Looking Around Dismayed, Trying to Look Inward

The local moho community has woven a seriously tangled web of secretive and not-so-secretive dating and NCMO. It's pretty hard to find someone who's not a part of the web, and I cringe a little when I see new guys moving in who will likely become part of it, themselves.

There's an attitude of entitlement and nonchalance. Straight people make out all over the place, so why should we feel like we can't? Not everyone ascribes such "meaning" to a little fun kissing, groping, and penis-petting--it just feels nice and is fun and isn't sex, so what's the big deal?

I'm a little embarrassed to have been a part of that web in any way, or even a part of that social circle in any integral way. I want no part of the thoughtless adolescence. It's cheap and slutty. It's inconsiderate. It's selfish. It's... It's...

I guess it's just a real struggle for me to see past those behaviors right now, try as I might. Maybe it's to be expected of any limited or tight-knit community in which options are few and hormones are bursting. Maybe I am simply going through a process of learning to forgive indiscretion in others as well as in myself. Or maybe I simply am yet to come to terms with a truth that this is perfectly normal (perhaps even acceptable) human behavior among most communities, and I'm naive to think maturity demands different behavior. Perhaps ONLY Mormons or ONLY Utahns are so prudish about sexual matters and most people in the world are so sexual that they don't consider it a big deal to fool around here and there as long as they're "safe" about it, and there's no need to attach emotional connection with sexual intimacy (including BYU's ever-prevalent NCMO, which you simply can't persuade me to see as something other than sexual, even though it's not sex).

If that's true, I can only think I live in a world of sluts, or I am the one with the skewed perspective. It's taking a lot of energy for me to confront the prevalence of blatantly self-serving sexuality rampant all around me, like a pathetic throwback to the mindless, animalistic "free love" of the sixties. I simply am not grasping this. I am either really missing something and have a lot of understanding and "sexual enlightenment" left to gain, or there are a whole lot of disgustingly slutty people in our society. Obviously, I'm not sexually experienced, so I have to admit that my philosophy is not based on the experience of intercourse itself, but I think I know a thing or two about relationships and affection and the relationship between physicality and emotional connection.

Maybe I'm making it personal. Maybe I'm taking my own hurtful experiences and projecting them all over the place. Maybe I'm jealous of what's going on and wish I felt free to participate. Maybe I'm loathing the sluttiness within myself and projecting the blame onto everyone else for exhibiting openly what I have felt inside but kept reined in for the most part.

I have certainly known what it's like to feel the desire for abandon in physical expression of affection AKA wanting some hot make-out. I've wanted to just let it all go. I've thought, in moments, "what's the big deal? This could be fun, and it would certainly feel good, and it would be an expression of affection and attraction, and it's not some random guy I met tonight but someone I've known for a while." Looking back, I remember fairly clearly how I was thinking in those moments. How I wondered what the big deal was anyway? What makes one kind of touch so drastically worse than another? What makes one part of the body so off limits? But now, maybe I'm back to a different perspective.

Maybe looking back and realizing I had my phases and such questions, I should try to be more understanding. And maybe I'll go through more phases, and I'll need people not to judge me as a hopeless whore but to see past my lapses in judgement. But I also hope people, even in their forgiveness, would not view it as perfectly acceptable behavior. When looking back at times when I've acted childishly or selfishly, I have trouble respecting those people who affirmed the very choices I now consider foolish.

Which brings up the topic of the difference between being fully forgiving and exhibiting a lack of principle, and the potentially delicate balance between the two...but that's another post for another night.

Pride and Lumberjacks

Oh, this is just too beautiful. In Utah this weekend, a beautiful juxtaposition of two events: the Stihl Timbersports lumberjack competition and Utah Pride Festival. Odd coincidence? Orchestrated confluence? It raises my eyebrow...and makes me laugh out loud.

I really want to go take a picture of a bunch of queens taking a break from pride events to cheer for their favorite burly lumberjack.

But then, something tells me neither event will distract much attendance from the other...

Lofty Ambitions

I had another dream involving Max Power. What is this?! He haunts me. But this time, he was incidental to the central plot, not the main character making unwanted advances.

