Okay, that last post was
super cheesy. But you know what? I
like cheese (especially pepper-jack).
ANYWAY, I suppose I should give a brief biography so that this blog makes a little more sense.
Born into an active LDS family, I’m the youngest of
seven children, there being a gap of six years between me and my youngest
sibling (a sister). I rarely felt
especially close to the majority of my brothers and sisters, many of them
becoming adults and moving out before I reached middle school. I longed to have people with whom I could
relate, but ended up feeling isolated in my own family. I need to make it clear that I have
absolutely amazing parents. I couldn’t ask for more supportive, worthy,
or loving parents. My father worked very
hard to provide for our large family. While he was the personification of a tough
manly man, I was extremely sensitive. At times I found him intimidating, and it was
difficult for us to get particularly close. I clung to my mother and told myself from a
very young age that I would kill myself if she ever died. Possibly because I lacked this important father-son
bond, I became extremely curious about men at a young age. Entering into elementary school I soon
discovered that I identified better with the girls. The boys were playing with cars and soccer
balls; I wound up playing Barbie with the girls.
Exposure to Sexuality
At age seven I began to be sexually abused by someone
whom I esteemed to be my friend (to clarify, he was not a family member). I was
confused yet excited, and I went along with this strange game.
In my family, sexuality was rarely talked about and
discussed in a beating-around-the-bush manner. I was simply told that after you got married,
you started having children (considering my age I don’t think that this was
necessarily a bad thing). When I was eight,
we found out that a relative had become pregnant outside of wedlock. My mother was shattered. She later gave me "the talk," but I
didn't understand all of the terms and only comprehended that the private parts
of people's bodies led to pregnancy. As
a naïve child I became terrified that I was going to become pregnant (I find
this sad yet humorous, looking back on things).
Unfortunately I gained this knowledge too late; I was
already caught in a web of sexual abuse. This exploitation prematurely opened a
Pandora's Box of sexual thoughts and feelings. Fear and shame hindered me from telling my
parents and so I endured this abuse for a few years.
Eventually I followed the promptings of the Spirit and
told my dad about the abuse at the age of nine. He cried, but the way I perceived his reaction
confirmed my feelings that I had committed horrible sins and that I was a
sinner doomed to burn in the fiery pits of Hell. Appropriate action was taken, and the abuse
ended.
Around this same time, the other boys at church and at
school began to bully me more intensely than before. From that point, I have experienced chronic
headaches and migraines, which for many years I felt came as a punishment for
my attractions. I soon became overweight
and extremely self-conscious. After
telling my dad, I promised myself that I would never tell anyone about my
sexual experiences (or feelings) ever again.
Middle School
At school I continued to associate mostly with girls
because I related better to them. I
would play with them during recess because I was the awkward fat kid who was
always the last to be chosen for sports. My feelings of same sex attraction
particularly intensified when I hit puberty. I was nervous of people finding out about my
crushes on boys and men; this led to a lot of anxiety, depression, and lack of
self-esteem. I was so sensitive that one
of my teachers told my mother that I needed to see a psychologist. This advice was not implemented, probably because I didn't want to talk about what was really bothering me. As a twelve-year-old overcome by grief and
guilt, I told my bishop about the sexual experiences of my childhood (I
unfortunately did so in a manner that the bishop didn’t realize that I had been
abused). The conversation was very
short; he essentially told me not to do it again. I didn’t feel better after talking with the
bishop. I unsuccessfully tried to
convince myself that I had repented, and my self-hatred continued to escalate
as I entered junior high. However, it is
important to note that at this point in my life I decided that I had to know if
the church was true. That testimony, or
lack thereof, would shape the rest of my life on both sides of the veil.. I read the Book of Mormon and gained a strong
testimony of its truth and divinity by the power of the Holy Ghost.
My parents would always pull me out of school when we
were going to be taught sex-ed, so I never gained a solid comprehension of
sexuality. I turned to the internet for
answers. While it helped me to finally understand what sex was and how people
got pregnant, it also exposed me to pornography and masturbation. Pornography was talked about often in church
and in General Conference, and that helped me have the self-control to never
allow myself to dive into it. I tried turn my sexual
orientation from men toward women, but my crushes on older guys who had fit and handsome
bodies, confidence, and popularity, (three things which I desperately wanted for
myself) only intensified. I was still convinced that I was
going to burn in Hell because of what happened in my childhood and the
attractions which I continued to feel.
