Homophobia.

I'm guilty of homophobia.

When I was on my mission, in Vermont, a gay couple invited my companion and I to dinner. We scheduled the dinner more than a week in advance, and during the entire week, I was terrified. What would this couple do to us? Would they trap us in their basement dungeon? Would they poison us? I was irrational. Completely.

When we got to dinner, the couple invited us into the showroom of their antique shop where we ate at a beautiful rustic table. We ate the best pork roast I've had, delightful mashed potatoes and fresh, hot apple sauce. It was delicious. It was also pleasant. The couple told us that they had been feeding Mormons for years (no doubt trying to enlighten dozens of terrified pale-faced missionaries).

We shared a bible verse, then left.

A few months ago, I was walking home from a party late at night. I was walking quickly, as I normally do when it's late at night and freezing cold. I passed some teenagers. They asked me for cigarettes. I told them I didn't have any. And I kept walking. Then one said loudly, "Dude! You walk like a queer!" The rest of the teenagers laughed cruelly. My heart started beating quickly. I walked more quickly as I became more upset. I wasn't as upset at the personal attack, as I was at the overall feeling of homophobia that existed among that group of teenagers.

Even more recently, I stopped to get coffee at Café Marmalade, the Utah Pride Center's coffee shop, before work. While I waited for my coffee, I realized that there was a discussion group going on. There were gay boys and girls gathered around talking about what it meant to be gay. That coffee shop must be such a haven for those kids. I wanted to go around the room and give them all hugs, knowing that they probably faced homophobia at school every day.

So some questions. When have you experienced or witnessed homophobia? When have you been guilty of it yourself?

Ode to my bestie.

I've tried to write this post a thousand and one times. And every time, it doesn't measure up. Still, this one doesn't. But here goes anyway...

During Summer 2007, after another failed attempt at a relationship with a girl, I decided to tell my best friend Rachel that I was gay. I arranged one of our common walks to the Woodville Cemetery. "I'm gay," I said.

"I know." She held my arm as I squinted toward the sun and began to cry.

We continued walking, sat down in the tall grass by the canal bank and talked. This began the dialogue that would last nearly a year. We discussed my desire to stay in the Mormon church, to have an "eternal family." To avoid the "gay lifestyle."

Here's the thing about Rachel. She knew more about what it meant to be gay than I did at the time. She had always been attuned to things of the gays. She was well read on the subject, and even frequented several gay Mormon blogs.

I asked her, "Do you think I'll be able to marry a woman?" She was frank, and told me that it would be difficult to find a woman who would be willing to do so. And that the chances of such a marriage working out would be very slim. She led me to a lot of literature on the subject.

I soon latched onto several blogs, and found a vast, interconnected web of blogs that helped me understand that I certainly was not alone. My struggle was much more common than I had thought. I would spend hours and hours reading posts and emailing many to Rachel saying, "THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I FEEL!"

I've had several therapists in my life. Rachel is the best one by far. You see, we had a tradition. I would get sad, call her, then we'd bake together. Sometimes we'd talk about what was making me sad, sometimes we wouldn't. We'd bake, or walk to the cemetery, and I'd always feel better afterward.

Rachel was there as stagnated, as I grew, and as (a year after I came out to her) I fell in love for the first time. She giggled with me as I talked about how BF and I cuddled. Her eyes sparkled when I told her about the freedom I finally felt. And she made me homemade lemonade when it all ended.

Later, she was on standby when I came out to my parents. As soon as I could, I drove my car to her house, and I cried as she held me. When the tears stopped, she gave me a glass of water and leftovers. She didn't say much, she was just there. Just like she always was. She was there when I needed her.

Now, Rachel tries to keep track of the boys I'm dating. She usually remembers their names. And she asks about them. This means so much to me. Now she lives in Idaho and I live in Utah. But we talk on the phone, and when we do the conversation is sometimes lively, sometimes serious. But always she's there for me. And I hope I'm there for her, too.

