Pixel Hell

I'm beginning to think that my life is just meant to be what it is. I'm not saying that I am "doomed" to live a life without male romantic interaction, I simply feel that my life is suppose to be me as a gay man trying to make a hetero marriage work because in the long run I will be blessed(?). I know that I paint my life to be such a blood bath, but in all honesty, I use this blog to emote and to release what pain I go through. Part of the reason why I blog is because after blogging I feel much better.

I feel overwhelmed at the responses I have gotten from people who I've never met, but say they care about me. That's amazing. I feel blessed to have that type of interaction in my life, especially when I go through things that feel like they will never get better.

I'm addicted to pornography. I went to one meeting that the Church holds for addiction. It was good, but it felt really uncomfortable because I couldn't open up and really say what I wanted to say. I don't know if I was nervous, but I just don't understand how to get away from porn.

It's a little frightening because I've never had this problem before. I mean sure, I use to look at porn once and awhile, but it's just become more and more frequent to the point that I have to be doing it every day. Sometimes that's all I think about. Why does the mind hold on to such images like they're candy? It's so crazy that I can look at a picture and feel relief. I'm in serious need of trying to get this habbit out of my life.

Interestingly enough, I want pornography out of my life, but I don't know if that desire out weighs my desire to look at it in the first place.

Last week I was alone in an office without a computer, and I really really wanted to see any type of gay porn that I could get my hads on. I was looking though books and DVD's and I couldn't find anything that would satisfy me. I felt like a drug addict looking in a medicine cabinet for something to get my fix. In desparation I picked up my digital camera and started taking photos of myself naked. Somehow that was enough for the moment, but isn't that sick? I had to look at photos of myself naked to get off!? I don't get it.

I feel desperate. I'm a little uncertain of what I can do to take care of this problem. Who cares that I'm gay, who cares that I've messed up in the past with guys? I just want to not be bound by something so trivial as digital pixels of flesh. It's just frustrating.

The Heavy Laden Club

Last night I read Elder Oak’s talk, “He Heals the Heavy Laden.” And who of us aren’t heavy laden? If you were to ask anyone in the Church I think they would attest to the fact that they have many things that weigh them down and put them into the “heavy laden category. And yet there are times when even the most prestigious of the H.L.C. (Heavy Laden Club) are feeling more buoyed up, than weighed down, and that’s because being heavy laden is fluid. We feel it more times than others, and I’ve also been told that sexuality is fluid. For me that’s not necessarily the case, but since I’ve been married I’ve gained some pretty strong heterosexual desires for sex, that I otherwise have never encountered before.

But fluidity is the least of my problems, and the least of interest concerning this entry. I wanted to mull over a couple of things that Mr. Dallin H. said, with the hopes of better understanding this “disease” called “same-gender attraction.” Doesn’t that phrase, “same-gender attraction” sound so safe? No rainbow waiving drag queens or leather wearing hairy men with whips come to mind when someone uses “same-gender attraction.” Leave it to the Church to revolutionize the very simple three letter word (say it under your breath with a slight whisper...”gay”) that has become a politically correct term around the world.

With less sarcasm let me say that I really did enjoy Elder Oak’s talk. It was sincere, and I felt like his message was clear and probably very helpful to most of the members of the Church. But confusion fills my mind in regard to some of the phrasing he used. He implied a lot about “healing,” he said:

Healing blessings come in many ways, each suited to our individual needs, as known to Him who loves us best. Sometimes a "healing" cures our illness or lifts our burden. But sometimes we are "healed" by being given strength or understanding or patience to bear the burdens placed upon us.

That last sentence really made me think. In referring to healing as something that doesn’t actually heal, but that lifts our burdens and gives us patients, now that makes sense because I know that I will never be free of the temptations, desires, and issues that surround my homosexual tendencies, but I do know that I can learn how to deal with them adequately. The only problem I see with that is that visually it looks and feels a lot like a tight rope, always afraid of falling and never being ok with the security of balance.

I guess that’s the way I see myself in the gospel. I see myself as the man on a tight rope, who can’t let his guard down, who can’t sit and rest, and who has to constantly be worried that he’s going to fall. I look below me and I see people who have actually fallen off the rope and who have landed on a net and are now living their lives below me with no worry of falling down and all the time in the world to just let their guard down and just be.

So I therefore am led to believe that I need more faith. I need more faith in the Savior and His healing power because that’s what this life is about, not finding out more about myself, but finding out how the Lord is the only path to true and everlasting happiness. And if the Lord’s prophets and apostles tell me that homosexuality is a sin, then here I stand on the tight rope, praying and hoping that I make it to the other side.

I'm Here

Sometimes, wasting away is the best option. You have a lot of choices in front of you, and the best one seems to be the road to complacency. I’m the kind of person that waits to feel and see what will come my way. I don’t wrestle with much else but the decision to decide. I’m here for a day and I see everything clearly, then for the second after I’m hitting my head against the wall and wondering if I’ll ever feel normal again.

I hate looking in the mirror and liking what I see. I don’t want to be attracted to myself. I don’t want to lust after my own face. I want to hate myself but I can’t. I’m learning to listen to my own features. I sit and wait for the silence to take my lips and make them into origami or something sleek and frivolous. Everything I do is an empty attempt to make my life weaker and weaker. I listen to the radio to hear a man sing. I look at photos to see a semblance of masculinity. I am aware, far too aware of the message that testosterone can cast. I’m here, looking for the world, and the only figures that I can make out are lying down and naked.

I hate the way that I forget what it feels like to be free from guilt. I’m destined to survive along with my guilt. I’ll carry the banner of loathing and shame to my grave, and when the shattered cracks of gatherings hit my forehead, I’ll still be hiding from the same guilt that held my hand through all of life’s obstacles and triumphs.

I’m here to decide, and therefore I have decided not to decide anymore. I’m happy with pain and dissolution. I’m happy with inconsistency, and I’m very free knowing that I don’t have to hope for a masculine smile or an embrace that was meant only for my body.

The lines of hurt and pleasure are fast approaching. Half lived and half wanted is all that is stable when it comes to staying still.

Where Do I Put This?

The truth is out to my wife. She knows that I masturbate and look at gay porn. She is hurt beyond words. I don't know if she'll ever really forgive me. I love her so much.

Before I get any comments, I just wanted to point out the obvious that "Yes, I am depressed, and yes I am seeing a clinician."

I am a real human being. I'm in deep pain 20% of the time, about 30% of the time it's tolerable. The rest is sleep and pleasant conversation.

You look at my life and it's really great. People see me and respect me a great deal. I have everything I've ever wanted. I sometimes look at what my life is like and I feel jealousy towards me.

I have three weeks for a miracle to happen. I'm giving myself three weeks to figure out how to act appropriately. I'm not playing around anymore. This is life or death.

I don't want a job. I don't want to work. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to eat. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to watch TV. I don't want to wait. I don't want to see neckties. I don't want to brush my teeth.

I'm done trying to solve my own problem. Either I end up forgetting that I'm alive or I start making myself feel something besides anxiety.

Look at what pretending has done...it's lead me to erase myself from my own mind.