Wednesday, May 24, 2006

I'll be Honest

I'll be honest.

My heart's kind of, pretty much, broken.

And I'm not sure why i'm going to wake up tomorrow.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Blue-Black Eyes and Dead-man's Neckties

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Un Weekende Terrible.
I don't know whether it was the fight that I had with my father, the DTR, or the act of getting ripped a new one this weekend, but it was absolutely terrible.

Friday - Math test. Thought I was going to flunk it...super-stressed. Got an 80, and was very satisfied.
Saturday - Hung out with a buddy, recorded some music, went garage-sale-ing, and then hung out at his place. I was under the intention that he was going to drive me home...I even threw him $5 for gas, and he decided he was too lazy to drive, and that I was riding my bike home. The back tire blew out, 200 meters from his house, and I still had an uphill journey. I called my bud back, and he came and got me (thank goodness), and drove me and my bike to my apartment. While I was waiting for said friend, I called my dad. I really didn't know what to do, and he seemed like someone to go for for advice...why not give him another shot, after all the crap I've been handed by him. Well, in short, he thought I was blaming father tends to get defensive when he thinks he's being attacked, and begins firing off at any comment he can think might be an attack. I ended up hanging up on him.

My bud ends up driving me home, and I'm just frustrated and exhausted, emotionally. "Do I want to live with my father for all of eternity?" I though. And I guess it's harsh, but no. Not really. Is that completely horrible of me? Upon further contemplating, the whole fiber of my belief system (or meager remnants thereof) began to come into question. What was I planning on doing with my future? Was I going to leave the church? Was I going to try to stick it out? Was living the lifestyle a better alternative to something which could, potentially, kill me? I don't know, quite, if I came to any kind of a decision, but the outlook looked somewhat grim. Either become more accepting of myself, and live something closer, more akin to "the lifestyle," or continue grinding myself into the ground, and trying to be a good mormon kid...and by grinding myself into the ground, I mean continuing my obsessive compulsive, perfectionistic behavior, loathing myself for this attraction which whould leave me perpetually lonely, if the 'holier' course of action were to be taken. I was beaten up, emotionally, and I needed to know I was loved. I needed to know that I was enough for someone. I needed someone to need me.

Enter the would-be romantic figure in my life, with a phone call. He wants to be good. He hates seeing me all torn up like I get. He wishes he could help, but there's nothing he can do (when really, being with him and having his attention would be enough to make me fly like a kite). The point is brought, yet again, to my attention that he doesn't want to act out, he doesn't want to live the lifestyle, and that means, he doesn't want to be romantically involved with me. All very reasonable. But since when have I been reasonable?

I don't know if any of you have been in loved, and tasted how good it is, only to have it broken off and handed back to you. It's not that my love isn't appreciated. I know that it is. It's not that I don't make him feel special...he's told me, repeatedly that it does. I don't question him at all. It's the fact that I want romance, and he wants to be good. Somehow, I have this idea in my head that romance can consist of just holding hands, and kissing, and cuddling...but we all know those quazi-innocent actions lead to others, and he deserves to be free from those.

The thing that really kills me is the attitude of "if acting out will make you happy, then go and do it. It'd be better that you not live your life wondering." I honestly can't say that acting out WOULD make things better, but it's not just the want to 'act out.' It's a want to make love...a want to be able to express, more than just verbally, how much I care for him...and that rips me up inside. I lose sleep about it...I don't want anybody else...and it seems like, to him, anybody will do. Sure, he might not think he's spectacular, or the most good looking guy, but I really could care less. I'm in love with who he is, not "how hot he is."

Phone conversation=over.

I get online, in hopes that I'll be able to recieve some kind of comfort from SOMEBODY...maybe SOMEBODY will listen. I begin talking to a friend from back in Oregon, and she begins her gambit. Accusations of hypocracy and, essentially, being a horrible person, are all I get. Nothing but tactless, unfriendly anger. "If you want to leave the church, then just do it, and get it over with." She even went so far as to ask me if I "masturbate while in my garments," saying that I'm a mockery of everything she loves (the Gospel). I won't be talking to her again. I took one of my sleeping pills, and forced myself to sleep, rather than do something dumb. I think I sent out a desparate plea for help that night.

