This post will be extremely uncomfortable I forewarn you, if not for you than for me. I’m going to paint you a picture- the most graphically emotional picture my nearly 26 years of life experience can muster. The people
in this picture love me and I love them. They have imperfections as do I.
Rather than what’s typical for me and for others, at least in a public sense,
to focus on the good and ignore the bad, I’m going to paint the dark colors to
my life painting. I've lived a beautiful life- a perfectly imperfect, human
life.
I do not paint this
in the hopes for pity or to show how terrible my life has been, I do this
simply for the desire to let others know they’re not alone. I think about my life and I wish in my
teenage years, as I continue to wish now, that I had people who were completely
real to me about the good and the bad, and yet were still confident in their
character. That’s what I need as I believe people need. I need to know as I
believe others do that we don’t have to buy into anyone’s facade of “happiness
in perfection”. That we can be happy and completely accepting of our whole
selves.
My coming out video was the hardest thing for me up
until this point in my life, but I believe this is even harder as I intend to go
into the details of how I've gotten here. No one has really ever done that for
me. I've never really shared a lot of what I intend to. This is my 100%
authentic story:
I was born with a sensitive spirit. I've been told that my
whole life, I've seen it for myself as I've noticed the keenness I have towards
the presence of those around me, than I felt my peers had. I innately see
people’s needs, wants and desires. I've always had the tenacity to tailor myself according to those needs. To give an example, I remember ever since I was young
child that while I would pee, I would use the side of the toilet, and not
actually go in the water, to avoid the sound of peeing and thus an
uncomfortable feeling for those who were around me. I've always wanted to make people as
comfortable as possible. I guess that trait has been what’s fostered my love to
clean, cook, and do other domestic things that I felt would be
of need in my household.
In that I also come from a very big family, the 8th
of 9 kids to be exact. So I was always on the younger end, and add to that fact
the inevitable truth that with such a large family, attention to each child has
to be spread more thin. My parents did the best with what they had.
Because of my sensitive nature and need for approval from my
family and peers, I had a very insecure childhood. I don’t blame my siblings
for some of the things they said or did to me, as I was indeed very different
than the norm, even in my family. I was never into manly things, such as
sports, athleticism, etc as they were so adept in. Because I was different, burned forever into my mind are the names I’d be
called such as “Fairy”, “Or Don Gay”. Or just simply “gay”. They were hurtful
terms from people I wanted to feel respected by. In fact I remember one song vividly where
they would sing together over and over at the end of the song “From the bottom
of Don Gay”. Because of such terms and my own insecurities, I kept to myself
mostly, and had little to no friends. The friends I did have in elementary
school and on to junior high saw my insecurity for friendship and to their
imperfect advantage preyed on it. I would be the blunt of jokes; it never
helped that I was Mormon in a non-Mormon community. I was the one they’d tell
to go go do awful pranks (such as saying cruel things to random people or doing otherwise cruel things) and I would do it:
I wanted their approval. I remember vividly one night when two of my friends
told me we’d be watching a pg movie, after I told them I didn't watch rated R (because of my religion) and they expressed they wanted to. When I came back into the room to watch the
movie, what came next was being tied down to the chair, as my eyes were then
forced open to watch a pornographic moment of a rated R movie. I was horrified.
And my self-esteem had found a new low.
When my family moved to Utah my parents have expressed since to me their worry
for my ability to make friends, and because of such, had bought our families
first dog. And to their credit that was my worry and fear too: that I would
never have real friends. It wasn't until high school that I began to gain any
sense of confidence in myself: when girls started to notice me and express their
interest. I was taken back by this every time, that anyone could like me. Me the person who was so different and not anything like what the popular kids were like In a indirectly spoken sense I would flaunt my “romantic ability” to my
triplet sisters. I wanted their approval of me too- but it
was for them to acknowledge how superior I was, I desired to feel like I was better than everyone else.
It was around the age of 14 when I had the first curiosities
and inclinations towards my sexual orientation. It started off as a curious
wonder when I watched the sex ed video in 6th grade, and while
watching the video realized my penis was different than the one shown (you see,
I’m uncircumcised). I was never told about this and was always too afraid to
ask. So I remember the first time I
researched online to see if there were others like me, because I felt so lonely
in the way I was. It was from that innocent first moment that I had by accident
had my first encounter with gay porn and subsequently masturbation. Those encounters came and went throughout
my high school and first year of college, as I would go periods with and without
it. But it was the beginning fuel to what came to be an intense disdain and
hatred for myself, a hatred that I would go to all costs to keep hidden. I couldn't talk
about it, as any public discourse on the subject was on how evil it was. I didn't want people to think I was evil as I had desired so very hard to be good. But
it was there, secretly, and was something I tried my best to ignore. There was
one moment when my triplet sister caught me in the act of watching porn, that
has perhaps fueled the most embarrassment and hatred for myself then I've ever
known since. I cried and begged her to leave the room to her confused credit. I
still shutter thinking upon that 15 year old boy.
