Blue-Black Eyes and Dead-man's Neckties

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 him...my 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.