrating the battle with their seemingly rash tongues, all spreading rumors that the war was fought in vain, over nonexistent contentions. Yet the knight's passion for the war, for its causes, and for his fellow fighters did not wane; the flame burned within his heart.

The knights who took the charge to battle were not without temptations. The knight of this tale was no exception. It was readily understood that, some distance from the battlefield, a beautiful land welcomed all who chose to abdicate their knightly ranks. Rumors of this land were as prevalent as rumors about the war itself; some claimed that it was a land of abundance, beauty, and indescribable peace. Others said that it was a land of lust, gluttony, and loneliness. Some of the knights had been there. Some of them had considered fleeing to its enticing borders. Yet all of them had chosen their places, and for the present time, the noble knights of the battlefield were content within their positions.

As time passed and the war waged on, the protagonist (or antagonist, depending on belief) knight of our tale realized that as he aged, his status would increase among the army. He also knew that he would be called to various missions and campaigns. His first reaction to these upcoming events was excitement, but he was quickly sent into a world of meditation. And as he thought, terrifying truths were made known to him. At first he feared them, for there is nothing as frightening as the truth. Slowly, however, his psyche assimilated these destructive thoughts. The knight realized that the war could be, in fact, unjust. He realized that the rumors about its causes (or the lack thereof) were substantive. And he feared, but he embraced the truth, as he believed was honorable to do. The truth, embraced in all its harmful glory, meant that the knight, as a just being, could no longer fight in the war.

So the good knight alerted his captains, overlords, and brothers in arms to his decision. Although very supportive, there was much remorse. The knight wondered what his fellow warriors were thinking. "What more could we have done?" some would ask. "What a bitter path lies ahead of him," thought others. And the knight himself didn't know what to believe. He felt alone in the world, a world which was quickly losing its defined purpose.

But the knight had his ideals, principles, and scruples intact. He decided that he would travel to the distant land of which rumors abounded. Maybe he could find the rumored happiness there. Maybe he could show others a pathway into something more correct and more beautiful than the realities of the war. So the knight slowly stripped himself of his armor, which fell upon the ground sullenly. He removed his knightly helmet with nostalgia, tears running down his face. He felt naked and exposed. The feeling was frightening and yet most wonderful. The wind running through his light tunic was both cold and freeing, and the knight bid one last good-bye to those that he loved most in the world. He was on his way to the distant land.

Speaking Out on the "Day of Silence"

Whenever you read literature or writing about someone suffering from seclusion or a lack of being accepted it comes off in a terrible manner. I will be the first to admit that accounts of this nature are not the most enjoyable to read. You largely see the writer as one who enjoys personal pity parties, and the feelings that they express are rarely internalized.

Having said that, I need to let out some sadness and seclusion that I felt today. I need to be the one that complains about exactly how painful it is to feel rejected on a personal level. Today was a “Day of Silence” in my city, meaning that the community would be silent (abstain from speaking…yes…that’s the definition of silent…) for the day’s duration in order to represent the silence that gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, etc. populations feel due to the oppression and prejudice that we face in society. The idea, although possibly ineffective, was extremely sympathetic. However, when it came up among a good friend of mine and some other people, it only elicited negative comments. One kid in the group said that he threatened his other friend to “not go gay.” He then told us that if he knew gay people he would shoot them. Then he said, “just kidding…but seriously…”

The night then proceeded with me playing a game of ultimate Frisbee with an adult that is one of the most prejudiced individuals that I know. His entire family must have caught his homophobic sentiment. His daughter “can’t even stand the word lesbian,” she told me today. His wife cut his son’s hair so that the son wouldn’t look gay. I could write a novel about this family and all of the terrible things they’ve said about gays.

So I come to blog tonight because I feel so wounded inside. I feel silenced, outcasted in many ways not seen, not accepted for who I am but for what I am falsely perceived to be. It just hurts a lot. I wish all people could be as loving as some of my amazing straight friends and family. Two of my straight friends, a guy and a girl, did the “Day of Silence.” Numerous other people that I love, such as my parents, love me just because I’m me, unconditional of my sexual orientation. My best friend created a presentation to my psychology class about overcoming homophobia and heterosexism. He's straight as well.

To all of you who love and learn to love others different than yourselves, bless your souls. I appreciate you more than you know.