In this one, I was outside of a high school with Tito, Max Power, and Max Power's straight friend who had no name but had a beautiful face with an excellent jaw line and a tall, tanned, lean, California-boy body with perfect skin. It was a hot day, so of course MP's friend was shirtless. Thank-you, Max Power, for sharing the glory with us. We were there with a tow truck to tow a car that had broken down. I think it was Danish Boy's car, and he came out of the high school to join us as we rigged it up. Whether he was a student there or not, I don't really know. I mean, he's young, but he's not THAT young.

We all hopped in the tow truck, Tito driving with MP and DB in the front seat. Apparently, the front seat was wide enough to seat three. I mention this as noteworthy because wouldn't you know it--the back seat was only wide enough for one. Gee. That's too bad for hottie California boy and me.

Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. I straddled Cali-boy from behind. We started driving, and it was, as I already mentioned, a really hot day. I was sweating, so it became expedient for me to remove my shirt. Yes, with hottie straighty leaning back against my torso. The sacrifices we make for comfort...

Pause. In reality, if someone who looked like me straddled me and took off his shirt, I would probably snicker and think, "dude, go hit the weights for a year and come back and try that again, and I'll still scoff at the lameness but at least be semi-impressed by the physique. Who do you think you are?" But this was my dream, and in my dream, I get to be as hot and as tempting as I want. OK, resume...

At first, straighty Cali-boy sort of leaned aside and forward a little to keep a healthy distance from my scantily clad, homoerotic self. But as we rode further on, he feigned oblivion as he pretended to forget about it and gradually became more relaxed and less distant. Before long, he still carried a hint of readiness to explain away his actions at the first accusation but was resting his head on my shoulder and very much enjoying the experience as my arms gradually wrapped around him.

I had only semi-intentionally wooed the hot straighty. Not an unpleasant surprise, to say the least. This was going well...and then I think my roommate made a noise, and I watched the scene dissolve away from me. Grasp as I might, it was not coming back. Dang. I need my own room.

Who knew I was into nabbing straighties? I certainly didn't. But hey, we all have our hidden goals and ambitions, I guess.

...and is it unusual that my hot dreams are almost always about nobody I actually know or have seen? Why is that? They're, at best, conglomerates of bits and pieces of people I know or have seen around. I mean, it saves me a lot of potentially awkward mornings after, so I won't complain. I'm just sayin'...

Fruits Everywhere

So I enjoyed another monthly jaunt to the Matises' home tonight. Saw the old familiar faces I generally see only at these monthly gatherings, minus a few. Reflected on some thoughts on the sacrament and the atonement. Had some good conversation. And as usual, the refreshments were plentiful and delicious. Tonight, there was a spread of several kinds of fruit, more fruit than I've seen in one place in a long time.

...yes, let the wordplay roll. The fruity buffet provided excellent fodder for all kinds of witty comments. One of the highlights was when my friend, "Danish Boy" (oh great, now I'm going to get even MORE hits on my blog from random Googlers looking for Danish boys), was raving about how much he loves cantaloupe, and I said the watermelon was really good, too, and the strawberries, and all of the fruit there. He then piped in, quite innocently, "Yeah, Marilyn sure knows how to pick her fruits." I paused and smirked, then looked at Danish Boy, who had not yet realized the comedy of his statement, then looked back at Sister Matis, who had a funny close-lipped smile on her face too. Then Danish Boy realized what he'd said, and we had a good laugh, and she loved it. She shared his unintentional double entendre with several other guests before we all filtered out. I enjoy her.

A benefit of lingering late: I got to take a bunch of fruit home. And yes, the fruit I was taking home was the edible, food kind. The other kind I don't take home without at least going out to dinner first.

Whom To Trust?

A friend's younger brother recently came to terms with the fact that he's attracted to guys, and it's kind of heart-warming and exciting to see him being honest with himself and starting the journey to greater personal understanding.

At the same time, it's a little disheartening to think about the fact that...I don't know who I'd refer him to, or who I'd trust with him. I can think of only a small handful of guys who I believe would keep his best interest in mind.

It makes me think of a kid a friend told me about who was preparing to go on a mission, and he connected the kid with a few mohos in his area whom he trusted to help him with his goals and support him. Before long, many of them had fooled around with him.

Granted, the kid was a "big boy" who could make his own decisions, but the fact that so many of these trusted friends were so willing to contribute to derailing his decision to serve a mission and diverting his attention to less meaningful pleasures for their own enjoyment is unsettling, to say the least.