Rachel is my truest friend. She is singular for me. I'll never be able to describe what she did and does for me. I'd not be here without her.

How's Utah?

So now that it's been a month since I've lived in Utah (and a month since I've posted), I'm kinda settled in. And I'm pleased to say that things are pretty damn great. I'll talk about those, but I'll also talk about some negative things. Some things that I need to say.

-I love my job. It's a great combination of editing, managing content and graphic design (all of which I love). It's busy, and we're always up against one deadline or another (or another, and another). But it's exciting, and I'm learning a lot. Best of all I have great co-workers. I knew I'd get along with them as soon as they laughed at my first joke. I'm a sucker for a person who laughs at my jokes.

-It's great to be so close to Miss Bates. She's so great, and it's practically a necessity for me to see her once a week. In fact, we've established "BFF night" every Wednesday night. One week she comes to downtown, the next, I go to Sandy. It's a delight. Truly wonderful.

-My apartment is so delightful. I really love having my own place and I LOVE the neighborhood. Seriously, so great. On the weekends I pretend I'm a real city person (and don't commute a half hour into the suburbs every day) and try to park my car and walk a lot. Everything is in walking distance. The grocery store is two blocks away, the library is five or six. Downtown is maybe five.

-I'm making new friends all the time. Most of the people I've met are through Sean and Craig, who have been delightful people to have around. We cook, we drink, we karaoke. We generally have a good time.

-But not all is fun and games (most, but not all). Utah seems a much more political place than Idaho. And Salt Lake City is the capital. When I lived in Idaho, I felt like I was far away from Idaho politics. Things didn't sink in as much there. Like what, you ask? Like the fact that in Utah and Idaho it is legal for an employer to not hire or fire someone just because they are gay. More upsetting than not being able to marry, LGBT people here (and in Idaho) can GET FIRED FROM THEIR JOBS just for being gay.

-Also, I can see the top of the Church office building from my house, and I drive by Temple Square every day on the way to work. This is an interesting feeling. Something I used to hold dear is now something that fights against my basic human rights. Did I mention that in Utah it's legal for someone to FIRE ME FROM MY JOB because I'm gay?

-So I've been wanting to get involved. That's another great thing about Utah, is that there are ways to get involved everywhere. So we'll see where I end up. Any suggestions on places to volunteer?

Because we've gotta give them hope.

I love this speech by Harvey Milk. I watch it and almost always cry.

Last night, my friends and I watched part of "Equality U," a documentary about Soulforce's equality ride to universities across the country. There's a part where a girl name Pam talks about how important it is for the members of the ride to get arrested for trespassing on private universities' property.

Important because if one person knew that there were people out there who would do something like that for a gay person, then it would give them hope.

I remember being a BYU-Idaho student and constantly Googling "Gay Mormon," or "BYU-Idaho gay." All I needed to know was that one person on that campus was also gay, also struggling.

So here I am, spouting out keyword-rich content so maybe a gay student at BYU-Idaho will read my blog.

Part of why I came out so publicly and so quickly on the Internet was because suddenly coming out wasn't just about me. It was about every student at BYU-Idaho just like me. It was about the 16-year-old gay kid from Shelley, Idaho. It was about making an impression on one person, that they are OK. That they are a person of value, that they are not sinful, and that their love, whoever it is directed toward, is beautiful.

Treatment for homosexuality at BYU-Idaho, part of my gay Mormon story.

I had counted out my sins time and again; I pictured myself laying them out on my bishop's desk one at a time like three $100 dollar bills. Masturbation, porn, and "I like boys."

I thought I could weave my web of transgressions together in a one-breathed sentence. And now that I had scheduled my confessional I had time to rehearse it a thousand more times.

Saying, "I like boys" (or whatever I really did say that day) was the first time I had mentioned my tendency to look at gay porn to anyone.

And that's what it was to me, a tendency. It wasn't homosexuality, certainly not me "coming out" to my newly-ordained bishop. I knew that with Jesus' help, everything would work out ... I'd be normal in no time.