Throughout junior high I excelled in art and had many
friends, almost all of which were girls. I continued to gain weight, which fed my body
image issues. For five years I swam on
the school’s swim team, but while I had the blubber of a whale I certainly
couldn’t swim like one. The divide
between the other boys and I grew greater and greater. I was extremely self-conscious; I tried to
talk with a deeper voice and not give away any clues as to my struggle with
SSA. I constantly compared myself to the
other guys. Their muscles seemed to be
developing, while I was just a walking sack of cottage cheese. I wasn’t as coordinated as the other guys, and
my acne didn’t help my perception of myself. All these things fed the envy and attraction
that I had toward the other boys my age. I wished that I had been born a girl so that I
didn’t have to be ashamed of these feelings. I was made fun of because in art I would draw
fantasy subjects, like fairies and maidens, which led other male students to
ask me if I was gay, which I vehemently denied.
High School
At same time that Prop 8 was raging through California,
a similar proposition, Prop 102, was simultaneously campaigned for in
Arizona.
I supported the legislation; I
believed in the Church’s stance on marriage.
Because of this, I was targeted by the openly gay crowd at school, being
cornered and bullied on camera.
In
addition to this negativity, I heard hurtful, derogatory things about gays at
home and at church by people who I’m sure felt obligated to support the legislation,
but who lacked an eternal understanding as to why the Church was promoting
it.
I think people were scared and were
searching for any reason to justify their opinions.
I’m sure they didn’t suspect that someone in
their own ward experienced these
attractions.
It was easy to feel marginalized during this time
period. So often in the church we’re
painted a picture of what a truly happy, God-ordained life looks like: a man
and woman deeply in love with each other, surrounded by children sealed in the
temple. I was taught in my quorums that
it was perfectly normal to experience sexual attractions to girls, that they
were healthy if not dwelt upon and were a gift from God. I felt like I was the only person in the room
who wasn’t given that particular gift! Even
in the “For the Strength of Youth” pamphlet, homosexuality was defined as an
abomination before the Lord, which I interpreted to mean that I was an
abomination for desiring such relationships (since that time the pamphlet has
been rewritten in softer terms). So when
church-members around me made jokes about gay people or made comments about how
nasty homosexuality was, I felt distanced from God. I found it difficult to hope for a place in
Christ’s Plan of Salvation. This in turn
deepened my suspicion that if anyone found out that I experienced same-sex
attraction, I would be judged and made the laughing-stock of my community.
Wearing a Speedo got old, so in the tenth grade I joined
the volleyball team and did rather well. Fortunately as a result I lost a lot of weight
and started to feel a little better about myself. When I was a junior I made the varsity team as
a starter. The seniors would make fun of
me and would often sexually harass me and tear off my clothes in public. This brought back flashbacks of the abuse I
endured in my childhood. My coach simply
told me to get mad at them and they’d leave me alone. I was convinced that these stresses combined
with my attraction to other men would torture me until the day I died. This convinced me to act on the suicidal
thoughts that I had had for so many years.
The gun was only a few feet away, and I was arguing with
myself through my tears that I needed to stop being a coward and pull the
trigger. My eyes landed on a photo of my
deceased grandfather hanging on the wall. My grandfather had a huge impact on me as a
child. He was the most humble and
Christ-like man I had ever known. I
froze as an unexpected cloud of warmth surrounded me. I can never and will never forget the spiritual
experience which then ensued (including a message to me that was repeated both
in my patriarchal blessing and by my mission president). I promised that I would never kill myself even
if I had to endure a lonely life as a single man with SSA.
During my junior year of high school, I received my
patriarchal blessing. Leading up to the
blessing, I desperately prayed that Heavenly Father would address this issue
that had consumed my life for almost as long as I remembered. While the blessing was absolutely wonderful
and gave me courage to continue to keep going, it didn’t seem to address my
same sex attractions whatsoever. It
simply mentioned that I would have an eternal companion after the second
coming.
After feeling so miserable and unsafe during my junior
year, I decided to not be on the volleyball team my senior year. Senior year turned out to be the best year of
my life. I joined choir and took several
art classes, becoming friends with people with high standards and warm hearts. I began to come out of my shell and discover
talents I never knew I had. I bonded
with other guys in healthy ways. While I
still had attractions, they were not nearly as intense. I started to date girls but never got too
closely attached to any. I used the excuse
that I didn’t want to get into a serious relationship before I went on a
mission. With that expectation, dating
wasn’t ever too awkward for me, and I really enjoyed being around the girls I
dated. I embraced the choir culture and
was able to pay my way through my first two years of college with music and
academic scholarships.
