There is so much I, by necessity of time, subject and emotional state, that I leave out. So much else going on in my life, a spirtual awakening, growing up, leaving home... so many stories that impact the telling of this coming out story, but those will all have to wait till another day. Perhaps I will link those here when I tell them, but for now.. it's about one topic.. coming out.
After Billy's death, I threw myself into my chosen faith. I didn't become a Mormon because of that tragedy, I had already decided to convert (a conversion story for another day). But joining the church did help me, in some ways, cope with that loss. It was solace to believe that Billy could make it to the highest glory of heaven (in Mormon theology, one is judged on how one lived with what they knew and has another chance to accept the gospel in the existence after this). Perhaps, just perhaps I could one day meet him there.
Except for one thing.
After Billy's death, I threw myself into my chosen faith. I didn't become a Mormon because of that tragedy, I had already decided to convert (a conversion story for another day). But joining the church did help me, in some ways, cope with that loss. It was solace to believe that Billy could make it to the highest glory of heaven (in Mormon theology, one is judged on how one lived with what they knew and has another chance to accept the gospel in the existence after this). Perhaps, just perhaps I could one day meet him there.
Except for one thing.
I quickly learned that homosexuality was a sin in the Mormon faith. Not just a sin, but as my priest quorum teacher (forgive the Mormon terminology, it's a teacher of young men.. mainly older teenagers) told us.. that the sin closest to murder was homosexuality.
That hit hard. I'm not sure why I hadn't heard of or figured that out earlier. Perhaps, when one is in love so deeply, you can ignore things that would disrupt that love. Perhaps it was a youthful naivete. It probably had to do with the other issue I had to deal with when I joined the Mormon church that year (Billy's suicide, my baptism, graduation from high school were all within a 4 month period): I learned I wouldn't be able to hold the priesthood. All worthy men in the LDS (Mormon) church hold the priesthood. It is the basis of life in the faith. It allows you to hold positions of leadership or even just participate in much of church life. Without it a man can't get married in the temple (expected and necessary to make it to the highest glory of heaven) or go on a mission (expected of all young men). Why couldn't I hold the priesthood? Because my heritage included African-American ancestors, many generations back. How could they tell? I told them. It was an innocent question. The Sunday School teacher said it wasn't skin color but ancestry that determined that ban. I said I had some, way back.. did that count? Well, apparently it did. I eventually was able to hold the priesthood.. after letters from the LDS prohet and a "revelation".
I don't have the time to go deep into that story or why I remained in the church even if I was a second-class citizen. Someday I'll write about my conversion. For now just realize that it was a consuming part of my life in the faith.
And it wasn't till later that I realized that homosexuality was almost as great as a sin as murder.
It was ironic, or catch 22, a paradox, or something, wasn't it? I had to change, give up something that brought be deep love and joy, in order to return (in heaven) to that person who gave me that love and joy.. but I would only be in heaven where he would be, not with him. Don't try to think about it too much, it hurts. And anyway, I believed it all so deeply, so much was beautiful and true to me.
I decided I had to change my sexuality. My bishop said it was a phase and that with prayer and fasting and going on a mission God would help me change.
I buried myself in the church. I went on a mission to Korea where I taught the deaf. I prayed every day and wrote in my journal asking God to help me find peace, to change. Those two years were wonderful. My heart and energy were devoted to my fellow humans, to God.. I didn't have time or desire to think about "my problem" as I would write it in my journal. Only in my prayers and occasionally in my journal would I let the problem surface. But for the most part my mission was joyfully devoid of that struggle, and a joyful and wonderful time.
I had deep faith that my selfless service to God and my fellow travelers on this planet would change me.
It dldn't.
I came home from Korea and went to Brigham Young University. And quickly the struggle returned and started to consume me. I was sinful in my thoughts and I was determined to change. Perhaps I didn't work hard enough on my mission, perhaps I didn't pray enough.