Soon enough, I met my BYU-Idaho counselor and the support group that I would attend for the next eight months.

Each week I joined ten young men in making a circle of desks, admitting that "I have been masturbating since I was 14." I eagerly joined their monastery of shame. It must have looked like we all prayed to Gods that lived beneath the floor boards. That, of course, is excepting the few who had been "victorious" the previous week in the battle against masturbation and pornography who looked at the tops of our heads.

Each of us would take turns divorcing our eyes from the floor, then wedding them again, to recite our lapse incidents that week.

At the time, I thought and felt like I was doing the right thing. I was overcoming my addiction. And certainly, that was not a bad thing to do (and especially beneficial was how I learned to talk about my deepest secrets), but I learned later that I was going about it all wrong.

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I would have rather swallowed broken glass like Pop Rocks than to sit in the waiting room at the campus counseling center for another minute. Next to me a girl with two ratted braids mumbled to herself while scribbling madly in her sketch book.

When my name was called, I tried to stuff the National Geographic I had been failing to read back into the crowded magazine rack. When I got to Dr. Gregg's office, it was too much like I had imagined. I knew, given the La-Z-Boy, exactly where to sit, even though Brother Gregg said, "Sit wherever you're comfortable."

So I sat in the La-Z-Boy and regurgitated my one-sentence recitation again.

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The end of this story is obvious to anyone who reads my blog. I'm quite comfortable with masturbation, pornography and being gay. I'm not an addict, and I consider my sexuality to be a healthy one.

When I was in group therapy, I never went more than six weeks without lapsing into compulsive behavior. A dirty thought would leave me wrapped up in self hatred which would lead imminently (and compulsively) to a lapse.

One thing was never communicated to us, though; of course it wasn't: Masturbation is a perfectly natural part of life. And pornography? Plenty of good people look at it. And guess what? The shame you're feeling is contributing more to your downfall as a human being than looking at naked bodies.

When I realized that, and truly believed it, that's when my compulsive, unhealthy behavior stopped. And it stopped. I didn't have to do anything to stop it, except to stop shaming myself.

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During my counseling sessions there was a lot of crying, a lot of pain, and a lot of healing.

Steps for "growing out of my homosexuality" provided by Evergreen, International lent healing to my soul and to my relationships and engendered emotional authenticity. But let's be clear: they DID NOT make me straight. And for that matter, any less gay. What I got from reparative therapy was the same as what I could have gotten through standard, more ethical therapy practices.

The reparative therapy I participated in focused on resolving the issues that had "caused" my homosexuality. Talking out homoerotic adolescent experiences, resolving father/son relationship issues, gaining confidence among male peers, building healthy (non-sexual) relationships with the same sex. All important and good things, certainly. But how can this be billed as "treatment" for something for which the medical and psychological community have not determined a cause.

So besides the fact that it doesn't work, what's wrong with reparative therapy?

I remember Dr. Gregg, on several occasions, asking me to close my eyes and picture a woman's body. "What about women are you attracted to?" he'd ask. "Their personalities, their eyes, their smiles."

"No," he corrected, "their bodies."

He seemed to think that my attraction to men was simply a misunderstanding of my sexuality. He certainly didn't understand that I just wasn't attracted to women. Suppressing sexual thoughts of men was something I could do. Developing an attraction to women? Absolutely not.

Now, I must say that there are some who believe their orientation has been changed. Some who claim to run successful ex-gay ministries. And if someone says their orientation has been changed, who am I to say otherwise? All I can say is that for me, and many others who have undergone therapy (including electro-shock therapy in the not-too-distant past at BYU), efforts to change orientation have been fruitless.

And when therapy doesn't work, people who likely already hate themselves (why else would they be trying to change), consider therapy another personal failure. No wonder many are driven to suicide through this type of therapy. Several people I know personally have had serious suicidal thoughts which have led them (thankfully) to quit this kind of therapy.