This is not unique to mohos, of course. It's a classic tale: the new kid just coming to terms with his homosexuality is often fresh meat and fair game for the more predatory types in most gay circles. And there will be hoards of people telling you to "be yourself" and then defining for you what that is, telling you "who you are".

There are also people who will insist that unless you thoroughly repress your desires and sweep them under the psychological rug, you are not normal, and you are not faithful. Some will insist that you speak of the subject only in hushed and reverent tones and never laugh lightheartedly at your situation. For some people, that may be best or may be what they need at that time, but that's not my approach, others will just have to deal with that.

I guess I just want to throw out a warning to those who are just beginning to explore the nuance and ramifications of their homosexuality. I don't want to create an unnecessary sense of distrust. But do be healthily skeptical. Do be smart about who you trust, and about those to whom you become vulnerable. Carefully choose people who will respect your desires, goals, beliefs, and free agency. Exploring various perspectives can be helpful to define your own, but while doing so, be aware of motives, your own and others', and whether they are in everyone's best interest.

There are many people who will seem to be looking out for you but who ultimately don't understand what selflessness really entails. I'm not sure I always do, either, but I try. The point is, we're all human, and we're all mistaken, and we're all right, so just be wise and recognize that nice or flattering words are no substitute for consistent action, attitude, and respect.

With a bit of wisdom and moderation, you should be able to find plenty of help and support without looking back feeling like you've mindlessly joined one herd or another or given someone excessive access to your emotions or your body but have examined and forged your path with care and integrity. I think that's important.

Reasons to Stay, or Why I Didn't Kill Myself

Revelation: I've thought about killing myself a time or two. It was in high school and junior high. Definitely not at all recently. I never tried it. I wanted to. There were times I just didn't know what joy life held for me. I didn't want to deal with life anymore. I didn't see any good way out of what I saw as entrapment between a rock and a hard place.

Mind you, this wasn't just because I was a gay kid. I didn't see my attraction and burning desires as anything other than an odd, perhaps freakish, abnormally intense curiosity. And that seemed like just one thing. I knew I had a relatively easy life in many ways, and my childhood was genuinely a good one, as far as I could remember. But now I had all these emotions I couldn't figure out. I didn't know how to deal with them. Sadness I didn't know how to cope with. Dilemmas I had no answers for. Anger I couldn't explain. Passions I thought were dark and abhorrent. A body I hated and was intensely ashamed of. I think it's what they call "adolescence".

I'm glad I didn't off myself. I've had some good years since then. Very good years. I hope there are a few to come as well. I'd like to think there are. I've gained a lot of social skills and coping skills. I've made and strengthened some lasting relationships. I've had some beautiful, memorable, and educational experiences. I've learned to savor some of what life has to offer and to bridle what must be bridled without feeling like the passions I'm bridling are terrible monsters. In short, it would have been terribly short-sighted to end things when they were hard, since out of the difficulty has come so much growth that has brought a life richer and more fulfilling and interesting than I foresaw at that time.

So why didn't I do it at the time? I remember thinking about the ways I could do it. Overdose on some over-the-counter drug. Gun in the mouth. Slit wrists. Noose. Tenth story leap. Carbon monoxide poisoning (the most likely candidate). Purposely catch a fatal disease. I thought of what might be most effective, most fool-proof, least painful, hardest to botch, least messy. I wasn't interested in a half-hearted attempt to gain sympathy and attention. If I was going to do it, I wanted it done right, no embarrassing aftermath, explanation, and psychiatric evaluation.

I pictured, in my mind, what my funeral might be like, who might attend, what might be said. I didn't picture many people going. I couldn't figure out what they'd say in eulogy.

Now, I want to clarify that I never actually came close to attempting suicide. I never bought the needed implements or thought about it more than briefly. I was never so "serious" about doing it that I started planning it out. I never really talked about it with anyone. I don't intend to belittle the grief of those who have attempted it or feel it's their only option. I don't want to make it sound like I was on that same ledge or set myself up as having been more distraught than I was in order to prove a point. I'm only saying I know a little of what it feels like to not see any way out of misery other than to leave the circumstances the only way I knew how.

What kept me from looking more seriously for ways to end my misery by falling into what I perceived as a sweet, peaceful darkness?

1) I believed in life after death, and I believed that I would carry my unresolved baggage with me there and would still have to deal with it anyway, making any "relief" only temporary in the grand scheme.

