Excerpts from my Unpublished Manuscript

Working Title: Well, It Could Be Worse

Contents

Introduction 5
Chapter 1: Stories of a 5 Year Old Slut 10
Chapter 2: Mommy Dearest 17
Chapter 3: Death In The Family 22
Chapter 4: You Can Call Me Gay 34
Chapter 5: The Day I Became a Disappointment 40
Chapter 6: Virginity and How Not to Lose It 47
Chapter 7: Advice From an LDS LGBTQ 61
Chapter 8: My Inevitable Unhappy Future 69
Chapter 9: My Body & Me 75
Chapter 10: Depression: The Still Darkness 87
Chapter 11: Daddy & Son 92
Chapter 12: Dating Life of a Sad Gay Man 101
Closing Remarks 112
 !3

Introduction

This book was not written for you, plain and simple. I had no hopes or ideas for this book
going anywhere. I didn't write it with a naive dream of having it climb to the top of the best
sellers list or sell millions of copies. Neither of which ever did or will come true. I didn't hope to
gain fame and fortune from this book, having a schedule filled with launch parties and late night
talk show interviews. I simply didn't write this book for your enjoyment.
I wrote this book for myself I wrote it in the hope of gaining some sort of closure. I
wanted to express myself so candidly, leaving myself exposed for everyone to see. In hopes that
maybe someday I could find some glittering truth in all of it, later down the line realize that I
actually gained something out of my experiences. That life actually wasn't that bad and I learned
to become a better person because of it. Hopefully, being one of my readers, you've come to
realize that life is never like this. There isn't some fairy tale ending or defining moment where
the protagonist finally learns their moral lesson that was there all along. Life is a cruel and
unusual punishment. Were expected to learn from our mistakes and become better people
because of it but in all honesty it never works out that way.
 !4

I promise I am not as cynical as I might seem. I truly have great expectations in life and
happiness is no stranger to me. However I wont be one of those liars, that pretends that life is all
sunshine and roses all the time because thats just not the way it is. Life is hard and life sucks,
not just for me but for everyone. Probably even you, reading this book, trying to find some sort
of escape or release from the problems of your own life. Im very happy for you for trying. Its
takes a brave person to run away from their problems, but I promise you this book is not the
happy fairytale you were hoping for.
This book wont whisk you away to some fantastic land of magic and riveting plot twists.
This book is about my life, my struggles, and the experiences I have endured. It isn't some
journal I kept that later got published, it isn't made up in the slightest. Its real and its hard, hard
for me to write and share my experiences with others and its hard for others to read and find
some small relation to their lives. But I still choose to write, to find meaning and happiness
somewhere along the way. Regardless of my unhappiness I am still very grateful to you, as a
reader, for picking up this book and sharing in this journey with me. Hopefully one of us can find
something we needed along the way. Some small hope or truth that we desperately needed to
hear to make life all that much easier. I don't know if you know this, but I have never written a
book before. Most 17 year olds don't exactly spill their heart out in written form, so I don't
exactly know where to start. I should probably just start from the very beginning.
 !5

Chapter 2
Mommy Dearest

I loved my mother with every fiber of my being. Growing up I learned to resent her, but I
still felt love towards her. Like all children, I took her for granted. Felt smothered and oppressed
by every little action. The smothering and coddling was multiplied because being the gay
disappointing son, she attempted to shield me from every possible temptation of a happy life. It
was her way of providing me with the best, but it just made me unhappier, depressed, sad, and
alone. No person could ever replace my mother, but no amount of therapy could ever repair the
scars she left me with
Every child remembers the first time they made their mother cry. Its something that stays
with you for the rest of your life. Its horrible knowing that you can cause someone so much pain,
regardless of how unintentional it might be. You feel something. Knowing that someone so dear
to you, that you love so much, is completely hurt by your actions. They're so hurt that theres
nothing else they could possibly do except for shed tears of sadness.
 !6

I vividly remember the experience as if it were yesterday. It was a boring and extremely
hot summer afternoon. My family had recently moved and were now living in a rented split level
in a different section of the city. Being the adventurous and out-going siblings that we were, we
were watching TV. There was never a lot to do during our summers as kids. We never went out,
never spent time with friends, never did much of anything. It was simply easier just to stay
indoors, avoid the heat, and watch hours of mindless television.
My mother at the time was working, which she always did to occupy her time. My family
never let on to our financial troubles, but somehow we always seemed to do just fine. I liked to
think that my father always had plenty of money, but never wanted to spoil us kids. And my
mother worked because it made her feel important, without it she might have fallen into a
depressive slump. Of course none of that was true, I would only find out later in life that my
family was on the brink of bankruptcy years before and my mother was working to supply us
with everything we needed. For some odd reason, they never felt like telling us the true nature of
our financial situation. They simply omitted everything relating to money and left us (mainly
me) in the dark. Yet they always tried so hard to give us everything in the world, even if it
probably wasnt within our means. Thats why we always had television and other things to do
during the summer.
It was around two oclock when my mother had returned from her job. Who knows where
she was working, maybe it was the horrible furniture store that she hated so much, or my fathers
restaurant that she hated even more. I just remember she had stopped by the store and picked up
some groceries on her way home. My sisters and I were in the living room watching whatever
horrible cartoon or kids show that was on at the time. We were obviously enthralled by it since
we didn't say hello when my mother walked in through the garage door.
She was carrying a few bags with her and she seemed to be managing it very well by
herself, however she asked for us kids to help her and bring in the rest of the bags that were
waiting in the car. Neither child answered, or even acknowledged her presence. We simply
ignored her and continued watching our TV. She continued asking for our help as she walked
back out to the car to grab more groceries and we continued to ignore her. This became routine as
 !7

