I Haven't Disappeared Yet....

So, I'm still here...still alive...still breathing...still undamaged (physically). Still chaste, still struggling, still going to church.

Direct after work today, Dad and I got into another 'conversation.' Earlier in the day, my mom had left a note on my bed, quoting a chapter in Alma...a calling to repentance, in essence. According to my father, he and my mother see me drifting further and further from the church...I'm not drifting from the church, I'm just trying to hang on...and them smothering me doesn't help. I, multiple times, tried to break off communication with him...tried to stop the conversation. "I don't want to get into this, because I don't want to end up bawling my eyes out, and if we continue, that's just what's going to happen." And what do you know? The issue continued to be dogged...I rushed from the house, sat in my car, and cried..."why me?"

Damnit, I'm sick of sounding like such a damnable crybaby...but there's nothing I can do other than ask "why?" I don't know how I'm supposed to cope with this issue...there aren't any church manuals, or books on recovering from homosexuality, from reversing 20 years of self-loathing because the teachings of men, mixed with those of God, teachings that having desires contrary to the Gospel plan. Those teachings have been driven into my brain, into my soul, so much that I can't recall any instances of feeling spiritually sound...I've always been not good enough for the touch of the spirit...and as such, I haven't received it.

I haven't found a night where I could sleep myself through till day...within the past month, I haven't gotten to bed any earlier than 1am...mostly due to my own poor scheduling choices, but also due to lack of want to sleep...when I DO sleep, it's riddled with nightmares, or uncomfort...waking me every hour or so. Going to sleep means waking up on another day...means realizing that I have to get up and fight again, when I'm stuck in a slow retreat, back facing a rocky, craggy cliff...and my allusions suck.

"You're a different person from when you left on your mission," Said my Father.
"Going through a quarter-life crisis will do that to you," I stammered, swallowing the knot in my throat.
"There's a painting, I don't know if you've seen it or not, but it's of a man in the woods...he's been through a crisis, and so he's down on his knees. And do you know who he's talking to on his knees? To God."
"...God doesn't talk to me anymore...He stopped listening," I said, eyes welling, as I grasped the doorknob, twisting it and pulling, my strength waning as the onset of salty tears made their way from deep within my being and out through my eyes.

I strode briskly out to my car, fingered the key from my pocket, and fumblingly, unlocked the door and slipped inside. Upon shutting the door, I couldn't hold the tears back any longer...my breathing became erratic, and I lost emotional control. The supreme release of so much emotional energy had been a hedonistic need pressing on me from the moment I awoke that morning. The day had started bad, and would soon be at an end, just as unsavory.
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I drove to a friend's house, we played computer games...good distractions...that's why I play when I can, I think...because I can escape my own problems for a short while. Same with work...I'm completely engrossed in whatever I'm doing at work...and working 60+ hours a week is going to continue to keep me occupied.

While with that same friend, he made the comment "dude, you need to just try to be happier...lighten up!" he said, as he tickled my ribs, robbing breath from my lungs, but bringing a laugh and smile to my lips.

When I'm here...home...I'm under the roof of my parents' shame. I'm choked here...physically as well as emotionally...I physically feel tightness in my throat. I write this not so that they'll release what hold they maintain, if any, but so they'll understand a bit more...even now, I contemplate and weigh the pro's and con's of printing off this entry and slipping it under their door...they don't know what's going on in my head...they haven't since I've come home...the only glimpse they've received is the sparse conversations I have with my mom, as I can't speak with my father without being brought to some catastrophic catharsis...and aforementioned conversations are usually when I'm in one of my pits...telling her to "make sure dad's guns are all locked up," or "I can't handle being a hypocrite." I feel bad that they have to have me as a son...they've had a hard enough of a lot with their other children, but they have me as an added burden...

What have I done to be such a burden? Did I perform some heinous misdeed in the live pre-now? Was I one who contemplated following Lucifer, but was persuaded not to do so by some yet unembodied friend? Was I particularly unimportant, left with the dregs of the barrel of emotional well-being when God planned for each of us our stations in this life? I commented to my father how I can't trust anyone...there are maybe 3 people who I can trust on this earth at the moment...Jared is one...Liz another, and the 3rd is the friend with which I've been spending most of my evenings, distracting myself. I don't trust my church leaders...they've been predatory, abrasive and overly curt in their dealings with me...I can't trust my parents; they're so ashamed, though they do their best to hide it...I can't deal with my father without being brought to tears, and my mother holds extraordinary expectations...the likes of which I've been able meet, if not exceed, in the past - but in my current state, fall short of them all. I can't trust my acquaintances...if they knew my deepests and darkests, they'd run and hide their heads in the sand at my approach...the common man fears what he does not know...and most Mormons fall under that category. Though the Gospel of Christ preaches understanding and caring, much of the church, in retrospect, professes the opposite...intolerance...bigotry. I can't trust my teacher; their opinions of me are too high...were I to confide, I'd shatter any preconceived notions about me they might hold under glass.

I'm without true friends, for the mostpart...those who I consider true friends are those I can trust...and right now, I can't trust barely anyone...when I do I get thrashed...I trusted God, and he let me have the weakness to come home from my mission...he wouldn't take this thorn from my side. I trusted friends, and they just said 'oh well, nothing I can do for you," when an ear to hear would have been enough.