Who Is This Child?

On Saturday, I was digging through my files and I found a program from my baptism and this photo was tucked away inside.

November 6th, 1994.

I happened to be on the phone with my older sister at the time, and I started to lose it.

I began crying. Hard. I tried to really feel and understand my tears. Why had this photo stirred me so?

I struggled to explain, though I sensed she understood intuitively what I was feeling.

My heart aches so much when I see this boy with such a beautiful spirit, who is trying his best, trusting the adults and people he loves and respects, who are trying to lead him to happiness in the best way they know how.

Yet—

Does he know how much things will change? He knows nothing of the internet, pornography, masturbation, homosexuality, hell—sin of any kind is a foreign experience.

Look at how joyful he is! Free from sin, and following the path of righteousness!

But look closer—the boy is anxious, scared. He's frightened of causing anyone more pain, of letting people down. So much so, he's got a cold sore, which always appear on his lips during periods of extreme anxiety.

------

Dear Ezra of November 6th 1994,

I wanted to write you a letter.

You are of such infinite worth. You do not have to earn love. That love you so freely give is all that is required of you in this life. "As I have loved you, love one another".

You will have a lot of terrible things happen to you, but you will touch many lives with your love and your caring—please realize the value you have to those around you, and internalize that for those times when you feel like no one is there.

I love you so much, and I'm so sorry for all the pain I caused you.

I'm sorry for all the times I beat you and verbally abused you. For calling you stupid, and for never truly accepting you for the loving, sweet boy you are.

Everything will turn out alright. I love you.

Sincerely,

Ezra of Sept 2009.

-------

For the first time in my life, I've had a glimpse of how God must feel.

God knows what lies ahead of us. He looks across the reaches of Heaven, and His endless love swells for us—and oh, the sorrow He must feel! Seeing where we will fall, and wanting to warn us. But knowing that this is our test, and that He cannot intervene, no matter how much he wants to protect us from the pain. It is necessary for our growth.

God's hands are bound, lest agency cease.

I cannot spare that sweet little boy from 1994, any more than God can spare me now.

All I can do is embrace that young spirit inside me, and forgive myself, just as God will do when I finally feel his countenance shine upon me.

A Tough Week

As many of you know, I had a tremendously hard week emotionally. Several factors contributed to this.

1. Going to Pride and feeling unattractive and uncomfortable with myself made me feel like I was back in the closet again. While at the event, an announcer said "Aren't you proud to be gay?" My heart screamed NO. No, not at all. I am terrified and ashamed that I was still unhappy with being gay. This could be a post unto itself, so I'm going to move on.

2. I've been averaging 60 work hours a week for the last 8 weeks. This is taking a heavy toll on the following:

3. Physical well-being--It's harder to eat well and find time to hit the gym when you're always at work.

4. Emotional well-being--I have to be diplomatic and focused for long long stretches, which requires you to repress emotions to maintain professionalism.

5. Social well-being--I think I've gotten about 2 visits from a friend (not counting a trip to the moho party) in this 8 week period. I also haven't been able to go on my second date with Damian because our schedules keep conflicting.

So basically, you can imagine that I am worn pretty thin. I've also noticed that these bouts of depression seem to come at about 4-5 week intervals, which leads me to believe it may be a bio-rhythm as well.

Well, I wrote some pretty scary things on this blog. I'm sorry for scaring you. I feel bad that I don't always know how to reach out and get the help. It's embarrassing to me that I'm so far along, so "out" and yet I'm still so ashamed of myself. Self acceptance for ANYTHING has never come easily to me, and certainly not for being gay. When everyone else seems to be so much more comfortable, or at least putting on such a better face than me, I feel inferior.

My friend Brett moved here from Peoria, IL and is interning at a late night show here in LA. He's only been out 2 months or so, and he's just so confident and cool about it. He's already gotten some dates in just the week or two he's been here. He's not any better looking for me. He's not in better shape than me. But he clearly has the confidence and presence to attract cute guys. It makes me feel so envious.

On top of all this angst-causing bullshit, my Los Angeles BISHOP called me out of the blue because he wanted to "meet". I told him that I was fine and didn't need to meet. It made me feel angry and I wanted to scream "I'm a fucking faggot! Leave me alone!" But I didn't.