the same process repeated itself a few more times. Finally my mother gave up on asking for our
help and she went back out to retrieve the final things from the car.
This time she entered through the door with a giant sack of flour over her shoulder and
bags in both hands. She attempted to do a sort of balancing act and bring everything in at once. I
never quite understood why she thought she needed to do this rather then simply splitting the trip
in two and carrying a reasonable amount. But it all would have been simpler if we had just
helped my mother in the first place. Instead we continued to watch TV and wait for her to finish
her things so we could stop pretending to not hear her.
As my mother walked up the stairs towards the kitchen, her balancing act finally caught
up with her. The sack of flour slipped from her shoulders and landed with a loud bang on the
kitchen floor. Flour exploding everywhere and landing on every single inch of the kitchen. Thats
when my mother began her sobbing. It was quiet at first, but grandly grew into a sort of wail.
My sisters and I weren't startled by the loud bang of the flour falling, we only reacted
when we began to hear our mother cry. Suddenly we sprang into action and flew to see what the
matter was. We came upon a sight of utter chaos. Lying in a pool of flour, we saw my mother.
She was covered head to toe in white, sitting helplessly on the floor, sobbing. She continued to
cry as we helped her clean up the mess. She was crying uncontrollably, shaking, and yelling
things at the top of her lungs. I don't remember any of the words she yelled, but I can only
imagine what they could possibly be. That was the first time I had ever seen my mother cry.
Im not especially proud about the way I had behaved that day. It wasn't intentional by
any means, yet my sisters and I had been so cruel. We never expected to make our mother cry
that day, but our lack of action had caused her so much pain. It obviously wasnt just our lack of
helping that caused her to finally crack. My mother was unhappy, working hard to provide for
her family, trying to hold a crumbling world together. There was only so much stress and
pressure she could take from every facet of her crappy life. Nothing had turned out the way she
expected, yet she was fighting everyday to make something of it. I regret acting the things I did,
and I think her crying affected me more then it should have. That was the first time I had ever
made my mother cry and it certainly wouldn't be the last. A long laundry list of tear sheds would
 !8

being to build up, every single tear shed for another disappointment I made, another notch on the
belt of a disaster of a life.
I can never love someone quite like the way I loved my mother. I can never lie with
someone and not feel a pang of guilt for disappointing my mother. The same guilt I felt watching
my mother cry for the first time. The same guilt I feel every time I look in her eyes and all I see
is disappointment. She never approved of my love for men, and I doubt she ever will. I wish
every night that I could be happy, living a life of harmony between my two worlds. Sadly that
will never happen, not in this lifetime at least. My mother has always had a place in my heart, a
place too big, that leaves hardly any room to be loved completely by another man. I don't blame
my mother for this, but I do resent her a little for it. Im scarred, Im broken, Im incapable of
being happy. I can never be happy with another man, for the guilt of disappointing mommy
dearest
 !9

Chapter 3
Death In The Family

The first real death I had experience in my family occurred when I was in the 5th grade.
Before then there had been an occasionally family friend, or long distant relative but nothing I
personally related to. This time was completely different, my mother had gone through 9 hard
months of pregnancy and the whole family was experiencing the pain with her.
It all started when my mother had told me I was going to be a big brother. I was fine with
this thought, even a little bit excited to be able to share my wisdom with a younger person. No
longer being the youngest of the family thrilled me and got me day dreaming of all the fun things
I was going to be able to do with my little new brother. As the months passed and my mothers
stomach got bigger and bigger, I was teeming with anticipation for the big day. Id accompany
her to her regular ultrasounds and doctor visits, listening intently at the information the doctor
would give her, even though I never understood any of it. It all seemed so exciting and new, there
didn't seem to be anything better than this. But as time dragged on, the doctors visits got shorter
and less frequent, my mother became more irritable and grouchy. I was just praying for my little
brother to show up so my mom could finally return to her normal self.
 !10

Finally it was one of the last ultrasound visits and I was excited to hear the big news of a
healthy baby boy being born soon. As the doctor explained every step in his procedure to a wide
eyed little boy that didn't understand any of it, he began the ultrasound. What seemed like a
boring and pointless 5 minutes he began to explain in great detail to my mother what was
happening in her belly. I never understood what any of it meant, having no experience in
childbearing or medicine, I just listen intently absorbing every word that was spoken. As the
doctor described low amniotic fluid, Urinary tract problems Surgery would be the best
option. I just listened carefully, trying to understand the situation at hand. As I turned from the
monitor to my mothers face, I began to see something I hadn't seen in a long time. It was the
oddest mixture of disappointment, sadness, contempt, and peace. She rarely showed emotion, but
you could always detect the slightest hint of sadness if you focused hard enough. This time it was
evident she was distraught, yet she was still as calm as ever, seemingly unfazed by the news that
was just given to her. I, of course, didn't understand the news given nor did I think it was any
reason to be sad. As I grew up I learned what really was spoken during that ultrasound.
Turns out that my little baby bother was to be born with a form of down syndrome. Since
my mother was well into her 30s at the time she was pregnant, it was natural for her to have low
amniotic fluid, which is essential for a fetus development. As a result of her low fluid, the babies
urinary tract hadn't developed properly. The baby was unable to regulate the fluid through his
small little body. At that moment in the doctors office, there never seemed any reason to be
alarmed. The doctor assured my mother that with simply surgery the problem could be corrected
and the baby would be born healthy. The emotion that was originally on my mothers face didn't
seem to change, it wasn't reassured by any of the doctors expert advice. All I remember was
leaving the office with a smile on my face as my mother went home with a heavier burden to
carry then the baby in her stomach.
Time passed and my mothers due date came and went. There was a heavy air in my house
but I was blissfully unaware of everything. As I woke myself up one morning and got ready to
leave for school, I entered my parents room to see if they were ready to drive me to class. I saw
my mother struggling to push her self out of bed to head to the bathroom and my father dressed
and ready for the morning. They were discussing grown up pointless business so I tuned them
 1! 1