So I went to my Bishop (a lay pastor) at BYU and he referred me to therapy on campus.
The first therapist tried something with me that basically went like this: Decide what you want, do good and do right. Don't try to push the 'bad' out. All that does is make a vacuum for more bad to rush in. Fill your life with good and there will be no room for bad.
So I tried that for a year. In reality, it worked.. but not for my sexuality. I was able to get rid of some bad habits and study better, but I was still gay. Oh so very gay.
I was beginning to suspect that God hated me.
The therapist suggested perhaps I try something else: Aversion therapy. If I thought God hated me before, after this "therapy," I was sure of it. I will not go into gruesome details, but aversion therapy basically presents you with images and audio of the things that are considered 'bad' and then gives you an unpleasant experience so you will associate the two. For me it was drinking something that would make me vomit.
A few times of that, with no change in your thoughts or heart even with more and more prayer...
well, you then decide that God does indeed hate you.
You've lost your only love, God hates you, the church hates you, you fear your family will hate you, there seems to be only one option left.
The one BIlly took.
I went home to Seattle that summer (my family moved to a town North) and quickly went into a depression I could not bring myself out of. My step-father and mother noticed. My step-father even took me out on a drive to talk to me, to try to help me. I couldn't bring myself to say anything. He was so genuinely concerned, but I couldn't tell him. God hated me. I couldn't have my family hate me too.
The next week I planned a camping trip alone. There was a place in the Cascades with cliffs tall enough and remote enough that I could end my life. I didn't write a note. I couldn't bear putting it all down in words. I just wrote "I love you" on my bible. I hiked 10 miles into a remote location, pitched my tent and slept next to a cliff.
The next morning I got up. I neatly folded everything up and put it back in my backpack which I put next to a tree. I went to the cliff's edge and sat down. I was calm and determined. This was the solution. It would end the torture, the sorrow and the pain. Hell, if there was one, could be no worse. Dying would be easy. For me. Billy's death nearly devastated his family, his friends and me. I hated him for it. And I knew that I would probably bring that same devastation to others. But there was something ironic in all this, because now I understood what Billy was feeling. He, and now I, could see no alternative. Nothing could be worse than what this life held. THere was no way out but this.
So I sat there. I was going to just push myself off.
Then a hiker came by. He smiled and waved and apparently didn't notice my tears because he just kept walking. That brief interuption took my mind away for a second, and then I had the urge to sing.
So I did. I figured I sing one more time before I died. I love to sing. I sang a hymn "How Great Thou Art" (tune and words here), the first verse is this:
But it was during the second verse that something happened, sitting there in the woods and breeze:
I would swear on whatever was handed to me that the world around me was singing with me, the trees swaying in the wind, the birds singing, the water below. It was a mystical experience, I was a part of everything around me and it was me.. and together 'we' were singing.
I could never describe it. But something changed. I lost my desire to die. I don't know why, how or what I was going to do. The pain didn't go away, the fear. But I didn't want to die.
Even today, it bothers me though. If there is a God, why did God allow me to feel that experience to stop me at the actual precipice, but not Billy? Wasn't he the kinder one? wasn't he the one that was teh selfless one? And if there wasn't a God and it was just some psychological epiphany, why was I the lucky one?
I don't think about it too much, but to this day I do not like it when someone says something was "meant to be" because I'm not so sure. Perhaps some things were not meant to be. I even have written a short story of a man, 20 years after the death of someone close to him, realizing his life has been a proxy for the shortened life of his love. That through his life, his lost lover was experiencing life.. that perhaps his love's death wasn't meant to be, but he would experience life by proxy. It all has to do with the Mormon doctrine of "work for the dead" . It was my attempt at trying to understand it all. Maybe if I get the courage, I'll post it some day.