So it was this conundrum I dealt with, writing a few times in my journal about
the fear that I might be gay, or depicting out my own homosexual fantasies. There was one
time when the next door neighbors I was friends with happened to be reading one
of these entries, when I became super embarrassed, ripped the pages and stormed
off crying. It was one charitable woman, I have no shame in mentioning, Trina
Smith, who then took me in her arms, hugged me, and shared the book “You are
Special” for the first time and then told me I was special. That moment meant
the world to me.
But oh how I hated myself so. And because of such hatred acted out
irrationally, including one time wrecking one of my parents car while I went “joy
riding”. They were so worried about me at that point. My whole family was. I was so embarrassed.
One name I was called at that moment, which was “Jekyll and Hyde”, stuck with
me with such great shame, and has been stuck ever since with self disgust. You see, my family has come a long way from
where they’re from. We are much more openly affectionate (Ie hugs and verbally
saying “I love you”) now then it was back then. Those type of formalities did
not exist- and I don’t blame my parents. All you have to do is look at their family history they come
from and not help but feel proud for how much they've improved on. But a 15
year old me was not about to step into my families shoes. I hated myself. I
remember I used to cut myself, and how I showed it off proudly to one friend
(as I would make up other dramatic untrue stories about myself) just so she
would feel sorry for me. I wanted someone to feel sorry for me.
Growing up in the large family I did, I also experienced the pressure of being compared to my older siblings. They are wonderful, accomplished people.
Particularly I was often compared (or I would compare myself) to my two oldest brothers, I felt I was constantly told to be like them and that they had everything together. Many
of my teenage journal entries almost come off as worship to them, saying things
like “if I was half the man they were” or “I’ll never be as good as they are”
type of sentiments. I couldn't see them as anything but perfect and myself as
anything but evil, wanting to be good.
I guess another indication of my sensitivity and need to be
accepted was regarding my weight. I was the guy who in nutrition class, admired
the times we’d speak about “anorexic” people, because they had the capability
to starve themselves to look better. Oh how I wanted to look thin. I am
naturally larger built as a Clark and I hated that. In my senior year of high school it was of
such personal pressure that I dropped 40 lbs and got my skinniest. My mom could
see something was up, and would express her worry about me being anorexic, but
there was never a time to talk openly about it. If I was open about that I had
to be open about everything else, and it was just not something we did in my
family or I could do for myself. That
desire to be the perfect body continues to thrive on in my mind, albeit now I feel I've got a healthy grip on it
But I did gain some confidence and I gained more of that
when I went on my mission for the Church. My homosexual feelings there seemed
to thankfully be put on the back burner the whole time. At the beginning of the
mission they did play a poignant part, where I had almost went home. Being
completely by myself, away from all I knew, not understanding anything that was
going on around me or having the commodities I once had known, was hard. And
thinking that I would have to do it for 2 years felt like a nightmare. I got a
tension headache that was constantly there that lasted for 2 months. At one point I panicked so much
about it all that I had a “panic attack” during sacrament meeting and was immediately shipped to the
mission capital. I had scans done, saw a doctor and a psychiatrist. Even then I
did not have the trust in anyone to answer truthfully to the questions of
whether I was gay or if I had any desire or thought to commit suicide. I did.
But I held off, and I was blessed by the hand of God with the most charitable
mission companion and president. Those two, Elder Hansen and Presidente
Peterson are still some of my most favored people, who have forever changed my life for the
better. So it seemed to go away and while I was very selfish in my mission, I
worked hard, gained more self-confidence and became better.
So I came home from my mission, a true changed man I felt,
but still with the ignored fear in the background that everything I had done
for good wasn't enough, because of the gay desires I’d felt. I always thought it would be something to “go
away” that God would forgive me of in the next life. I never saw myself addressing it at all in this life, only that it went away upon me getting married. I had lied in all my
previous church interviews concerning my shortcomings, again because I couldn't fathom the thought of anyone associating me with being gay. But oh how the guilt weighed on me, and only
grew over time.
I’ve chronicled before how I desperately tried to pursue a
romantic relationship with a woman. It
never seemed to work for me. I wanted the “perfect” woman as I thought
outwardly that I was the “perfect” man. Or I guess I thought in finding the “perfect”
woman it would somehow also make me what I wanted to be. But to my fortune
nothing ever came to be. I did everything I possibly could to be the perfect
person I wanted to be, which never was ever good enough for me.