Sunday brought a widescale emotional breakdown, involving me crying for around 2 hours, uncontrollably, and a friend trying to console me, while I cried on her. That night, I terrified myself...I was milliseconds from creating a gaping gash on my arm or some other piece of flesh...I almost cut myself...

How do I get past this? It's been a year, and I've been nothing but miserable. I try coping, try reading my scriptures and praying and going to church, and trying to be a good kid, but I only find myself picking at problems that posess me, and force me to reallize my weaknesses as a Christian, as a human being. As a son. Nobody has the answers for us. And that's why continuing in life is terrifying. I seem to have the notion that, were I to kill myself, it'd be better than continuing on in life, only to foul up, and act out, thus damaging someone ELSE spiritually. The notion of murder being "the shed of innocent blood" makes it seem like not-murder when placed next to my situation. This is why I'm scared...I honestly dont' know if I'll live past 30.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Once Again, I Get the Shaft

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I totalled my car last night. Damn me for driving fast. Damn me for driving fast with someone else in the car too. I was going probably around 70something on 35mph turns in a backwater Oregon town, and this is my payment. If only we would have driven around and listened to music in HIS car instead, I wouldn't be kicking myself in the balls. So car=gone. My personal icon of independence and livelyhood are sitting in my parents' driveway, with the back smashed in. I really just wanted him there with me, after the crash, waiting for the tow truck. His arms would have made everything okay for the time being, anyway. And knowing him, he would have been wearing a really nice sweatshirt, and it would have kept me warmer too. I could see my breath, I think.

The cop that found us was really nice, and let us keep warm in the cab of his cop car while we waited for the tow truck. He smoked. I like that about him. He was a cop, and he smoked, and he was nice. The other was condescending and lived kitty-corner to my house. I don't like him. The tow-truck operator was kind of a punk too, but at least he did something constructive and pulled my car out. Condescending cop # 2 knocked on the door of my parents' house, trying to wake up somebody after I had called more than 15 times, to no avail. Mom just didnt' wake up until I walked into her room. I cried....or tried to, last night. I felt bad...but I guess not as bad as I felt this morning. I was really hoping that it would all have been a bad dream, but it wasn't. Please let this all have been a bad dream. Mom felt prompted that I should go with her up to the temple this morning, after I told her last night. I conceded and figured "what harm can it do? I already feel like a hypocrite and a failure, at least the pretty scenery will give me some time to cool off and try to mellow out.

I had "the talk" with Mom this morning before we went to the temple. I'm so sick of crying. I told her how I feel about life right now: that I'm walking on a knife-edge, and I'm damned if I fall either way.

Right now/knife edge=living celibate...not getting in trouble...only problem is that I feel like I'm really walking the figurative knife...and my feet are cut so badly. I fall to the left, and I live the lifestyle. Maybe I'm damned for eternity for rejecting the gospel, and maybe I actually end up miserable in this life...but from the experience I've had in the past year, going towards that side is the only relief I've had from this blatant self-hatred. To my left is continuing to "fake it" but I won't "make it," I don't feel. If I keep on grinding myself against the wall that is the church, looking for some hole to squeeze through and find my salvation, I'm going to grind myself to paste before finding anything. And by grinding myself to paste, I mean killing myself.

So it's spiritual death, or physical death...and we only live once. There's not point to living miserably...right? I suppose I could try to live "happy," but I never really know how over the guilt I'd entirely be able to get. That, and the eternal "what if's." Then what if I end up killing myself. I know, I know, cop out. Thing is, I'm scared of effecting more people negatively. I'm scared of the negative influence or affect that I have on anything. I don't want to damage anythign else. It might sound like it's ridiculous, but you know how it's not considered murder if it's in war? Or how it's murder to shed "innocent blood?" I don't see myself as innocent blood. Sure my homosexuallity isn't something that I picked, but I feel like it's made me tarnished...impure and imperfectable. I'm hoping that when I do die, I'll be able to fall down at God's feet, and just cry, and hope that I'm enough...hope that I'll be able to be raised up, and hugged, and told "yes, you did well. You're enough, now take some rest. You've done enough." I guess I'm hoping there'll be some sort of grace for my huge faults. I can hope.