Pre-Mission
After graduating high school, I felt like a rug had been
ripped from under my feet. I suddenly
didn’t have the circle of choir friends who seemed to understand me and I again
became very isolated. The feelings of
same gender attraction flared up again. Then, my family went through a very intense
trial which caused us to pull close together in order to endure. One of my father’s best friends had died a few
months previously, and my father started to become aware of his own mortality. His friend’s death had rendered him softer and
more approachable. My father and I spent almost all of our time around each
other during our family’s trial. I
realized that I had always craved his approval and if there was to be a bond
between us that I needed to forge it. I
hugged my father and told him that I loved him every day. It soon turned into a sort of game as to who
could tell the other he loved him first each day. I gained a greater
appreciation for my father’s virtue and selflessness. We developed a strong relationship; the wounds of my childhood began to heal.
After the painful yet wonderful summer after my high
school graduation, I attended Eastern Arizona College for a semester. I had good relationships with my roommates. They helped me not to isolate myself too much,
but I couldn’t bring myself to go on more than a few dates. My low self-esteem led me to compare myself to
other men all the time. I essentially
starved myself and worked out a lot in order to try to become what I envied so
much in other men. I ended up
dangerously underweight and weak, and eventually ended up in the emergency room
because my body started to shut down.
At the end of the semester, my mission papers were
almost completed. My feelings of same
sex attraction had consistently left me miserable, lonely, and full of
self-hatred. I still felt guilty for the
actions which I engaged in as a child and throughout high school. Heavenly Father
didn’t seem to accept any of my plea bargains, though I had prayed and prayed,
and fasted and fasted that these feelings would disappear and that I would be
attracted to women. I was being
emotionally torn apart and I had no idea what to do. At that point, while looking for something in
my parent’s closet, I came across the book “In Quiet Desperation” by Ty
Mansfield. It was a book that I had
noticed in a Deseret Book catalog but was too nervous to attempt to buy it. Whenever I had the house to myself, I would
fly through its pages, coming to the realization that there actually were other
people in the church who were in the same situation as I was. I felt a sense of hope. The book convinced me that I had to speak to
my new bishop about the attractions that I had experienced throughout my life.
“Coming Out”
Terrified, I made an appointment with my bishop. I tried
to convince myself not to go because I had no sins to confess. However, I sat across from the bishop, looking
at my thumbs, and finally forced out the explanation that I was sexually
attracted to men. He looked at me for a
moment, and I explained that I didn’t act on those attractions but that I had
felt impressed to come and speak with him about them. He then replied, “Well, I think that the
solution would be for you to start taking testosterone supplements.”
I was dumbstruck, and began to wonder if it had been a
good idea to speak with him about this problem while he feverishly flipped
through the pages of his handbook. He
told me that in order for me to go on a mission I needed to pass an examination
by LDS Family Services and I needed to tell my parents that I had same sex
attraction. Although deep down inside I
knew that it was the right thing to do (especially after reading “In Quiet
Desperation”) I croaked, “But...I don’t know how to tell them!” My mind for
years had construed images of their reaction. I felt that it would shatter
them. How could they have a gay son,
after the absolutely wonderful example that they had shown by the pure lives
that they lived and the love which they showed their children? I wondered if they would be able to love me
after finding out this disgusting attribute that I possessed. I thought that they would never be able to
look at me the same again, that every time they saw me or thought of me their
hearts would be sharply stung by the dark truth that their son was sexually
attracted to men. I didn’t know of
anyone in my family that dealt with this issue, and I felt that the news would
spread like a disease and make family reunions awkward. I would be shunned and stereotypically seen as
a rainbow-flag-waving Speedo-wearing homosexual. I then tried to deny my feelings, something
that I had always tried to do. I didn’t
want to be too quick to say that I was gay when I was only 18. Maybe I hadn’t given myself enough time, maybe
I hadn’t gone through puberty and this was just a phase. But I knew that these cop-outs weren’t the
truth. I needed my parents to know about
the hidden fires consuming me in the deepest chambers of my soul.
So, that night, after literally writhing in emotional
agony in my room for hours, I told them. After the words croaked out of my lump-filled
throat, there was a brief silence, and I heard my mother sniffle. I opened my eyes to see tears running down her
face as well. My father then spoke. “I hope you realize, John, that this will not
affect our relationship in the slightest. We love you, and we recognize that there isn’t
anyone on this earth, ourselves included, who doesn’t struggle with a
temptation or susceptibility of some kind.” They embraced me and expressed their
unconditional love and respect for me. Their
Christ-like support and warm response were both unexpected and unforgettable.