out and continued to ready myself. I distinctly remember telling myself today is the day my
baby brother will come and as luck would have it, it was.
Both my parents and my day continued as usual as I was dropped off at school and my
father headed to work and my mother gorged herself on whatever food we had left in the pantry.
I remember we were learning the new vocabulary and spelling words for the unit when I was
called down to the front office. I was nervous like any normal little kid would be. I thought I was
in trouble for some unknown reason or event that I caused. I entered the main hallway of Granite
Elementary School when I recognized a familiar face. It was my fathers good friend and long
time employee, Andre. I was surprised to seem him since there was no logical explanation as to
why he was here.
As I approached him he began to tell me that my mother was finally giving birth to my
little brother, that my father was stuck at the hospital taking care of her and that he had sent him
to come pick me up and take me to the hospital. I was suddenly extremely happy and giddy. I
started to dance a little and freak out like any little kid could would. Not only was I gonna get a
little brother but I was going to get to skip school too! I returned to class to collect my things and
my student teacher was curious to understand my abrupt departure. The only words to leave my
mouth were Im gonna have a little baby brother and I ran out of the room.
As I reached the hospital, I found my older sisters and my dad already waiting for me.
They looked excited but it was difficult to understand their emotions let alone read them. I was
eager to see my mother and tell her how happy I was to meet my little brother. I was expecting to
have the whole situation play out like they showed in the movies, where they rush my screaming
mother out of the room through a series of confusing hallways as my father ran along beside her
telling her to breath calmly and that it was all going to be all right, of course none of this
happened. As more and more family members arrived, I was less involved in the birth process. I
was more preoccupied playing and entertaining myself with my cousin, who was roughly the
same age as I was. We were running through the hospital, exploring everything we could. I
remember coming upon a whiteboard filled with names and I happen upon my mothers name on
the board and the expected time of her delivery. Next to that was a column with babys name
written above it. In the row where my mothers information was, was the name Otavio. Up until
 !12

that point my family had been debating on what to call the new addition to the family. There
were so many options and names placed on the table that it was difficult to decide. Even to the
very last day my mother hadn't decided what to name her son. Finally as she entered labor and
the moment came for her to decide the name, she picked Otavio. The family had neglected to tell
me that the decision had been made , and I had to find out the name of my baby brother from an
inanimate object. Regardless I was so overjoyed to know that today was the day my entire life
was going to change. I could finally put a name to the imaginary face of my future sibling. I was
going to be able to teach someone everything I knew, get angry at him when he was being
annoying (like my sisters had done to me countless times), care for someone and be there for
him. I wanted to experience so many new things and I was finally getting my chance to live out
all of my older brother fantasies that I had seen on TV and in movies.
Finally my father called my cousin and I back into the room. I was expecting to see my
little baby brother wrapped up in a blanket, crying and wailing, but all I found was my mother
and family members huddled in the room. There was no celebration or happiness, no excitement
in the air. Nothing I was expecting to see was happening. Rather the adults were all talking in
hushed tones about this and that. I never caught any part of their conversation but it was
obviously important business. All I saw were sad faces, emotions were on the surface and no one
was happy. I suddenly went from a bubbly and happy disposition to melancholy and lethargic,
only matching the air that was around me, not knowing why.
My father began to explain to me the situation at hand and shed some light on why the
room had the air about it that it did. He explained to be in very simple terms as to what just
occurred in the room. My mother had given birth to a baby boy as expected, but there were
complications. It turns out the low amniotic fluid hadn't just affected his urinary tract, but his
heart and lungs as well. Neither were fully developed and the baby was unable to survive on its
own.
I was completely confused, none of the information was making any sense to me. Was
my baby brother not alive? Where was he? It turns out that he was hooked to a giant machine,
slowly pumping blood and oxygen through his body, keeping him alive. As my father escorted
me and my sisters to the small room holding my baby brother, I was still confused. I didn't
 !13

