With each new day, each quiet morning, there's that small moment when I finally regain focus and clarity. Lying in the warmth of my bed, I make a choice: who am I today? That's when the knots--those bitter, low knots--tighten within me. Their presence, more times than not, is a mystery; why do I constantly feel...uneasy? Could it be because I know the first words out of my mouth will be a lie? "How's your morning, bro?" My cousin says it every morning and he always means it. My response should be something like, "I'm actually really tired. Tired to death of feeling trapped and alone and confused." But I wouldn't dream of being so blunt with my cousin- it would destroy his pure, trusting soul.
Don't get me wrong- I am probably the least mopey, pessimistic or depressed person alive, but even after accepting my same-gender attraction, I continue to battle the pulverizing reminders of my inevitable unhappiness. And by unhappiness I mean never completely, 100% content or satisfied with what I have. That's my curse, I suppose. Knowing that I will never truly experience what I have come to want more than anything else in this whole world is torturous.
With those knots firmly in place, I shower, eat and leave the apartment, doing good to avoid any further confrontation. I seem more vulnerable and aware of it in the morning. My day is so routine now: I move subconsciously from building to building; I take notes meticulously; I do my homework thoroughly; I strive for perfection because I wouldn't function properly otherwise.
4:00 pm comes around and I welcome my favorite hour of the day: Men's Chorus. I can finally forget myself and my nagging worries, and sing with all I can muster, weaving myself around beautiful melodies and stirring lyrics of music. The Spirit touches my heart more in that hour than it does at church meetings anymore. Our motto in Men's Chorus is "Esse Quam Videri," meaning "to be rather than to seem." I want to. I want to so badly.
Then in the evening, I tell more lies and run (I literally run, too) off to my "family" (Mormon Homosexuals like myself, conveneintly labeled "Mohos"). It is in these quiet hours at night, finally able to let myself breathe and move, the knots loosen. At first, the idea of this sort of openness was terrifying, almost appauling, but I've come to learn that I have no where else to go. They know me as I know myself and that is all I need right now. I am eternally grateful for their friendship, their love and their constant concern for my well-being. Even my best friends of 10+ years don't know me like my mohos do.
But somewhere along this path of acceptance, discovery, and new friendships, I stumbled upon something larger and deeper, something that I knew was very dangerous: I found someone. The feelings were instant and lasting. It was then that I began to develop hard feelings, even anger, toward it all; I was being robbed of something so important, so beautiful. I felt ripped off and I constantly suppressed my urge to scream out like a little child, "It's not fair!" Because it isn't. I'm being cheated out of love.
Happy Birthday to me...