Everything I've described thus far was before my mission, which I figured would be a miraculous transforming experience that would render me cured; It would be a rich reward for the hard work I had done in therapy. This is a common hope for young gay Mormons. Even after my mission, I returned briefly to Dr. Gregg. By this point, however, I had accepted that my homosexuality would remain with me forever.

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Cliché as it is, I wish I could tell my brothers in that support group (we did develop quite the camaraderie) how I feel now. I'd say, "You can masturbate and feel good about yourself. This shame that you have? It's totally uncalled for. Masturbation is a normal part of life. Your sex drive is healthy. The guilt you feel? It's what's driving your addiction."

And maybe that wouldn't have been that profound a thing for them to hear. But when I discovered it on my own, it was revolutionary.

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A few years after my mission, I returned to the BYU-Idaho Counseling Center. I was referred not by my bishop, but by my ex boyfriend (of all people). I expressed to Geoff the happiness I had found in acting according to my identity. And like Nathan said he would, he affirmed me. After getting to know me, he told me that I was a good person, that I could contribute to society.

We discussed God, my beliefs, the church, and the importance of gaining a new moral code. We discussed what really made me happy.

So I've taken both paths. I bet you can guess which one I'd take again.

How it feels to grow up gay and Mormon.

*Disclaimer: There's a lot of anger in this post about the Mormon Church. And I know lots of you who read this blog are active Mormons. You've been warned.*

Many of you have probably come across the pamphlet distributed by the Mormon Church called, "To Young Men Only." By and large, it deals with sexuality, masturbation and homosexuality without actually saying any of those words, I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, as one having "problems" with masturbation as a kid (what male doesn't), I read this pamphlet over and over. I even considered memorizing it, to help me overcome the "problem" with my "factory."

Anyhow, I flipped through it today as I was cleaning my apartment, and my heart sank at the following passage. I remember being about 15 years old and reading this. And to be honest, I'm pretty damn pissed off in retrospect.

"There is a falsehood that some are born with an attraction to their own kind, with nothing they can do about it. They are just "that way" and can only yield to those desires. That is a malicious and destructive lie. While it is a convincing idea to some, it is of the devil. No one is locked into that kind of life. From our premortal life we were directed into a physical body. There is no mis-matching of bodies and spirits. Boys are to become men—masculine, manly men—ultimately to become husbands and fathers. No one is predestined to a perverted use of these powers."

Sigh. I remember how broken I felt. How determined I was to correct my attraction. Now I see this passage as full of misunderstanding and lies (how would a Mormon transgender person feel?). So full, in fact, that the Church's stance on the source of homosexuality has since changed to a "we don't know" approach.

The thing is, is I don't feel like I'm supposed to be a "masculine, manly" man. I'm supposed to be me. That conclusion took me years to arrive at. And to really believe it took even longer. But now, I feel like I am who I am. And like you, I feel like I'm going to be me for a really long time.

Also, there is nothing "malicious and destructive" about love. And that's all there is to be said about that.

In "The Miracle of Forgiveness" I read that my homosexuality was not just the way I was, but CAUSED by masturbation. That's right. I learned that I myself had caused my own homosexuality. I perceived it as God's punishment for playing with myself.

In the middle of my "reparative therapy" at the BYU-Idaho Counseling Center, my research revealed that effective psychological "treatment" for homosexuality was not only highly unlikely, but considered unethical by the modern world.

So forgive me if this post is full of anger and angst. It's just that I see this sort of thing still happening. I see people not being affirmed for who they are. I see people trapped in dogmas (Mormon and otherwise) that don't accept them for being them. I read blogs of individuals who feel rejected by a Church, yet can't leave it. And it brings me a lot of pain.

Also, my factory runs just fine, thank you very much.

My one year.

I love hiking. I went by myself yesterday and did Lower Palisades, it was delightful.