understand the situation at all. They never showed these moments on TV or in the movies. This
must have been a normal part of every birth, they just forget to show you this part.
As we entered the room, I finally began to understand what was happening. My baby
brother wasn't going to make it. I wasn't going to get to share all of the memories I had been
planning to make with him. I was going to remain the youngest and only son in the family. There
was nothing I could possibly do about it. As I looked at the small baby laying on the bed, hooked
up with several wires and tubes running to a machine, I tried my best to grasp the situation, but I
was still drawing blanks. I understood that he was going to die but that was the extent of it, I
didn't think of anything else. I didnt care to know what caused this or why it was happening, it
just was. As I held his little baby hands, the soft skin a completely knew sensation to me, I began
to look around.
My sisters and father were now crying. Sobbing tears and holding one another,
attempting to alleviate the pain of one another. They were sad, this was the extent of my
emotional analysis, tears simply equated to unhappiness. I hadn't truly felt any emotion up to that
point, I didn't grasp any of it. But I suddenly began to cry, not because I was so overcome by the
situation or because death brought fear and sadness to me. I cried because everyone else was. I
was sobbing uncontrollably because that was what naturally accompanied death. I was following
the examples of my family members, but there was no real emotion behind the situation. As I
grew older, I felt true remorse at the situation but I never again shed a tear over the event. The
last time I cried over my little brother was in that room.
What followed shortly after happened so quickly that they still remain a blur, a faint
memory. We returned to my mothers bedside, where the doctors and nurses began to explain the
next steps. The baby was to be removed from the machine with the consent of my mother, and
we were allowed to hold the child for as long as we liked. As they brought in the newly bathed
and dead child, the first to hold him was my mother. She was trying desperately to stay strong,
but you could tell there was no holding back the pain and sadness she felt. She began to cry, but
not a violent sobbing I would have expected, but rather a calm tear shed that resembled love
rather than fear. She held the baby so close to her chest, talking to him as if he could hear her.
She was talking in the usual baby talk nonsense that most adults do, but she was speaking out of
 !14

real emotion. She would calmly tell him how much she loved him, how much he mattered to her,
how great his life would have been. The most heartbreaking was watching my mother interact
with the lifeless child.
After my mother had shared her experience with the baby, he was passed down the line of
waiting family members to be held. My father and two sister all had their moments with the
child, none as emotional as my mothers, which was blatantly obvious as to why. It soon was my
turn to hold my baby brother. I was handed him with much care and consideration, as if whatever
action could easily disturb that stoic baby. I distinctly remember thinking the entire time during
the ordeal who would want to hold a dead baby? This seems so cold hearted and cruel, but
coming from a small child its not as evil. I was young, no idea of the severity of the situation. I
hadn't created an emotional bond with the little baby, so I was unaware as to why it all mattered.
Looking back I wished I had cherished the moment more, but I couldn't expect any less from a
small child.
As I looked down at the little bundle in my hand I couldn't help engraving the image of
his face in my mind. His small head wearing the tiniest hat, his skin a dark purple hue due to the
lack of oxygen in his body, the small smashed face typical of any new born baby with down
syndrome. I will never be able to forget his face, or forget the way he felt in my arms. I had lost
the only innocent member of my family. The purest form of happiness any person could every
experience now sat lifeless in my hands, yet I didn't even appreciate holding it. I held him for as
long as my little arms would let me.
Finally the nurse entered the room and asked if she could remove the baby and do the
necessary process that every dead child goes through. Once the nurse left the room, the extended
family began to give their farewells and condolences to the family and file out. My family was
all that was left in the room, no one talking, no one laughing, just complete silence.
Within the next moments there were several people who then came and left the room.
Doctors finalizing the babies documents. Others finalizing the bills, some providing grief
counseling options for the family, few suggesting funeral arrangements, and the single bearing
gifts and memorabilia. The gift consisted of a small ring worn by the deceased, a small bag
 !15

containing locks of hair, a hand print of the baby and small other pieces of memories that are
now all locked away in a box collecting dust in my mothers closet.
I have no recollection of how or when I got home, the events occurred so early in the
morning, I can only assume I was home by 10 PM later that day. Returning home was sort of
depressing and disappointing. The occasion should have been exciting, in helping christening the
child into his new home. Rather the family slumped back into the dark house, that would never
see the light of a small baby boy. The usual rituals of the night were overlooked, no TV was
turned on, no teeth brushed, no food eaten. Everyone simply slipped into their beds and drifted
off into a deep sleep, hoping to forget the events of the day and praying never to experience
something like that again.
The next day was just like any other day, no one discussed anything. Simply playing to
the usual routines. I arrived at school as usual, being received by a surprised group of people
including friends and teachers. All asking the same question, What are you doing here?
Shouldn't you be celebrating with your new baby brother? Every time I was asked the question,
it stabbed at me like a knife that never relented. I would answer with the same line every time,
My baby brother didn't make it. That was the only sufficient response, and once answered
every single person would give me their condolences and rapidly change the subject in hopes of
cheering me up. As I remember this experience, I remain shocked myself that I attended school
the next day. Who in their right mind experiences a heart wrenching event like what I had gone
through and still picks up their lives the next day as if nothing had happened? My family thats
who.
Going through the week, the event was soon forgotten by all, and the wounds began to
heal. Life continued on and we had to rebuild. My mother was finally released from the hospital
and returned to the comfort of her own bed, the saddest part of the whole ordeal was watching
her struggle to recover. Every morning waking up, getting ready and seeing her lying in bed with
a face of pure anguish and disconnection. My mother suffered from postpartum depression for a
solid 3 weeks. I don't think she every fully recovered from it to be honest. She smiles through the
pain, but no matter what happens there is always a small reminder of what happened that day in
 !16

the back of her mind. Seeing her attempt to continue through life was difficult but just like
everything else I did during that time, I was completely oblivious to what it actually all meant.
 !17

Chapter 5
The Day I Became A Disappointment

There is nothing worse then telling your parents you did something wrong. Every kid
avoids it as much as possible. Thats why if you broke a vase, you would attempt to blame it on
your sister or dog, or clean up the mess and hope they never notice. No small kid ever owns up to
his mistakes and decides to have a civil conversation with their parents explaining the situation
and accepting the proper punishment. If they do, it was the only option left, or they're secretly a
sociopath. The only reason this never happens is because every child is afraid of getting in
trouble. They are afraid of some form of punishment, whether it is a verbal scolding, grounding,
or even a spanking that is a consequence dealt out after a mistake. Most parents would agree that
in order for the child to learn from their mistakes or wrong doings they need to be punished to
learn to never do it again. This is explicitly written out in the how to be a good parent manual
that you received when your baby was born, If you didn't get one, go see your doctor and hell
give you a copy.
 !18