I don't mean to get too philosophical, I don't have the training, words or time. Don't mean to get too religious, that was a different time in my life. I still haven't yet grasped the meaning, if any, of all that happened that day, before and since. But suffice it to say, I pulled myself up from that precipice and walked away. I sat down by the tree, next to my backback and sobbed for hours and sang every song I knew.
The next morning I walked down from that mountain and returned home. I had no commandments, no direction, no promise or understanding.
Only that I'd just keep going, something was going to work. Somehow.
(next time, part 3 of 5: Turning on the closet light)
That hit hard. I'm not sure why I hadn't heard of or figured that out earlier. Perhaps, when one is in love so deeply, you can ignore things that would disrupt that love. Perhaps it was a youthful naivete. It probably had to do with the other issue I had to deal with when I joined the Mormon church that year (Billy's suicide, my baptism, graduation from high school were all within a 4 month period): I learned I wouldn't be able to hold the priesthood. All worthy men in the LDS (Mormon) church hold the priesthood. It is the basis of life in the faith. It allows you to hold positions of leadership or even just participate in much of church life. Without it a man can't get married in the temple (expected and necessary to make it to the highest glory of heaven) or go on a mission (expected of all young men). Why couldn't I hold the priesthood? Because my heritage included African-American ancestors, many generations back. How could they tell? I told them. It was an innocent question. The Sunday School teacher said it wasn't skin color but ancestry that determined that ban. I said I had some, way back.. did that count? Well, apparently it did. I eventually was able to hold the priesthood.. after letters from the LDS prohet and a "revelation".
I don't have the time to go deep into that story or why I remained in the church even if I was a second-class citizen. Someday I'll write about my conversion. For now just realize that it was a consuming part of my life in the faith.
And it wasn't till later that I realized that homosexuality was almost as great as a sin as murder.
It was ironic, or catch 22, a paradox, or something, wasn't it? I had to change, give up something that brought be deep love and joy, in order to return (in heaven) to that person who gave me that love and joy.. but I would only be in heaven where he would be, not with him. Don't try to think about it too much, it hurts. And anyway, I believed it all so deeply, so much was beautiful and true to me.
I decided I had to change my sexuality. My bishop said it was a phase and that with prayer and fasting and going on a mission God would help me change.
I buried myself in the church. I went on a mission to Korea where I taught the deaf. I prayed every day and wrote in my journal asking God to help me find peace, to change. Those two years were wonderful. My heart and energy were devoted to my fellow humans, to God.. I didn't have time or desire to think about "my problem" as I would write it in my journal. Only in my prayers and occasionally in my journal would I let the problem surface. But for the most part my mission was joyfully devoid of that struggle, and a joyful and wonderful time.
I had deep faith that my selfless service to God and my fellow travelers on this planet would change me.
It dldn't.
I came home from Korea and went to Brigham Young University. And quickly the struggle returned and started to consume me. I was sinful in my thoughts and I was determined to change. Perhaps I didn't work hard enough on my mission, perhaps I didn't pray enough.
So I went to my Bishop (a lay pastor) at BYU and he referred me to therapy on campus.
The first therapist tried something with me that basically went like this: Decide what you want, do good and do right. Don't try to push the 'bad' out. All that does is make a vacuum for more bad to rush in. Fill your life with good and there will be no room for bad.
So I tried that for a year. In reality, it worked.. but not for my sexuality. I was able to get rid of some bad habits and study better, but I was still gay. Oh so very gay.
I was beginning to suspect that God hated me.
The therapist suggested perhaps I try something else: Aversion therapy. If I thought God hated me before, after this "therapy," I was sure of it. I will not go into gruesome details, but aversion therapy basically presents you with images and audio of the things that are considered 'bad' and then gives you an unpleasant experience so you will associate the two. For me it was drinking something that would make me vomit.
A few times of that, with no change in your thoughts or heart even with more and more prayer...
well, you then decide that God does indeed hate you.
You've lost your only love, God hates you, the church hates you, you fear your family will hate you, there seems to be only one option left.
The one BIlly took.