The appeal of hiking for me is that no matter how many times you have done a particular hike, it always seems like a new one, and at the same time, one you've done a million times. I love that a hike always seem longer, and shorter than when you've done it before. I love that when you're walking, you forget that you are, and suddenly you are somewhere else, overlooking a beautiful panorama, or a trail sneaking through a thick patch of willows. And you try to retrace the steps that got you there in your mind, but you've already forgotten them.

There are bad parts of hiking, too. The sweat on your back where your pack rides. The chafing between your legs by the end. The sunburn on your nose the next day that makes you regret not bringing sunscreen. And by the end of the hike, tiny rocks press through the soles of your shoes and feel like glass shards threatening to pop your blisters. And even when you walk on smooth ground, the bones in your feet feel like rusty cables rubbing against each other.

It always seems that you can't take another step. Then when you get to the end you think, "I could have done another mile."

Yesterday, when I was hiking, there was a lot of time for thinking and retrospect-ing. And I thought a lot about the last year.

It's been a year since I met Nathan; a year since my life changed forever. It's been unbelievable. I wish I wouldn't have been afraid to keep a journal about what it felt like to hold a boy's hand for the first time. How giddy and undeserving I felt. How nauseous thoughts of leading the Church made me feel. Yet how liberated I became. And how hesitant I was, at times, to embrace that liberation.

And later, how painful it was to come out to my parents. How painful it is, still, to know that they're disappointed. How wonderful all of you were on the day I came out to the world.

How there have been 365 days in the last year that I woke up without a conflicted cloud over my thoughts.

So now I'm writing down how it feels. So I won't forget any more. How it feels to know that despite what anyone says, it is my life, and I'm the chief navigator.

God (if he's out there) made me just the way I am. And he made me capable of making decisions about whether or not he exists. I am capable of finding a spiritual path that makes sense and feels right for me.

I thought (before all of this happened) that it would all feel like a massive self-betrayal. That I would lose my moral compass and I would drift slowly into sadness. But it's been just the opposite. I've felt curious about the world, about issues that matter in the world, about being kind to those around me. I've felt compelled to be honest, even when it's hard (still working on this one). Most of all, I am steady and I am happy.

And though I've already forgotten a lot of the steps that have gotten me to where I am, the view from here is pretty damn good.

Home, again.

I won't lie to you. I love the Mormon Church. My life would be SO MUCH EASIER right now if I weren't transitioning away from it. Those I love the most live good, Mormon lives. And my change in ideology can certainly drive wedges between us.

During my last semester at BYU-Idaho, I began attending the Unitarian Universalist Church in Idaho Falls.
There I found a community of people like me. Not gay, per se (though there are some), but people who recognized the ambiguous nature of the world. People who have likewise been left empty and questioning by answers provided by mainstream religion. And people who were actively seeking truth, but not necessarily expecting to find it.

And now I sing in the choir.

Because among the UUs, I feel at home, at peace, in fellowship.

A story about my first time at the UU: At the Idaho Falls UU, there's a portion of the service where members of the congregation can light candles of joy, concern or candles to mark important life milestones. So this lady goes up and talks about how she had lost her cat. She expressed her deep concern, and kept talking and talking, "... and I don't believe in prayer, so I won't ask you to pray for poor Baxter..." And in my head I thought, "This lady is bat shit crazy."

And afterwards, I saw UUs approaching this lady and showing her compassion, expressing concern.

I'm not saying that this behavior isn't found in the Mormon Church; I'm saying that I've been blessed and have grown in this compassionate environment. Many have made a special effort to remember my name, visit with me after service or involve me in activities.

I just want to say that the UU church fills my soul. I find happiness there every Sunday. And I leave feeling sane again, and able to tackle a new week. That's what I think church is all about.

To my 16 year old self.

I wrote this a few months ago. It's a letter to myself, 8 years ago. I thought it might be a good exercise, and it was. And well, it's not doing me any good hanging out on my hard drive...