It was November 2012 when at the prospect of graduating BYU
next semester still single, weighed so on me. I was that “perfect boy” in so
many people’s eyes, all of whom couldn't understand how I could not be married yet. But
I knew. I could not nearly contain the hatred and shame I had held for myself all my life.
It was a solemn winter. I was stuck in my apartment at BYU
during the winter break, alone, when things reached the worst point for me. After viewing some sexual material I then made the jerk reaction to post a craigslist ad and I set up to
meet a guy in the park late at night to do things with him. I went to that
park, and circled it several times, but never stopped (as I saw the guys car
parked there). I went home- but how close I had gotten to do something weighed
so shamefully on my mind. It was then I made the decision to kill myself. There
was no way I could live with myself.
I watched “Prayers for Bobby” which had me
bawling. I had heard a similar phrase of “I never wanted a gay son” several times in my mind. I then
began to research all the gay suicides I could find, and gathered up enough emotional
evidence to feel I had been a victim my whole life and a complete tragedy. I took
a belt to my bedroom cloak closet and then in one instant, stuck my head into
it. I was there for a good 30 seconds, on the urge of passing out, when I took
myself out. I couldn't do it. I was too afraid. Afraid that life actually had
something better for me than what I felt at that moment. That tiny shred of
belief has to this point kept me from the several attempts, some more or less
dramatic, at killing myself. But I tell ya many times that that desire is still
very real. It’s a dangerous mindset to get in to think about killing yourself.
I find that any small thing that goes wrong for me almost instantly begins to
fuel that desire again to end my life. Such is one of my thorns in the flesh.
But I lived on, thankfully. I had one particular roommate
who was a particular savior to me. But my hatred was still there. I had lived,
but I needed to then do something about it. So I came out to two of my sisters,
under the understanding that I was doing everything I could to follow the
Church, to soften the blow. It was also this moment I started to date guys. My
hatred went on in other forms. I spent countless hours just telling myself how
much I hated myself; I would go in the shower and just cry for time on end.
Anytime I would go out with a boy, or even think about doing something with
one, I would pound my head into the wall until it bruised, telling myself over
and over how disgusting I was. It was then I also took more to cutting, keeping mainly to my arms. I would do anything I could to abuse myself, for I
felt there was no way a person like me, who had been living such a double life,
could live with any sense of worth.
And the self-abuse raged on. It found it’s form in dating
multiple men at the same time, lying, and letting others take advantage of me
(such as sex) that were not particularly my will, but I was so dead inside I didn't care anymore. I was already going to hell. It's a frightening feeling, to feel empty, broken, hopeless.
School became less and less important. I hardly attended
class at all, even up to my last year. I would sleep in, crawl in a ball in my
bedroom and just cry. I’d get to work late(which caused more problems), stay
up late cramming last minute for tests, and I was sick, tired, and hollow. A completely
broken, hollow man. I saw no hope. Suicide was always on my mind and the
thought of spending one more day of life always felt more than I could bear.
That picture I had gained of the perfect person, the one that was meant to go
all the way to the top ( I legitimately saw myself as an apostle of the Church, or
wanted to believe I’d be), with the perfect kids, job and wife, was gone. And
would never come back.
Then to make the story shorter Derek came into my life, at
just the right time. And as noted by the journal entries I've previously
shared, was a struggle to commit to. To love. To have around at all. And yet he
was patient enough to persevere, and I believe God kept giving me the strength
to keep putting one step in front of the other in the dark.
It’s been the biggest miracle of my life to come out to my
family and friends. I've noticed how it’s made those around me more loving
towards me, accepting of others, and also accepting of themselves. I’m so glad
to have made those hard decisions to do it- I don’t want to picture life in any
other way.
It’s been in my vulnerable decisions to open up to others,
particularly regarding this thing concerning my sexuality that I always hated,
that has given me the self-confidence I always wanted. And the ability to love
myself for me. All of me. And to do things not to please others, but to please
myself. I feel happy, inside and out- and it's the most wonderful feeling alive to experience.
There has been so much good to my life, which I hope to also
mention in future posts on my blog. But that is not the only side to my life. This side shown here is just as real as all else now, and will be part of my life story.
Again I wish to emphasize and express gratitude for where I’m at now, which is
in a good place. I am so thankful, for enduring, for trying to be better, and
for being gay, which has allowed me to grow in a capacity I could have never
done without it. This is a 24/7 battle that is mine to face and I know there is
much heartache and despair in my future as much as there is joy, as perfection
and imperfection. And I commit to do my best to embrace it all as I've attempted to do in this blog post.
I believe in love, I believe I can make a difference, I believe I am worthy of love.
And that’s my story. For now.