I went home to Seattle that summer (my family moved to a town North) and quickly went into a depression I could not bring myself out of. My step-father and mother noticed. My step-father even took me out on a drive to talk to me, to try to help me. I couldn't bring myself to say anything. He was so genuinely concerned, but I couldn't tell him. God hated me. I couldn't have my family hate me too.
The next week I planned a camping trip alone. There was a place in the Cascades with cliffs tall enough and remote enough that I could end my life. I didn't write a note. I couldn't bear putting it all down in words. I just wrote "I love you" on my bible. I hiked 10 miles into a remote location, pitched my tent and slept next to a cliff.
The next morning I got up. I neatly folded everything up and put it back in my backpack which I put next to a tree. I went to the cliff's edge and sat down. I was calm and determined. This was the solution. It would end the torture, the sorrow and the pain. Hell, if there was one, could be no worse. Dying would be easy. For me. Billy's death nearly devastated his family, his friends and me. I hated him for it. And I knew that I would probably bring that same devastation to others. But there was something ironic in all this, because now I understood what Billy was feeling. He, and now I, could see no alternative. Nothing could be worse than what this life held. THere was no way out but this.
So I sat there. I was going to just push myself off.
Then a hiker came by. He smiled and waved and apparently didn't notice my tears because he just kept walking. That brief interuption took my mind away for a second, and then I had the urge to sing.
So I did. I figured I sing one more time before I died. I love to sing. I sang a hymn "How Great Thou Art" (tune and words here), the first verse is this:
O Lord my God! when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed:
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul! my Savior God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
But it was during the second verse that something happened, sitting there in the woods and breeze:
When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze:
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul! my Savior God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
I would swear on whatever was handed to me that the world around me was singing with me, the trees swaying in the wind, the birds singing, the water below. It was a mystical experience, I was a part of everything around me and it was me.. and together 'we' were singing.
I could never describe it. But something changed. I lost my desire to die. I don't know why, how or what I was going to do. The pain didn't go away, the fear. But I didn't want to die.
Even today, it bothers me though. If there is a God, why did God allow me to feel that experience to stop me at the actual precipice, but not Billy? Wasn't he the kinder one? wasn't he the one that was teh selfless one? And if there wasn't a God and it was just some psychological epiphany, why was I the lucky one?
I don't think about it too much, but to this day I do not like it when someone says something was "meant to be" because I'm not so sure. Perhaps some things were not meant to be. I even have written a short story of a man, 20 years after the death of someone close to him, realizing his life has been a proxy for the shortened life of his love. That through his life, his lost lover was experiencing life.. that perhaps his love's death wasn't meant to be, but he would experience life by proxy. It all has to do with the Mormon doctrine of "work for the dead" . It was my attempt at trying to understand it all. Maybe if I get the courage, I'll post it some day.
I don't mean to get too philosophical, I don't have the training, words or time. Don't mean to get too religious, that was a different time in my life. I still haven't yet grasped the meaning, if any, of all that happened that day, before and since. But suffice it to say, I pulled myself up from that precipice and walked away. I sat down by the tree, next to my backback and sobbed for hours and sang every song I knew.
The next morning I walked down from that mountain and returned home. I had no commandments, no direction, no promise or understanding.
Only that I'd just keep going, something was going to work. Somehow.
(next time, part 3 of 5: Turning on the closet light)
Comments (11)
I felt the wilderness breath with you. You are a tremendous writer.
Comment #1631 on October 13, 2006 1:15 PM |
These stories are so hard. Thank you for sharing yours. I'm glad you listened, that day on the cliff. I'm glad you're here.
Comment #1632 on October 13, 2006 6:25 PM |
I have to be honest and say that I don't believe in god but I respect the faith of those who do. Whatever happened to you that day, it was obviously a very powerful experience and your description of that experience was incredibly moving.