Hey you. It's me. Yeah me, 8 years from now. Seems weird, doesn't it, that you'll get here.

You are cool, buddy. You are. You're going to learn this over the next few years. Be yourself and allow people to love you for who you are. That's what you (I) did. And it's worked out pretty well. I'm still learning how to do that, but it's still working.

I feel like I should warn you about what to do and what not to do. But I won't. Because every mistake you make becomes a part of you that can't be replaced. There's shit coming (I know you'd look down on me a little for saying that word), and there's the good stuff too. Remember that that's what life's about. Remember that shit and the good stuff add up to experience. And experience is what makes you who you are (And, incidentally, who I am. This is getting funny.)

I don't remember much about being in your mind. I don't remember what the future looked like for you. But know that the future is unknown. Embrace the fact that even you will be surprised at what the outcome of the next few years will be.

This is who you are 8 years from now. You are smart. You are funny (at least to yourself). You are talented. You are an artist. You are confident. You are happy. You are also gay.

I guess this is why I'm writing this letter. I want you to know that it's OK. It is going to work out. And I guess that where you are in your life, it doesn't really matter all that much. You don't think about it too often, do you?

In a few short years, though, the shit is going to hit the fan (there's that word again).

I remember being you, hoping some day to make a difference in the world. I remember praying for wisdom. Prayers are heard, Nick, they are. Sometimes the answers seem cruel and are unexpected, but don't be afraid of that kind of answer. It seems like these answers are the ones that bring about the greatest change in you.

Be open to those answers and understand that what God says to you is not always what others say to you. I'm not going to tell you what to do about being gay. Knowing the outcome would cheapen the experience for you.

It is great to be gay. It sometimes will seem like the most repugnant, rancid part of you. But trust me, it certainly is not. As time goes on, you'll learn to love you (or me?).

But I've just gotta say, be brave. March into the eye of the storm. You will conquer there. Don't be afraid of the world, because there's a place for you in it. And don't be afraid of people, because you are one of them.

Remember that it is your life and that you get to decide what it will be. Don't worry about what others will think. Believe what you believe. Be curious, be understanding and be open minded.

But know that life doesn't get easier. Don't expect it to. But I do think it gets better. It will get better, my friend, it just keeps getting better.

I'll walk with you, I'll talk with you...

If you are, or have ever been Mormon, you probably know the Primary song, "I'll Walk With You," by Carol Lynn Pearson. Rumor has it, the song was inspired by or directed toward gay members of the church. Whether this is true or not, I can't be sure. But if I got to choose, it would be. If you need evidence, it's here.

Anyhow, when my favorite two year old asked for me to put him to bed tonight (I, of course, was delighted), I sang "I'll Walk With You."

But don't worry, I didn't stop there. My next song was "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." And the one after that? "Any Dream Will Do" from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

I just have one question... how did you not know?

OK, to be fair, I know most of you had an inkling, at least.

I've got something to say.

Have you seen 'Milk?' It is an absolutely beautiful film.

I really love what Harvey Milk, a gay activist, said. "People need to know that we are here. People need to know one of us and, if by so knowing, they still hate gay people, they hate us for who we are and not for who they imagine us to be."

With that said, I'm gay.

So if I'm your first openly gay friend, then good for you! (I think posting this publicly now makes me openly gay, which is a funny feeling.)

Each time I have come clean about my orientation to a friend or a family member, I've felt a little funny. Nobody has been completely surprised or blind to the signs. More than once, after I dropped the "I'm gay" bomb, I've been tempted to say something like, "weird, huh!" (I actually did once, when coming out to my brother) Like out of all the people we've heard about being gay in this world, someone so close to you turned out to be one of them. Actually, this even happens to me. Sometimes I get weirded out and I'm like, "Out of all the people in this world, I turned out to be one of them? How did that happen?"