PS-This post doesn't make much sense. Please excuse me for venting.

S.A.D.

I am not one of those people who whines about Valentine's Day. I have friends who hate it because it represents corporate America, and they hate corporate anything. I have friends who hate it because they are perpetually single, and they prefer to mope and complain instead of simply learning to be kind and hygienic and finding a girl/boy with whom they could make something work. I am not one of any of these groups, but for the first time in my life, I'm actually worried and slightly sad about tomorrow. The S.A.D., by the way, stands for Singles Awareness Day. Amnesty International, at my school, calls it "Love Everyone Day." I admire all of these attempts to spread love to the partner-less.

Why the sadness for me, you ask? I'm sad because I have helped multiple friends buy carnations for that girl that they notice, or create plans to leave someone an anonymous love note, or help them prepare a meal for their girlfriend of "x" number of months, and it occurred to me that I would love to do this, as well. I've had a secret love for a year and a half now, and that deserves some credit, especially considering the typical high school tendencies of two weeks romances. I would love to let this guy know, anonymously of course, that I care for him. I have a lot of thoughts, and I need some feedback. Thus, I pose some questions that I hope solicit answers from all who feel inclined to respond:

1) If someone of the gender to whom you were not attracted left you something for Valentine's Day, would that offend you? You see, I personally think not, because I love it when girls give me things, even though I'll never like them as they like me. However, I want to know what you think.

2) An odd question, but one worthy of asking: is it sinful (in the Mormon religion), do you think, to give a gift to a young man who will never reciprocate your feelings or even find out? There is less than a 1% chance that the guy that I like is gay, and if I ever gave him something, it would be 100% anonymous/secretive, so is it sinning to do so? Does that count as "homosexual activity"?

Part of me would love to do this because Valentine's Day is special, and I don't want sexual orientation to exclude me from the fun and festivities. I deserve to have that adrenaline rush as well, right? The cool thing is that my dad is so amazing and loving of me that I could probably tell him that I was leaving roses on the hood of some guy's (well, David's) car, and I think he'd let me do it. Dad, I love you. :) But the other part of me says, "Wow, this is ridiculous. You can waste your money, make a fool of yourself, and embarrass the poor kid who will find out in the next life, as God chastises me, that I left him the roses, not the cute girl he was hoping." I'd love any ideas on this.

I really am not planning on doing anything, but when my friend asked me what I was doing for Valentine's, my poor mind just started wandering. *Sigh* It's so hard to be gay.

A Terrifying Comment

A few days ago, our ward's missionaries stopped by my house to bid me farewell. They were both to be transferred, and as I had worked with them frequently, they wanted to say good-bye. We got into a conversation that somehow drifted toward the subject of homosexuals. (It seems like a lot of conversation ends up there, oddly enough.) One of the missionaries made a comment that stung, not simply because I personally have feelings of same-gender attraction, but just because of the sheer ignorance of the statement as evaluated on any level.

"Who do you think committed the worse sin," he asked, "the men who tortured and killed a man for being gay or the preacher that marries gays in Massachusetts?"

He then went on to explain how one party had sinned against man (the torturous men) and one had sinned against God (the preacher).

Ouch. Those things hurt. A lot.

A Word is Worth a Thousand Pictures

Have you ever simply heard a vocal artist's voice and known that you were going to be in love with that individual, only to find out later that they are unattractive to you? For me, the sheer quality and other characteristics of a voice can be enough to bring me to my knees, but although my ears may be in love, my eyes are far from it. I wish to share this odd problem of mine with the world, perhaps in hopes that I may find another who suffers from a similar superficial issue. I feel ridiculous that this is my plight, but I suppose journaling (or blogging) can only be a good first step in solving the problem, right? We'll find out if I'm cured by the time I'm done writing...