I am very familiar with making mistakes. Like most people, I am imperfect. Some would
say that I have anger issues, others would say Im selfish and cynical, others would say my
biggest fault is being gay. Its always been that if you were gay, you were making the biggest
mistake in not only your life but in the eyes of God as well. Thats why growing up most
children are terrified of telling their parents they were gay, in fear of what would happen. There
are countless stories out there that parents disown, kick out, and punish their children after they
told them they were homosexuals. These are the things that most people are scared of when they
tell their parents, because they don't want to get in trouble, just like in any other regular situation.
The day I became a disappointment to my parents is still fresh in my mind as if it were
yesterday. I was in the 10th grade. Sitting in my AP European History class, barely paying
attention. Just a few months prior I had come out to my friends and I figured if my friends could
be that supportive then I could easily tell my parents. It had to happen sooner or later and I felt
that maybe my story would play out much differently than the horror stories I had heard.
During the majority of class I was trying to think of the best way to do it. To gently break
it to my parents that their perfect son wasn't as perfect as they thought he was. There was no easy
or even advantageous way of doing it. Then I made my decision, I would do it over text. Being a
modern and technologically savvy kid, it would be easy to write out all of my feelings about the
situation rather than talking about it. Plus, I hated confrontation more than anything in the entire
world, especially if it would involve crying. So I figured in order to spare my parents and my
sanity it would be best to do it through the phone.
So as my teacher was talking about the French Revolution and Robespierre, I began to
slowly open the door to the closet. I decided I should first come out to my mother, who I was
much closer with than my father. I started the conversation off in a seemingly cliche way.
Mom, we need to talk
Of course honey, what about?
Mom, this is really difficult for me.
What? Stevan Im working. Hurry and tell me.
Mom, you and I both know that Ive always been different.
 !19

Stevan what are you talking about? Why are you texting me? Shouldnt you be paying
attention in class
This is difficult for me to tell you, cant you pay attention? Mom, Im different.
Ok different how?
You already know, youve probably known for a really long time.
Known what Stevan?
Mom, Im just different, Im not like other boys my age.
Stevan, please don't tell me you're gay, I really cant handle this right now.
Im sorry mom, Im gay.
After that I didn't hear from my mother for a solid half hour. I tried to focus on the lesson
and get my mind back onto the French Revolution, but it was completely gone. I had just come
out and there was no going back. I could only imagine the possible outcomes. I would look at my
phone every ten-seconds hoping for a reply from my mother but at the same time dreading the
moment that it would come. I didn't want my family to treat me differently, all I wanted was to
be accepted for who I was and what I felt. That didnt happen. Soon I received a text from my
mother saying she was parked outside my school and that we needed to talk.
I couldn't dare face my mother, that was the whole reason I had texted her in the first
place was to avoid the confrontation. I just wasn't ready to deal with the consequences of my
coming out. I simply told my mother that I wasn't leaving, I was in class and this was more
important. She tired very hard to get me to go and have a conversation with her, she even tried
calling me several times. I just couldn't face her. Finally she gave up and left and I continued
through the day as if everything were normal, but I knew that my entire life had just changed and
most likely shattered around me completely. No one could tell the difference. I had put on a mask
of happiness and I was my usual cheerful and charming self while I was secretly falling apart and
crying on the inside.
I didn't want to go home after the school day was over. I knew what was waiting for me
at home and I didn't have the heart to face it. I tried to linger as long as possible at the school, but
finally I had to leave. I was still attempting to play out every possible outcome in my mind, but
 !20

every single one was as horrible as the last. There was no silver lining to this, there was no
positive lesson I could learn. I was royally screwed which ever way I looked at it.
I got home and my mother and father were waiting at home for me. I was completely
mortified, I couldn't confront both of my parents at the same time. I wasn't mentally prepared for
it at all. The first thing my mother did was start crying and she wouldn't stop until she cried
herself to sleep that night. My father was stone faced and emotionless as usual. I sat down on the
couch and they began their long extensive questioning. I don't remember any of it know that I
look back. I tried so hard to block out this unhappy memory that I have no recollection of
specific details. It was the worst day of my entire life, and my parents didn't seem like my
parents anymore, they seemed more like monsters. It seemed like I wasn't their son anymore. I
was this completely new and foreign entity that they didn't know how to handle. My coming out
was horrible, and there seemed to be no support.
My parents didn't seem to accept who I was in any way. We have strict religious and
cultural views and being gay went against every single one of them. The only thing they saw was
me completely throwing my entire future away. I honestly cant recall anything from the moment
I walked into my door after school until 11 oclock at night. Everything is a dark memory that I
try not remember. I can only imagine it involved a lot of tears and yelling form both parties.
It wasn't until later that night that I start to recall small details. My father telling me that
he still loved me. That if we were in Brazil, other families would have kicked me out, but that
would never happen to me. My mother crying in the door way of my bedroom all night long. My
sisters arriving home and wondering what was happening. My being too afraid to tell them that I
was gay. I feared their judgment, I still wanted them to love me and look at me the same. My
sisters joining in crying, the entire family in tears. The entire time each family member preaching
to me about the gospel and Heavenly Fathers plan for me, and how being gay goes against that
plan and what I feel can change. Constantly repeating that they loved me no matter what, that we
would get through this as a family. That this was my biggest trial in life, but we could push past
this into a brighter future.
The last thing I remember was begging everyone to leave my room. I laid in bed, crying
myself to sleep just praying that the events that had occurred would be erased from my mind. I
 !21

never wanted to experience a painful moment like that again. It was horrific and heart
wrenching. I knew my life would never be the same again, and that everything I had previously
known was crumbling around me. I fell asleep, tears staining my pillow and my face puffy and
red.
I woke up the next morning and following familiar family tradition, we continued on with
our lives and acted as if nothing had changed. I was actually happy that this was happening, it
gave me a break from the hellish ride and a chance to breath.
 !22