2) I knew that at least one person in my life would likely fall apart if I left her in that way. I simply couldn't serve my own desire to escape at the expense of my mother's happiness. I didn't know if she would ever recover from the trauma.

3) I'm a stubborn cuss, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this, that I didn't have to run away like a scared little boy and that I could take life on and prove that other people and situations weren't going to get the best of me. I believed, deep down, that suicide was a false and cowardly "way out" and that somehow, I was going to prove to myself that nobody, not even life itself, could take away my freedom to control myself now and in the future.

4) It seemed terribly selfish, beyond vindictive, to take the "easy way out" and consequently leave a mess and/or trauma and/or void in others' lives that they would then have to deal with the rest of their lives.

5) I certainly didn't want to be remembered primarily by this one dramatic act. I wanted people to think of me as a person when they remembered me, not always think first of how I killed myself.

6) I was afraid of not doing it right and being left living with scars, brain damage, or social stigmas the rest of my life.

7) Somewhere, deep down, I knew things might get better. Maybe it would take years, and the thought of carrying on like I was for that long disgusted me, but I figured if it was 5 or 15 years of misery followed by 60 years of happiness, maybe it was worth the wait.

8) I realized that if any of my friends committed suicide, I'd be devastated by the loss, hurt by the fact that they wouldn't stick around for me, and worried about their eternal welfare. I didn't want to put them through that on my account, in case they did care.

9) I knew, deep down, there were people, even if only a few, who truly loved me. And though they may be able to recover and move on with their lives, I would possibly be causing each of them more sorrow than I was feeling.

10) I believed suicide to be murder of the self. I saw it as a rejection of God's plan for us, the opportunity to learn from the experiences we have here. I saw it as a defilement of the gift of life we were given. Even if that "gift" seemed like a cruel joke at the time, something inside of me told me something which is reflected in the Doctrine and Covenants of the church, section 121: "thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes." I leaned on the promise that somehow, if I stuck with it, as much as I hated the prospect of doing so, the eternal rewards, the experience and perspective gained and the joy given afterwards, would all be more than worth it in the bigger picture.

11) Maybe, just maybe, even though life sucks right now, I need to be here to help someone else in some way someday, and I would be robbing them of that help if I don't stay.

12) I knew that "I'll show them" didn't make sense. If I intended to make "them" miserable, the approach was flawed because if they were made miserable, that meant they truly did love me, and I would probably realize it one day if I stuck around, and if they didn't love me, then they would be only mildly affected by my passing anyway.

Incidentally, I don't judge those who have already passed on by their own hand as being hellbound. I don't know if their minds were their own at the time they did so. I don't know what stresses and pressure they felt in their life that I have never even begun to deal with. I simply don't know. I don't have to. What's done is done, and they've made their choice, and it's not mine to know what they've done or where they've gone since then.

But for those of us still here, still trying to work it out, let's do what we can to help each other find a reason to love life a little more and to see the bigger picture. Let's foster decisions which will bring happiness and integrity. Let's do what we reasonably can to make sure none among us feels completely abandoned and hopeless. Let's provide an ear and a shoulder without reprimands. Let's intervene and correct when necessary but remember that to do so successfully and personally, we must build a solid foundation of trust and love steadily over time.

Not all of my reasons will apply to all people. My thoughts were fairly rational. As hormonal and moody and depressed as I was at times, my mental faculties were intact. As far as I know, my judgement was not affected by addictions, chemical imbalances, extreme/acute duress, or drugs. I shudder to imagine how much harder my situation might have been, how much more clouded my judgement, had those things been part of my life.

There are myriads of reasons people commit suicide. I haven't even begun to touch on all of them here and probably have not even made a convincing argument, based on my own reasons for scrapping the idea, against suicide, for some readers.

But to those who do feel out of options, who long for the release of endless sleep, and who do have yield over their own minds, I earnestly and passionately hope each finds his or her own reasons to stick around, to push through a little longer and refuse to let circumstance remove their determination to choose life for themselves. There is someone who would feel your loss terribly and traumatically. There is someone you may someday help if you stay. There may be a family or other wonderful experiences in your future you haven't foreseen. There is so much more to life than what you currently see, and with help, patience, and perhaps after a lot of tears, you'll most likely eventually find it and be ultimately glad and grateful you stayed.