I was feeling pretty shitty--but this time it was different than other times--I was too calm, and that made me nervous, because with the calmness it made me feel in control, when I knew I wasn't. I was so alone, and I needed help, but was too proud, and too ashamed to ask. "I don't deserve help," I reasoned.

And yet, despite my efforts to push these people away from me, they wouldn't leave me alone. They checked in on me, expressed their love, called, texted, e-mailed, and undoubtedly prayed for me.

Thank you (in no particular order) to

Clint M.

Michael W.

Cam W.

Alan W.

Drew S.

Grant H.

Troy D.

MohoHawaii

Bravone
Frank S.
Ned J.

Greg V.

Canyon E.

Scott N.

Sarah N.

Sarah T.

My Mom

If I've left anyone out, please know I valued you reaching out to--I was literally taken aback at how many people cared enough to say something to me, or listen to me rant, and so I might have forgotten someone in the flood of concern and love.

I wanted to keep this short, but this post's chance at brevity is long past, so I'll forge ahead.

Everyone said things that were helpful, but I wanted to share two quotes from Clint and Scott.

Scott: There will never be a time that you could suicide and *not* cause people pain and trouble. I love you, and losing you will hurt, even if it's 80 years from now and due to natural causes. Mostly I just wanted to let you know that I love you

Ezra: I don't even know what to say anymore. I feel undeserving of the friends I have. God knows I wouldn't be friends with me. I'd run like hell in the opposite direction from this train wreck

Scott: It isn't up to you to decide who's friends with you. I get to choose who I'm friends with, and I like you. You can choose whether or not to reciprocate that friendship, but you're getting it from me either way. And I'll always count myself lucky to know you.

Ezra: I'm 22 and I'm giving up. How fuckin' pathetic is that? You'd be crazy to want to know a loser like that.

Scott: I like you just because you're *you*. Because I like *Ezra*.

----

Clint: If you were [a selfish asshole], then people wouldn't care. Trust me. I've had friends who were/are jerks. I don't call them and I don't call other people to check up on them when I can't. You think trying to make other people hate you will make you feel justified in hating yourself, but it won't. We think you are someone worthwhile. You may not think that of yourself, but might have to trust us to not be complete morons. You don't have to start loving yourself before other people can love you."

My mother probably put it the most succinctly. She said "Be nice to Ezra, I like him".

It's funny how sometimes a slight change in semantics can cause a paradigm shift. I realized that if I saw a friend treating someone I cared about the way I treat myself, I'd not stand for it. It's hard for me to do things for myself--maybe it's that self-flagellation that I've been performing for so many years. But I love to serve others--and I am fiercely loyal to my friends. And my friends are telling me to stop being so hard on myself--so maybe I can do it for them. It would hurt me to see one of my friends treated this way, so I can imagine the distress it must cause them to see me so abusive and not be able to intervene because it's inside of me.

Sorry if that's a bit "out there", but it's true. I am trying to see this from a new perspective.

I've also committed myself to visiting a psychotherapist on Monday, and presumably if I feel a good vibe off of him (I already do) will begin seeing him regularly. He comes recommended from a gay co-worker, and Dr. Tony is "family" which is nice, too. Hopefully you folks can rest a little easier knowing I'm seeking help.

And a few cool things are happening this weekend--Saturday is the Affirmation Pool Party here in LA! It's a completely new, non-blogging group of gay mormons to meet! I'm super excited.

And I finally scored my second date with Damian. We're going to see Up in 3D. (Is it still chauvinistic to want to pay for everything if you're both men? I just feel like I want to pay since I've been doing so well... Thoughts?)

Anyway, thank you all again for being a special part of my life. I love you all very much.

*apologies to initially leaving Ned and Frank off my list.

Gutted

A fire burned down my old ward building back in Cambridge, MA today.
This building was my ward for 3.5 years as I attended Emerson College. Bishop O. of the University Ward saved my life by telling exactly what I needed to hear when I came to him ready to take my own life because of the crushing weight of my self hatred and shame. And now, this is all thats left. A memory, hazy with smoke.

Gutted.

Just like my faith.

I'm Warning You...

I'm warning you in advance, before you start reading, that this is probably going to be the most rambling flood of dis-organized, emo-licious, swear filled, angry and depressed post I've had in a while. It's my way of crying out for help. Yes, I'll admit that, I'm posting on this blog because I need validation, and I don't know where else to get it.

