How Are You (Am I) Doing?

Dear apronkid,

Hi.

I wanted to write you a letter, because I thought I should let you know how I am doing these days. And by "doing these days," I mean how I am feeling and what I am thinking these days. You like to know of me because you care for me, this I know. So let me describe to you, in no particular sequence, what it has been like to be in my condition for the last few weeks. I slit open the proverbial wrist of my life and let the blood flow. May it congeal into sentences of crystal clear expression, and into absurd (yet fitting) metaphors.

Do you know what it is like to be a heartbreaker, apronkid? I do not boast when I state that, in fact, I am a heartbreaker. I am quite ashamed of it really. I find it terrible that two can be in a relationship, and one will feel heaven, and the other will feel hell. I have felt hell apronkid. Not hell in the sense that the heaven-feeler was a mean-spirited and ugly person. No, he was quite the contrary. The hell is to know that you are not right for one another and to feel the impending responsibility of confessing your feelings to the heaven-feeler. No matter how they might grow, no matter how beautiful they are now, you know that your path is not theirs. How do you let someone know that they are wonderful, but not for you? I don't know how to dry those kind of tears apronkid. And maybe... those are the kind of tears that shouldn't be dried.

It's like putting together a puzzle. You yearn for the piece that completes, and find one that seems to match every groove and notch. You touch it, feel it, know it and love it. It is the one, until you try to fit it. And when it doesn't fit, it hurts immensely. Apronkid, I can't toss those pieces aside; they're still mine in some way, so I keep them in a special place. It's a place I can never forget, because it pricks my memory with the most ordinary things: songs, notes, places, and yeah, even foods.

That's what it's like to be a heartbreaker, dear. All attention is received with apprehension these days, because I don't think I'm big enough. These things hurt. Bittersweet always. I've heard it said that a heartbreaker is who he is because the heart he carries is broken as well. Is mine? I don't know.

On another note, I don't plan on going to Elder's Quorum anymore. I don't know if you go apronkid, but my quorum feels to dangerous to be in. It's a world of Black & White, and it feels fueled by hatred. Hatred for the other and the different. War seems to be the only option there. It's funny; we talk in Elder's Quorum about the "attack on the family." But who is attacking whose family? I feel attacked in there, and I will endure it  no longer for the sake of my own sanity.

And you know what apronkid? The mission doesn't seem to be an option any more. As a gay man, I'm held to a different standard than a straight one. In the eyes of the Church I've loved, I still might be a threat to other straight men. I might even be a pedophile, apronkid. I am a second rate citizen in those eyes. The paths I've walked down, any straight man would be able to explore and return with their head held high. The Church would have me, for doing the same, bow my head in shame. "God loves you, but we have no place for you. Repentance, as we define it, does not apply the same way for you." And why, apronkid? Because I'm gay, and it shows in how I've acted. It shows in my triumphs and my failures, and colors my life in the shades that matter. But I'm not allowed to thrive in all the ways that matter to Mormonism without causing friction, apronkid. I will not be treated like this.

As you can see, life is difficult at the moment. It feels heavy sometimes. There are genuine experiences that have shaped me forever, and it seems the price of lessons learned are memories of abandoned homes. That probably makes no sense to you, but it feels in that way apronkid.

Know that there is good here too. There is plenty of song, plenty of laughter, and plenty of friends who care. There are genuine smiles and hopes for the future. How far the happy things carry me is proportional to how much I acknowledge the shadows of these things. So here they are.

Sincerely,
Elliot