Chapter 7
Life and Advice of an LDS LGBTQ

When you come out of the closet, people expect a lot of stereotypical things to happen.
They typically expect you to cut off your non-accepting family, become a completely different
person, drink all day every day, go on a total rampage at as many gay clubs as possible, sleep
with as many men as possible, and give up everything from your past life including your
religion that seemingly doesn't accept you either. Im here to tell you that none of this has to
apply to you.
 !23

FAMILY
As luck would have it, I did none of those things. I never cut off my family. I actually feel
closer to them than I have in a long time. They seem more accepting and open to my life than
they originally were, and I feel as if I can finally be myself around them. They are loving and
kind people who just want to see me be happy, we still have our disagreements but we've
certainly come a long way. Its sad to see so many families torn apart because of one small
insignificant thing such as sexuality. That shouldn't be an influential factor in the way you love
your child. My family wasn't very accepting of my newfound lifestyle but they vowed to love me
until the very end. Tolerance isn't as good as acceptance, but it certainly is better than anything
else. Parents need to understand that discovering sexuality doesn't mean your child has
completely changed. They're not suddenly spawns of Satan running around attempting to
sodomize every living person. They just want to be happy, living the life they deserve. They want
to be loved by someone they can love in return, in every sense of the word. Coming out to your
family is the most emotionally scarring event ever to happen in a gay mans life, and it only
becomes worse when the family responds negatively. Regardless of whatever happens with your
family, don't let them go. Cutting them off isn't worth a lifetime of sadness without them. If they
don't want anything to do with you, force them to. Be as present as possible, love them as much
as possible, do everything in your power to remind them who you are and that loving a man will
never change that.

CHANGING
Another important thing that doesn't need to change is yourself. I didn't change a single
thing about myself when I came out. I don't talk in a high-pitched voice. I don't have piercings or
tattoos everywhere. I didn't change my personality to fit the gay stereotype at all. Its
disappointing to see some men who come out of the closet and feel its necessary to become a
completely different person. Granted there are the few who are finally able to be they way
they've always felt they should be but couldnt because of judgmental people, but then there are
 !24

those who simply change to fit in. They never had a high pitch voice, never had fashion sense,
never seemed feminine in any way. As soon as they come out and come to terms with their
sexuality they think they need to fit the mold of their new sexuality. Your sexuality doesn't define
who you are and your personality. You don't need to have feminine qualities to be gay, you just
need to like men. Its sad when we feel we have to change ourselves to fit into a group whose
soul purpose is celebrating peoples differences. We should be happy with ourselves, we should
be able to act in anyway we want to, but don't feel you need to get a $50 haircut and tight fitting
pants once you come out of the closet. Thats why I chose to be the same person Ive always
been when I came out. I wanted to remain masculine, spend $10 on a haircut, buy my clothes
from the same store, have a regular speaking voice, use normal colloquial terms instead of
fierce or other extremely offensive stereotypical words. There are different ways of expressing
masculinity and sexuality. Find what fits you and don't feel the need to change yourself just
because suddenly people know you're sexual preference. There isnt a set way of doing things,
but I am my own person and nothing sets me apart from the rest of the world, not my sexuality or
anything.

DRINKING
One more disappointing induction into the gay lifestyle is drinking. Most underaged kids
around the country are already drinking like their lives depended on it. In Utah it might seem a
little worse. Most kids doing it go to church the next day and pretend it never happened. In the
Utah gay community, regardless of age or religious background, drinking is a ritual act. You
respect it and do it as often as possible. When you come out of the closet, youre basically
expected to binge until you pass out for 3 days. I think it has to do with finally being able to do
whatever you want in regard to your sexuality that gay men feel they can finally do whatever
they want period, so they drink as often as possible. This mostly applies to closeted mormon
gays but the inference is still valid for the general gay population. Gays come out, they finally
have no religion or family to bind them, so they feel the need to be rebellious and do everything
they never could try before. So they drink constantly, almost to fill the void of their uneventful
lives. This doesn't just apply to alcohol, but drugs as well. It is sad to see people fall so far, they
 !25

want to be so different and rebellious that they forget who they really are. I chose not to drink,
not because of my religious ties, not because of my defiance against the stereotypes of the gay
community, but because of my own personal beliefs against alcohol. It makes you a different
person, leaves you like a shell, unable to control your thoughts or actions. I don't want to try
anything that can do that do me. I know if I try it once, Ill never be able to stop. So once again I
avoided the stereotypes of the newly freed gay man and didn't fall prey to the customary act of
binge drinking the days aways.