So if you're wise, you'll just ignore this post.

Here comes the flood.

FUCK THIS BULLSHIT RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

I'm sick. I'm sick in the head, and I'm not just talking about my head cold. I've been lounging around my house all weekend, and I thank God that today is presidents day, otherwise I'd have venture to work SICK the the fucking rain, which isn't supposed to happen, I live in LOS ANGELES for crying out loud.

I'm sick because I continue to torment myself on a daily basis. Yesterday I was already sick, and I was sleeping on my bed, and the phone rang, and I was so happy that someone would call, hoping maybe it was my older sister, who I love very dearly. But no, it was my God-Damn-Home-Teachers™. The good, Mormon me would have been excited to get a blessing, but I don't see the point. God already knows I'm sick, I've already asked him to help me heal, so why do I have to let two people who only care about me because they've been assigned to care touch my head and pour vegetable oil on the back of my head??? It's ridiculous... because I either believe the church, or I don't. And judging from the fact the I've not been to a mormon church since Sept. 2008, almost half a year ago, I'd say I'm pretty fully apostate.

Sometimes, destructive, abusive familiarity feels safer and more comfortable than the frightening cold unknown.

And I'm definitely in that territory now.

I basically told my hometeachers flat out that I only let them teach me because I know that they need to mark me off as "visited" in their report, and I'd hate to be responsible for keeping them from getting 100 percent of their work done.

It was a very uncomfortable meeting. I felt like flying off the handle at them the whole time spewing hateful venom at them, renouncing my faith and telling them to get the fuck off my couch, get the fuck out of my apartment, and never come back. But you can't get angry and two men who really believe that they love you, and speak softly and blah blah blah... what the hell are you supposed to do? It's just like in that episode of South Park "All About Mormons". Stan says:

Oh, stop it! That's another thing! Why do you have to be so freakin' nice all the time?! It isn't normal! You just weasel people into your way of thinking by acting like the happiest family in the world and being so nice to everyone that you just blindside dumb people like my Dad!

I laughed when I watched it. Now I cringe because I feel like it's true. I wanted to just flat out say, "I'm gay, I'm actively seeking a boyfriend, and I don't fit in your church anymore, so if you still want to visit me, then fine, but until I can be who I am within the walls of the church, then you can stop wasting both yours and my valuable time on this bullshit"

But of course, I didn't. I just said, simply, quietly: "I don't know what to tell you". I didn't engage. They got the hint, and they left, though not before one of them (the one I like less) tried one last time to passionately share that he does care about me.

Not the real me, not about my happiness, but for the me that I'm obviously "losing" the good Mormon me.

As if that even ever existed.

I turned down their offer for a blessing. No real point in getting on if I don't have the faith anymore. And when they left, I lay on my couch in a sickness induced stupor, and I started crying. I miss that fucking church so much sometimes. I miss that warm feeling of KNOWLEDGE. Of knowing, with absolute certainty the answers to all life's little problems and questions. I miss the hymns on sunday and my mormon friends that I grew up with, who are all getting married and starting their perfect mormon lives.

And here I am, sick, alone and crying. No one to make me soup. No one who will sit with me and watch a movie, snuggling up, not worried about getting sick from my contact.

I lay on the bed, and for the second time in a year started visualizing the bulk-sized bottle of Advil-Liquigels in the medicine cabinet, and how I could just walk over to that bottle, pour those fucking pills into my massive fucking gut and let that medicine, that pain relief action pump through every artery, vessel, and ventricle until all the pain of life was gone--until life was gone.

I'd probably get away with it too. My roommate if very respectful, and he wouldn't check up on me if my door was closed for probably a day or so. I'd be in the clear. I'm doomed to go to hell anyway, so why not cut through all the bullshit and just go now? What's a few more years of living worth when you have an eternity in hell to look forward to. It's not really worth bothering.

EMO-LICIOUS enough yet? Good, glad to hear it. I'm never going to find a guy because I'm too fucked up, broken, confused, fat, undesirable and angry to ever woo someone. Not to mention I'm picky and shallow, and I want someone who's good looking, but apparently I expect that person to see beyond looks since I'm fucking fat ass who while he's been sick has been binging up a storm and essentially putting on 5 pounds in a weekend. It's just what I deserve. I'm getting it all back, my feelings of being worthless and a waste of space and life are validated again and again, with every lonely night and every sad song and every cute guy I see who I'll never get the chance to talk to. Every couple and every baby, the knowledge that YOU'LL NEVER HAVE THAT. Fuck this life.