I have only experienced this instantaneous, vocally-based attraction to three individuals in my entire life. Thus, I value their music as the best in this world. They are, in no particular order:

1) The lead singer of Rascal Flatts, a country/pop music hybrid. The band had my attention when I first heard "What Hurts the Most," but I was entirely captivated when I heard their redo of "Life Is a Highway." Especially during the chorus, this man's voice is incredible, for lack of a stronger word. I had rather high hopes that, in some idealistic world, he could be mine and sing to me daily, hourly, eternally. Besides the obvious impediments (need I name them?), I believed that we could be together forever. However, I saw him for the first time in my life, and he strangely enough looks like a penguin/squirrel crossbreed. *Sigh*

2) The lead singer of The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. This band was one of those that came into my life, swept me off my feet the very first time I heard "In Fate's Hands," and has never let my feet back down to beloved land, which I am beginning to miss dearly. I think this singer's most incredible vocal moment is heard in their song "False Pretense," for any who may be looking to have a similar experience to my own. Unfortunately, when I saw him, he looked hauntingly familiar, and I quickly identified the look as that of the Hanson brothers, the icons of the 90's that had us all "Mmm-bop"ing to life. The long hair just doesn't do much for me, although I am currently blaming the lighting for this man's odd facade.

3) Mariah Carey. She is one of the most talented vocalists that I have ever heard. In one song, "Emotions," I believe, she hits high notes that were previously not believed existent. I also think that she can sing lower than I can. That, however, is beyond the point. She proved to be the one artist who was as beautiful as her voice. The vocal connection was instantaneous, but when I downloaded the artwork for her albums, I saw that her marvelous voice was backed by much beauty.

I like to point out the morals of my stories so that even the thick-headed may gain wisdom from them. Thus, the moral of this story? It is always better to trust your straight instincts than your gay ones.

Oddly enough, I do believe I'm overcoming this problem as I write. How fortunate. Of course, that could just be the soothing sound of Mariah Carey calming all of my fears...

A Visit With The Doctor(s)

The doctor's office has always been of fascination to me; I am amazed and enthralled that advances in medicine, science, and technology allow the existence of the quality of life that we have. I have always had positive experiences with doctors, and a visit to them has never been a waste to me. Although I detest the fact that (typically) the only reason one needs to see a doctor is due to a problem that is occurring, they are still always fascinating and helpful visits. (-L-, is this better than your television program thus far? :) Tell me if you begin to get more patients due to the positive light I am shining upon physicians.)

My latest visit to the doctor was beneficial, as always, if not unique and slightly disturbing. Two circumstances occurred that are not typical in the archives of my doctor-visits memory.

1) I was overwhelmed by a terrible ratio of doctors to patients. There was the physician himself, and he was enough for me. A one to one ratio feels awkward enough as it is in a medical setting, without thousands of other examining eyes upon me. However, the doctor then introduced me to the nurse practitioner and a medical assistant of some sort. I was sitting on the infamous doctor's bed with the loud, crunchy paper on it (If you're only consulting a physician for information, why do they require you to sit on the bed? I was on a chair, like a normal human being, but the nurse asked me to get on the bed. I think it's a doctor's form of a dunce cap.) and they truly had me cornered. One stood to each side of me, and one directly in front of me. I gulped, not knowing what they wanted. As the doctor told me the entirely-too-many syllabic nature of my condition, the other two looked down at me with solemn nods, as if saying "we, too, have seen your fate..." If I would have had to take my shirt off for my diagnosis, it would have been an entire strip club in that one room. I would have felt more confident if there wasn't a large box of hypodermic needles to the side of the nurse practitioner who, I swear, was eyeing them with a look of evil in her eyes.

2) Before the physician ever enters the room, a nurse typically takes the pulse, tests for blood pressure, and asks some preliminary questions about the reason for visiting the doctor. This nurse skipped the heart/blood processes, but did ask me some questions. One of them was entirely unrelated to medicine at all. She said, "do you know who I am?" I couldn't guess, so finally she told me that she was the mother of one of my classmates, Hortencia, who I rarely see anymore. The nurse told me that Hortencia always thought that I was attractive and nice. The next sentence was the one that pinned me in the heart, however. Said the nurse, "Hortencia always loved you and David, and I always got you two mixed up. I never remembered which was which, but now that you're in my office, I'll always be able to distinguish between the two of you." For those of you who know me, David is the name that describes the male entity that has (unfortunately) been the object of my affection for over a year. For those of you who don't know me, David is the name that describes the male entity that has (unfortunately) been the object of my affection for over a year. (Why didn't I just copy and paste?) Obviously, much emotion is wrapped up in that name. I tried my hardest to keep from blushing (I didn't want rosacea diagnosed, as well), and I kept my thoughts to myself. But I wish to share them now. You know what I think about Hortencia? I think she has the best taste in men in the entire world.