GAY CLUBS
When coming out, generally the first thing you do is get a fake ID. That allows for easy
access to alcohol, drugs and of course the coveted gay club. The holy Mecca for the gay
community, the watering hole for the hunting ground that is the gay lifestyle. Dont get me
wrong, there is nothing wrong with a gay club. Everyone needs a place to relax and have fun and
what better place for gay men then a club with other gay men. It makes perfect sense to have a
place where you can feel comfortable to hit on and dance with other people who have no
problem with it. The only problem is the need underaged gay people feel to enter into these
clubs. Its an easy place to get drunk and find men. I fully understand that meeting gay men is
extremely difficult. Its like finding a job, you either get it by referral or through the internet.
When you're at a gay club its so easy to find gay men, because they're everywhere. Every type
of guy from every walk of life, ranging from bear and cub to drag queen Beyonces. Its every gay
persons dream, a Grindr in real life but with alcohol and less dick pictures, but its not all roses
and lube. Every night drinking and partying isn't something newly outed kids should be getting
involved in. When you come out, you're in a completely vulnerable state. You want to be
accepted by someone and the best place is the gay community. However there is always a bad
apple in every barrel. People who show you the wrong way to live your life that might feel
fulfilling at first, but get you no where in the end. You don't need to go to clubs and parties every
night to feel included and involved. You don't need to become a borderline alcoholic to have fun.
Go out with friends, let them introduce you to men the old fashioned way. Go to a nice restaurant
or karaoke bar and make a fool of yourself. You don't need to drink and go clubbing to have a
 !26

good time and find people similar to you. You have everything ahead of you, wait until you're
older to drink and go clubbing. Itll be all the more fulfilling when you have discovered who you
truly are before you get mixed up in that.

SEX
Youve just come to terms with your homosexuality, congrats!!! Now you don't have to
sleep with half the gay population to prove it. The number one thing that gay men do when they
come out of the closet, is sleep with other men. Granted its the entire point of being gay in the
first place, but you don't need to do it with every gay man you see. Thats why we have such a
large number of STDs swimming around the gay community. Control yourselves. I know that
finding out sexuality can be exciting and different but you don't need to become a whore. Follow
what our straight ancestors have been doing for centuries. Fall in love, court someone, have sex
with someone you actually care about. Most importantly do it with protection, (thats a whole
other topic for another day). Dont have an orgy with as many gay strangers as you can find. Its
disgusting and shedding a negative light on the gay community. We have a stereotype of gay
whores running around trying to sleep with every man they see. We all know that isn't true but
there are the few out there perpetuating the stereotype and giving the rest of us gays a bad rep.
When you first come out, it can be such a new experience and you want to prove to yourself that
this lifestyle is exactly what you want, so you go out and sleep with the first gay man you see.
Self discovery is important, but it can also be detrimental. So come out of the closet, be happy
with who you really are, but wait to prove it to yourself. Hold off on sleeping with as many guys
as possible. In the long run you'll prefer dating and loving someone first before you get them into
bed. Plus one-night stands are so tacky, wouldn't you prefer a romantic candle lit dinner before
you get busy?

RELIGION
Last, but certainly not least, saying goodbye to the person you used to be. Its expected
that when you come out of the closet you need to throw away your standards and morals and
adopt the new gay code. You can no longer be religiously affiliated, the club is now your place
 !27

of worship and alcohol is your new sacrament. Lady Gaga and Katy Perry are your new High
Priests and Men.com is your new bible (some already visit the site religiously). You don't have to
fall into any of this. Certainly there isn't anything wrong with living the stereotypical gay
lifestyle, but there isn't a necessity to. Since coming out of the closet, I have never felt closer to
God. Most people cant understand how I can be so willing to remain religious, when religion
hasn't done anything for me. But they're wrong, religion has done everything for me. It has given
me guidance, hope, and an unyielding faith that a life of happiness awaits for a person like me.
Being LDS and homosexual isn't an oxymoron. These two things don't have to be mutually
exclusive. I have a faith in God, I have faith that he knows what is right and wrong for me. I
believe that I was born with a quality that doesn't need to define me nor hinder me in anyway. I
was born gay, not as trail to overcome, but as a testament to others that you can be happy and
live within the standards of the Church. I don't want to disown the life and teachings that I grew
up with just because my sexuality is different from others. I don't want to cut my ties with God
because I love another man. It shouldn't matter what or who I am, as long as I have faith in that
same person.
I believe that I can be born gay, live a righteous life with another man, father children,
raise them in a loving home, and still be praised in the eyes of God. I can listen to opposition to
this statement and still be firm in my belief that I can live both lives. That of a religious man and
that of a homosexual man. I don't need to live a heterosexual lifestyle, while being gay, to be
firm and living a righteous life. As long as I follow the commandments, try my best to be kind
and loving to others, try to perpetuate a life of faith and happiness, nothing else matters. Don't let
anyone tell you other wise. Have faith that God knows more than the people on earth. He has a
plan for all of his children, even the gay ones. We have to live a happy life, thats the point were
here. Live happy, follow church standards, love a man with all your heart, try your best to be a
better person, there certainly isn't anything wrong with any of that. I know from experience that
coming out and trying to remain faithful can be hard. Attending church, you feel out of place and
judged. You certainly have just as much right as anyone else to be there. You're not attending
church for the sake of others, you're doing it for you and your relationship with God. Go into
church with your head held high, absorb the lessons and teachings. If you're scared go with a
 !28

supportive friend or family member. Don't think you have to change yourself to be worthy. I
want to live a life with God a part of it. I want to be happy with my future husband, sitting in the
pews listening to talks on sunday. I want to have my kids grow up in primary learning church
songs and Book of Mormon stories. My sexuality shouldn't influence that, I will remain a Latter-
Day Saint for all eternity. Granted there are certain perks that I wont be able to enjoy such as,
temple marriage, endowments, garments, missions and other exclusive things, but I will remain
faithful. I will do as the Lord commands and have faith that one day, either in this life or the
next, I will know that what I am doing is right
 !29