In the previous post, I took two doses (60ml) of NyQuil, which is two of those little dose cups full. Chedner had asked if it was 2 cups, as in 16oz? Well, sometimes I wish I had that courage--then I'd really be fine. My roommate had to work today. He wouldn't find me for almost 8 hours. Plenty of time.

Don't worry, I won't do it. I'm too much of a god-damn coward to take my own life. Too scared of the pain, and to considerate of the negative effect it would have on the people that rely on me. My job, my dear, sweet siblings who I don't deserve. My idiot, child-like parents who I can never talk to because they don't know how to listen. My loving, sweet grandmother who's always had more faith in me and more love for me than I've had for myself, who supported me and gave me money for college. All that would be wasted if I killed myself.

It's for those reasons I can't do it. But dammit, I wish I could. I'm done with trying to figure this shit out. It's too hard, and I don't care anymore. I want to have my biggest problem be that my TiVo can't record all the shows I want it to. I want to be a blindly faithful member of a church that fits me like a glove, who can't see the fact that maybe people aren't all supposed to be the same and need different faiths and denominations to achieve that same end-goal of being a good person who does unto others what he would have done unto him.

I'm getting tired now. I took more NyQuil. The benifit of growing up using homeopathic and herbal remedies is that when you really want the wallop, modern medicine seems incredibly powerful and wonderful.

Goodnight. It's nap time. I'm sorry you had to read this, but then again, I warned you that you should stop before starting, because all it is is a sad tired little boy who is crying out for help, for the pain to stop. He can't take it anymore... but every day it's just trying to get to the end.

Silly and Pointless

Sometimes I get very confused and wonder why.

Why did I attend an Episcopal Church service with Alan on Sunday and cry my eyes out?

Why do I continue to allow my home teachers to see me even though I already know I can't go back to the church?

Why do I spend time at work writing blog posts and flirting with boys that are thousands of miles away?

Why am I so hard on myself?  I've lost 20 pounds in the last year, and yet I'm constantly depressed at how fat I am.

I'm going to get fired one of these days.

The Difference Between Courage And Cowardice

While in therapy yesterday, I was explaining that since coming out, I've become more active and vocal regarding GLBT issues, because I feel it's my duty.  It would be selfish and irresponsible for me to let others do all the work for my equality, freedom and dignity.

But I never wanted to be a fighter.  I never wanted to have to stand up and defend myself.  I never wanted to make a statement.  I just wanted to live my life according to the dictates of my own conscience and be done with it.

"But", I said, "I force myself to do the things that I'm afraid of.  Because it's only by facing them that I can overcome the fear, and move towards being truly comfortable and at peace.  I guess that's the difference--".  At this point, a little switch clicked in my head.  I started crying. I paused as I let the words that were on the tip of my tongue roll around in my mind. "--the difference between a coward and and a courageous man, is action."

My therapist smiled--she saw the door opening, just a crack--and light of truth flooding around the frame.  I smiled, too.

"I know that both the coward and the courageous man are scared shitless--but the courageous man does what is right and true anyway."

I laughed and looked to my therapist. "So why don't I believe it?"

Emotionally Heightened

This morning as I was driving into work, I was listening to NPR.  They were doing a whole series of stories about Barack Obama and the activities and stories leading up to the inauguration tomorrow.

They started off with a story talking about how Barack Obama was taking today to visit people thank them for their service, and asked all Americans to take MLK Day as an opportunity to re-dedicate themselves to service.  This touched me, because just the other day I had decided to look into reading to children as a way to give back to the community.

Then they went on to report that Tuskegee Airmen (African-American fighter pilots from WWII) across America had been invited to have front row seats at the inauguration.  These men had been placed into a program that was designed to fail--they wanted to "prove" that African-Americans were incapable of piloting planes.  But they fought hard, and won the respect of many.