I met with a therapist from LDS Family Services, and he
gave the okay for me to go on a mission after the first interview in regards to
my SSA. However, he diagnosed me with
depression. Over the next six months, I
met with him as well as other doctors until they determined that I was
emotionally stable enough to serve a two-year mission.
Mission
When I received my mission call, I was so excited and grateful for the
opportunity to fulfill my lifetime goal of serving a mission. It didn’t take me long to discover how
stressful and difficult missionary life truly was. I didn’t get along with my trainer as well as
most other missionaries seemed to, leading to loneliness and a lack of
self-esteem, and the opposition and trials that we faced seemed overwhelming. I had hoped that Heavenly Father would take
away my SSA as I had prayed and fasted so much for in the past, but it
continued to haunt me throughout my mission. Try as I might I developed crushes on other
missionaries, which created an enormous conflict within myself. I intensified my efforts to be strictly
obedient so that I could experience miracles as I felt I had been promised in
conference talks. However, the cycle of
temptation and self-hatred brought me much depression and anxiety. I was absolutely terrified that if anyone knew
of my struggle with same sex attraction I would be ostracized from the other
missionaries or that I would be sent home, so I tried to conceal these feelings
for as long as I could. However, my
inner emotional turmoil escalated to the point that I told my mission
president's wife that I needed counseling.
I met with another LDS family therapist, who over the
course of my mission helped me to deal with my anxiety and depression due to my
inferiority complex and same gender attraction. Toward the end of my mission, I finally
trusted her enough to fully and graphically describe the traumatic experiences
that I had endured during my early childhood. She helped me understand that I had been a
victim of abuse. She explained why I
didn't need to hate myself and that I wasn’t a monster. She helped me realize that I hadn’t committed
a serious sin and that I was worthy to be a missionary and representative of
Jesus Christ. I see her as possibly the
reason that I was called to Georgia.
Without her invaluable insight, I doubt that I would have been able to
make it all the way through my mission.
One night I laid awake in serious self-reflection. A thought had entered my mind that made me
restless: was my true desire to stay faithful to my covenants, or did I really
want to act on my attractions but didn’t simply because I was afraid of what
others would think? I slid from my bed
onto my knees and began to beg my Heavenly Father for inspiration. I promised that I would believe His words and
try to implement His instructions. After
making this plea and waiting as calmly as I could for a response, my mind
entered a state of clarity. Scriptures
began to flood into my brain. I
remembered that Jehovah explained to Samuel that the Lord judges a man by his
heart. The Spirit reminded me that
Joseph Smith received similar knowledge in D&C 137:9. I heard the cries of Joseph Smith while he
suffered in Liberty Jail. The Lord’s
response sent tears running down my face: “My son, peace be unto thy soul;
thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if
thou endure it well, God shall triumph on high; thou shalt triumph” (D&C
121:7-8). His reminder to Joseph Smith
humbled me: “The Son of Math hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he? Therefore, hold on
thy way” (D&C 122:8-9). My petty
struggles paled in comparison to the atoning sacrifice that Christ made in
Gethsemane and on the cross at Calvary.
I talked with my mission president about my SSA openly,
and he constantly tried to reassure that I was a good person and a good
missionary. My mission president reacted
to my disclosures with such Christ-like grace and empathy, it still brings
tears to my eyes. He honestly admitted
that he wasn’t very well educated on SSA, but that he would continue to support
me and asked me to continue to educate and communicate with him. I tried my hardest to be diligent to the end. My mission president’s wife told my counselor
and my parents that I was the most obedient missionary in the mission.
Post-Mission
Now I'm home. It's been a hard adjustment. While I was on my mission, I was able to have
the emotional connections and strong friendships with other guys that I have
craved my entire life. My heart will be
forever filled with gratitude for those with whom I served; my companions were
chosen by God to help me. Their
spiritual caliber enabled them to deal with my quirks and moodiness. Their unconditional love and acceptance
overpowered my SSA to the point that I was never attracted to my companions as
I was with other missionaries. I also
discovered that if I became friends with the missionary that I had a crush on
that these attractions dissipated. Now
that I am home I am trying to find similar connections to “straight” guys so
that I can have more peace. Within a week
of my return, I researched Ty Mansfield and came across Voices of Hope and
North Star. This gave me more hope than
I had ever before experienced on this issue. Through North Star I have been able to meet a
lot of other LDS men who struggle with SSA who have been able to help me
tremendously. I have also been able to
counsel those who are still trying to come to terms with their feelings.
