I hate that I never post because I overthink my ideas for posts.

I love my mom and dad and my sisters and my brother.

I love my friends.

I love inside jokes.

I love movies that make me cry.

I love chocolate cake and string cheese and salt and vinegar chips and Coke.

I love sleeping.

I love Japan.

I love good memories.

I hate that I'm gay and Mormon.  I really do.  I hate that I hate God sometimes for that.

I hate that sometimes I don't want to pray.  I hate that sometimes the only prayer I can say is "Help me" over and over and over.

I hate that my patriarchal blessing talks about having a wife and kids and how it makes me wonder if I did something wrong or if it's all just made up.

I hate that my bishop, one of the few people in the world I look up to, was just released.  I hate that I don't know how my new bishop will react to what I tell him.

I hate that other gay Mormons can easily decide what to do with their lives.

I hate that so far my bishop has spent at least $7500 on reparative therapy for me and that it could be my fault that it's not working.  I hate that I couldn't do the workbook because I don't really remember my childhood and that now my social phobia is hindering me from progressing.

I hate that I might be more socially comfortable with medication but I don't have health insurance.  I hate that my therapist isn't a normal therapist.

I hate that I don't have insurance because I don't have a job, because I can't get a job.  I hate that I can barely handle job interviews.  I hate that I sweat too much.  I hate that there's something about me that interviewers don't like.

I hate that I can't make friends.  I hate that after four years of college I never made friends with any of my roommates and that I made only one friend on my mission.  I hate that after three years in the same ward, I don't like going to church because I don't have friends there.

I hate that there are plenty of people who would be my friend if I just knew how to do it.  I hate that when friends assure me I have friends and tell me what they like about me, it makes no difference.

I hate that I'm not comfortable enough to dance in people's living rooms.

I hate that spending money makes me feel better.  I hate that I'm 25 and spending my parents' money.  I hate that I feel like I only waste people's time and money and don't contribute anything to anyone.

I hate that when I'm already having a crappy night, I go to the grocery store and I get sad when I see all the young couples and I have to fight back tears in the bread isle.

I hate that everything about me feels broken.

I hate that I think about killing myself sometimes.  I hate that I can't kill myself because people would be really sad.

I hate that I believe that there is truly no solution to my gay-Mormon dilemma.

I hate that the person that lives below me probably hears me when I pace.

I hate that this is how I think when I let myself stop and think.

Notes From All Over

I'm posting tonight mainly just to post, because it's been forever and I keep meaning to.

• Around the beginning of April, my therapist had me consider whether reading so many Moho blogs was the best decision for me, since it exposed me to so many of the negative thoughts and experiences that people have. I wondered if the blogs had filled an important role in my earlier stages of coming to terms with myself (that of helping me understand that there are so many others like me) but that my needs were evolving past that point. As a result, I thinned down the list of blogs I read to only those with generally positive, pro-gospel themes.
  
  
• For some reason I also happened to stop reading blogs altogether at that time. Tonight I finally caught up with them, and I'm happy to say that things seem good. It's probably largely due to the fact that I don't read depressing blogs, but it makes me happy to see others who are making it and are sharing their thoughts. I've become pretty disillusioned with the Moho community in general but there are individuals whom I really look up to.
  
  
• I bookmarked a post called Moderation by Original Mohomie because it was just spot on. I also bookmarked this post on a newer blog because I just loved L's heartfelt comment to it. It reminded me of the writing style of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
  
  
• I watched the movie Crash for the first time recently. Twice. I think it's my second favorite movie, behind Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
  
  
• Coming home from my short vacation at home, I had a layover in Las Vegas. I decided to buy a magazine and after considering all of my options, I settled on Details. It manages to be interesting and not too gay at the same time. I'm thinking of getting a subscription but I'm upset that I just barely missed the issues with Zac Efron and Hayden Christensen on the covers! Some luck!
  
  
• I made a new friend from Malaysia through that chat thing on the side of my blog. I've also become great friends with a few new Mohos. I find it wonderful to be able to help them out in ways that I was helped by other people just a year ago, while receiving help and encouragement from them at the same time. Unfortunately I face the difficult decision of whether rooming with SSA guys is going to be the most beneficial step for me right now.
  
  
• These new friendships have got me thinking again of something I've occasionally considered in the past: When all is said and done, is it better or worse for a person struggling with SSA to meet others like him? I look at the amazing experiences I've had and the personal growth I've experienced as a direct result of having friends in the community and I want to say YES! But I look around me and see almost no one who escapes the new temptations unscathed, and I see everyone leaving their testimonies behind, and I wonder if they couldn't have made it work by staying away in the first place.
  
  It's certainly a conundrum. I feel like the healing that comes through associating with others is necessary for almost everyone. But the almost inevitable results are impossible to forgive. It's a necessary impossibility. Or something like that.
  
  Maybe the answer lies in having just a few close, trusted friends from whom you can get emotional support and fulfillment. This sounds like the best solution for me about now, at least as I work through my issues and toward getting my needs met through relationships with OSA guys. I guess it's a case of danger in numbers. The trick is to find those few close friends, those with similar goals, and to be there for each other. Besides, that's what always worked for me in life anyway.
  
  
• I love flavored Tootsie Rolls!

What it Looks Like to Come Out

This is a photograph of what it looks like to come out to someone.

Well, depending on your situation. If you come out to someone on a sunny, warm St. Patrick's Day in 2007, the kind of day on which you can wear shorts and a polo and feel just great (besides the intense inner turmoil).

And if the "someone" is actually your two best friends, where the first one has been your best friend for five years and has had feelings for you the whole time, but you haven't been able to explain why you don't know if you're attracted to her or not. If she knows you better than anyone else, and you love being around her, but your relationship has become strained. And if you go to see the other best friend sing in a concert in the city, and that friend is someone you can always trust and always talk to.

And if you steal them both away from their other friends for an hour, and take them into a little valley by the capitol building. If you get nervous trying to find a place to do it, while they wonder why you're acting so strangely, and you settle on a little bench overlooking a path and a sign with red spray paint on it.

And if you think it's the hardest thing you've ever done, and you just sit there silently between them on the bench. And you think about not doing it. And you begin to cry, wondering again how life will change after that day. If you know that you need to do it, because life is getting too hard to live without someone to talk to, and you really, really trust them.

And if you do it, and you spit out as much as you can, trying to answer anticipated questions through the tears.

If you stop talking, and for a moment feel completely empty and alone as they sit silently at your side. And then they reach for you and embrace you, and you feel the love and comfort of eternal friendship, and you "let it all out," and you never want to let go.

And if eventually you let go, ready to start the slow process of understanding, ready to face a very new life filled with more honesty, more openness, more pain, and more love. And if you wipe your eyes and look.

That's what it looks like.