The man they interviewed had flown over 140 missions in WWII, and when he returned home to Los Angeles, he faced discrimination in his efforts to procure a home.  But he persisted, eventually becoming the cities first African-American realtors.  He's old and frail now, but listening to this man speak, I became overwhelmed with love and gratitude and joy for him.

I was driving southbound on the 101, heading into work, tears pouring down my cheeks.

He had to fight his entire life to get things that most people took for granted--but he stood his ground, loved his country and served others.  And thanks to sacrifices of thousands of men and women of all creeds and colors, we're going to be swearing in an African-American President.

I'm beaming with pride because I feel really optimistic about Obama.  Sure, he's just a man, and undoubtedly will make mistakes.  But he seems genuinely interested in listening to both sides of each issue and making the choice that he feels is best for the nation.  And most important of all, he's bringing America hope--hope that "Yes, We Can" build a better tomorrow.  And in the end, as Harvey Milk said, "you gotta give 'em hope".

Of course, I was immediately drawing parallels to the struggles the GLBT community.  When I consider how dramatically the world has changed in the last 60 years, I realize that I need to relax--we are on the right side of history, and I pray that before I'm an old man our nation will have learned to treat all it's citizens with dignity and respect.  That we will not be judged by the gender of our spouses, but by the content of our love.   That our nation will live up to the promises of it's most holy writ--the bill of rights. 

Yesterday, I passed the Hollywood Lutheran Church.  They had a huge banner outside their beautiful sanctuary that proclaimed their "No on 8" stance, and that they would continue to fight for marriage equality.   I pray that the first and most sacred amendment to our constitution, which proclaims that "congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof" will finally be respected.  Here is a church that welcomes, supports, and marries gay and lesbian couples--yet the force of law prevents them from having their unions treated equally under the law.

Anyway, I have been moved to tears multiple times today, and it's time I get back to work.

I'm very excited for tomorrow, and for the future in general.

Crying Coward

I like crying.

It's weird, but I almost feel good while I'm crying.  It doesn't matter the reason--I could be crying tears of joy or pain or sadness--but I don't want to stop.

When I told my third Bishop (the one who actually cared and worked with me) that I was gay, I cried.  And after I left his office, I went into an empty classroom in the Cambridge Ward building, and cried my eyes out.  I sat in a corner, and I let it all out.  I didn't want to stop.  The emotional release was so powerful that I'll never forget it.

The heaving, the sobbing, the blowing the nose.  I love it.  I love watching movies that make me cry.  I cry at the end of October Sky, I cry during scenes in Into The Wild, I cry when I realize that the life I always dreamed about would never be mine.

Yesterday, (as noted in the previous post) I cried during therapy.  I don't remember exactly how we got onto this topic, but I told her that I didn't deserve to have the boyfriend I desired, that I didn't deserve good things.  She responded "Why do you think you don't deserve good things?"

And the tears started to well up.

Just writing that question, "Why don't you deserve good things?" is making my eyes wet again.

I couldn't give her an answer for a long time.  Eventually I concluded that the reason I don't deserve good things is because I'm too foul, too ugly, too sinful and lazy to be blessed.  I have it so easy, so many gifts and so many wonderful, loving people in my life, and yet I accomplish nothing.   So many others, with the weight of the whole world on their backs, great men and women have scarified and dragged themselves up from the bottom.  Yet I remain content with the middle.

I am a coward.

Time after time I kept coming back to the word coward.  I struggled to justify why I felt this way, but couldn't find the reasons--I just feel like a tiny little man, who's so broken and lonely that his true potential is lost.

Dammit.  I'm at work on my lunch break, and I've got tears rolling down my cheeks. F**k.

I received my Patriarchal blessing in the fall of 2007.  I had been working with my Bishop to become worthy to receive it for several months.   The day I got it was one of the most powerful spiritual experiences of my life.  And my blessing said this "There will be individuals in distant parts of the world who will speak your name with reverence even though they may have never met you because of what you have done to assist them to understand to gospel of Jesus Christ."

I've always felt that my purpose on this earth was so great, so important--that I would change the world.  It's my destiny.  I knew this since I was a kid.

But I don't see how someone so broken can fix anything.

I'm not even really a Mormon anymore--how can some ex-mormon faggot sinner teach anyone anything about the gospel of Jesus Christ?

I have to stop.

I have to get back to work.

I have to force myself to go on pretending that I know what I'm doing.