Comment #1633 on October 14, 2006 2:51 AM |
That used to be one of my favorite hymns. Again, thanks for sharing
Comment #1634 on October 16, 2006 5:54 AM |
As a mormon I struggle with the church view on homosexuality. I just don't understand how it's anybody's business who other people love and want to share their life with.
As a single mom I also struggle with the view that my daughter and I aren't worthy of being an eternal family and that is very painful for me.
Thank you so much for sharing your story. That hymn is also one of my favorites.
Comment #1635 on October 16, 2006 3:42 PM |
I cannot find an email link on your page, but mine is, as required, in the comment information.
Are you willing to email me? I want to tell you more, but it is someone else's story.
Comment #1636 on October 18, 2006 5:25 AM |
Thank you so much for sharing this story. It is so important to my husband and myslef, as christians, to teach our kids real Godly love; he created all of us, and made us different on purpose. Getting this glimpse into your life gives me insight on how to help them understand that.
Recently, I have been studying the life of the disciple John. AS you know, James was his older brother, and Peter, it can be inferred, a friend ( and fellow fishermen) from childhood. They were inseparable, and many times, Christ took just that three with him to witness miracles, or his transfiguration on the mount. They were very close. Then John's most beloved was crucified, and shrotly thereafter, his older brother martyred. The study goes into much more depth- of how upon James' caputre the discpiles and the early church must have gathered for prayer; knowing the miracles they had seen preformed, only to get news of James execution...and then Peter was arrested. The same prayers must have gone up for Peter, and then strangely, he was spared, when James had not been. I can only imagine. It doesn't make sense, but that is what I have been learning about John; what made him so special, the "beloved disciple" was that even when things became firghtening and made no sense, when he could not understand what Christ was doing, he stayed close to him. I am so glad that with all that he has done that has not made sense in our eyes, you have stayed close. Again, thank you so much for sharing your story.
--------
Comment #1637 on October 19, 2006 3:22 AM |
Trey, I'm struggling through a difficult time right now. I've been dealing with suicidal thoughts for the last few days... I know I have had them before, but though the emotional turmoil that had me so strongly engulfed in suicidal thoughts has past, the psychological and existential reasons that pushed me to the turmoil i was in on sunday still remain.
i'm struggling and grasping at things right now.. at reasons to live and at any hope i can find. i don't think i'm too weak to actually kill myself, but the reasons that push me weigh very, very heavily on me.
so i'm struggling and grasping right now. one thing that i thought of was this story. thanks to your search mechanism, i found this entry again. though i knew about this story, i forgot (obvious) specifics, such as the fact that you /actually/ were at that cliff, wanting to die. actually, really, honestly *wanting* to die. and look at where you are at right now in your life.. you made it okay in life.
with the types of things i'm struggling with, i seriously am wondering what the point of my being alive is.. .
i forgot that you had wrote a short story about someone living his lost lover's life through proxy. i'll grasp anything i can get at. take any comfort i can find.
are you willing to share that story? is it finished enough by your standards or not too personal enough for you to share? knowing it was a story coming from you (someone i'm familiar with) may make it a source of comfort to me... .
Comment #8825 on March 6, 2007 6:03 AM |
sorry, i didn't proofread that. the first paragraph should say "but though the emotional turmoil that had me so strongly engulfed in suicidal thoughts has pastpassed,"
and
"i don't think i'm too weak to actually kill myself"
Comment #8826 on March 6, 2007 6:06 AM |
and sorry, evidently the strikethrough html tags don't work. let me redo that:
"but though the emotional turmoil that had me so strongly engulfed in suicidal thoughts has [strike]past[/strike] passed,"
"i [strike]don't[/strike] think i'm too weak to actually kill myself"
sorry for so many comments.. .
Comment #8827 on March 6, 2007 6:07 AM |
I've written and have been in contact with Silph (Silph, responding to your last email later this afternoon)...
Comment #8881 on March 6, 2007 2:39 PM |