Like most gays, I've felt something was "different" about me since I was born. During adolescence, I realized my attraction, but saw it as something that would go away, that could be overcome. After my mission, I began to understand the unchangable nature of my "condition," yet desired to find a female eternal companion. The last year has been an incredible journey and I feel as though I am a formerly caged bird liberated. My happiness has soared and heart has resonated as I have finally become comfortable with who I am. My homosexuality is an integral, unchangeable part of my soul. It is (as far as I am concerned) a gift of God to be this way, and most days I'm able to say, "It's great to be gay!"

It seems like every human emotion conceivable has been part of "coming to terms" with my gayness. I've felt overwhelming and oppressive sadness, depression and angst. I've felt lonely and unloved. I've felt sequestered without solace. But recently, I've felt a sense of steadiness, rightness and competency as a human being. I have felt peace and respite. I used to wake up in the morning with feelings of conflict and inner turmoil. Now I wake up and feel everything. My heart is so free and open, and I feel like a child looking up close at a flower for the very first time or discovering that clouds morph as they travel across the sky. Most importantly, I've felt love. Real, genuine love. My friends and family who I've told have been nothing short of beautiful in their support of me in my journey. Coming out of the closet is a horrifying experience at times, and I've been met with nothing but love and people seeking to understand my situation.

Most importantly, perhaps, I've felt what it's like to love and to be loved, romantically. I didn't realize what an important and soul-healing miracle mutual attraction and romantic interest was. Developing more than a platonic attraction for someone induced the many peace-filled days since meeting my first boyfriend.

This comes as a shock to many of you, I'm sure. I'm talking about the fact that I've gone against the teachings of the Mormon Church and sought a romantic relationship with a man. And honestly, I probably would have considered myself damned had I known where I would be now a few years ago. Being true to my attractions in this new way has allowed my soul to speak and to grow more than it has in a few months as it did in years. I have improved in my talents more in past months than in my whole college career. My ability to improve morally and see myself as I really am has increased exponentially. I no longer live in fear, but live in joy.

I'm still conflicted about the Church. I have so many feelings about the organization. I spent two years professing it as truth to a bunch of New Yorkers and Vermonters. I loved it. But now I feel that have found my place in the world, and it doesn't include the Church. I have stumbled on a more authentic set of beliefs for myself. I recognize that I may have been lead carefully down to Hell. I also recognize that I may simply have been led. The latter feels more authentic for me, as I am happier than I have ever been. But the fact is, I'll probably never know, and I'll always have questions about my life. When it comes to things like this, life is so complex. But my attractions have allowed me to understand my beliefs more deeply than I could have imagined.

So for now, love is too good to deny. And though my first relationship ended almost 6 months ago, the results of that love in my life have been overwhelmingly positive.

I apologize to people I've hurt because of my confusion. Mostly to ex-girlfriends, those I've been rude to as they've prodded me about marriage, and my family, whom I've distanced myself from for fear of being found out. I recognize that this post may be hard for some close to me who wish I'd stay more in the closet than I'm choosing to.

I realize that my journey is far from over (who's journey is ever really over, even at death?), and that I've got a long way to go as far as understanding this world. But like my therapist Geoff said, "It doesn't matter what you believe, Nick. Just that you do." So that's what I'm doing. I'm living my life. I'm believing that I'm an authentic human being. I'm believing that love is love no matter who it is directed towards. I'm not afraid to make mistakes anymore. Because to me, that's what living is all about.

I don't know why I feel the need to announce this on my blog. But I do. I feel like all those of you who know me, need to know that I'm a good person AND gay. And mostly, I want you to know that I am happy. More happy than I've ever been before.

If you know someone else who is gay, especially gay and mormon, reach out to them, please love them like I've been loved. I'm lucky to have been able to reconcile my faith and my orientation. Others live lives of conflict. Others turn to suicide.

I'm am allowing comments on this post. I thought about not doing it, but I am. But things like this turn into sappy dramas too often. Or conflicty dramas. Either way, my life will not be reduced to a soap opera. So if you've got something dramatic to say, email me.