Chapter 9
My Body & Me

As a child my outlook on life was always positive, Id always having a sunny disposition
and a cheerful attitude. I would laugh and make jokes, bringing a smile to anyone who was
around me. There was never a dull moment with me, every event was an excuse to be social and
outgoing, talking to anyone who would listen. There were times where it would simply be me
and an adult talking for hours, because I was so curious about everything. I also was a typical
child, participating in little league soccer that my mother forced me to be apart of. Taking piano
lessons from the lady down the street, going to elementary school and learning arts and crafts
and simple multiplication, my life was easy. It wasn't until about age 7 that my family forced me
to move from the town that had been my home for all my life. I had to say goodbye to all the
friends who had made my childhood so adventurous and fulfilling, and say goodbye to
everything that I had ever known. It was completely discouraging, being thrown out of your
element into a strange new world and not being prepared to adapt. Most people hate change, but
I despised it more than anything. New home, new school, new friends; much more than anyone
could handle. However being the assertive, Type A, borderline manic person that I was, I forced
myself to accept the changes and move on with my life, regardless of how dreadful or difficult it
was.
 !30

That forced change was difficult and definitely took its toll. Needing to find an outlet to
deal with my stress, I found myself in a completely different world all together, the literary
world. I loved reading more than anything. Each new book transported me into a new place, with
new people, all of which was stress-free. Rather than deal with my problems, I could observe
other people deal with theirs. Whether it was a prince saving a distressed princess or a wizard
boy attempting to live a new found magical life, theses stories were my chance to escape the
world I lived in and enter a new one. Never leaving the house without a book in hand, I was
reading as often as possible. The more I read, the more the real world seemed to melt around me
and disappear. My new outlet was exactly what I needed, it helped me feel safe. It was the
perfect situation, my new world within a world, but it came at a price.
3rd grade had started and I was still my usual self, reading and making friends as easily
as they came. I was having the time of my life. Suddenly my family moved once more. This
change wasn't as drastic as the last, since we only moved one town over, but that meant a
completely new school and new set of friends. Once again finding myself having to say goodbye
to my friends and move to a new home. This time around, it was harder to make new friends.
The more absorbed I was in my reading, the less social I became. The price for finding an outlet
for my stress had finally become apparent, and I found myself paying for it. Having hardly any
friends, and becoming a social outcast was taking its toll on me. I only had a small group of 2 or
so friends. It was difficult dealing with the newly evident situation at hand. I wasn't the same
person I used to be, things that came naturally to me were suddenly so difficult to achieve. How
had it become such a problem?
Suddenly subconsciously stressed out of my mind, I turned to eating my feelings of
anxiety and inadequacy. I was reading and eating my feelings away in order to cope with my new
life and the stress of having to make new friends and be perfect at all of it. I couldn't handle what
was happening to me. Becoming more and more introverted to the point where it was an anxiety
driven task to simply ask for help at a store or order at a restaurant. My eating had gotten out of
control and only added to the problem. By my sixth year in elementary school I weighed in at
about 150 pounds. Quite an astonishing number for such a young boy. This excessive weight
made me more self conscious and unhappy with who I was. It was a horrible cycle of eating my
 !31

feelings, reading to escape my undesirable circumstances and feeling less and less sociable. My
obesity was making it more difficult to make friends and I was constantly teased and made fun
of, which made me hate myself even more, forcing me to eat, read, and lose myself. Everyday I
would look at myself in the mirror and dreaded what I saw. I was alone, a nerdy book worm who
wore glasses, that would eat his feelings, basically the poster child of sadness. Let me remind
you that this was all felt by a small 6th grader at the time. Things no kid should ever have to deal
with or experience. Self esteem issues were pretty much reserved for angst ridden teenagers not
young elementary school kids.
But things weren't completely helpless for me as I grew older and transitioned from
elementary school to middle school, I was introduced to a new diverse group of people. They
were friendlier and there were more than the small exclusive group I had to see everyday in 6th
grade. I was able to make new friendships with all sorts of people and there were so many to
choose from. The first year or so was rough, as it was transitioning phase, but I grew into it. I
was suddenly adjusting to the new changes and I wasn't as sad. I had found new groups of
friends that accepted me for who I was, the weird fat kid that a had a pretty interesting sense of
humor. (After elementary school my outlook on life became cynical, causing me to develop a
witty and sharp sense of humor. Every comment was dripping with underdeveloped sarcasm.) I
was suddenly able to smile and make a new image for myself. Still having a continuing effort to
focus on my grades and reading, but now attempting to be social and energetic every chance I
got.
My new life still had its challenges. I was still bullied by upper class men for my weight,
my anxiety was still growing every day and my self esteem was slowly trying to be rebuilt but
would find itself crushed by even the slightest incident. It was a struggle but I had new friends
that I could count on to brighten my day and make me feel special again. They never knew what
they did for me, but I would always feel safer and happier being around them. It was a great
feeling knowing that I finally had someone to rely on.
Regardless of how much fun I was having or how comfortable I felt around my friends, I
couldn't help but still feel inadequate. Outside of my friend group, people still teased me. They
laughed at my weight, at my sense of humor, at everything. Middle schoolers are some of the
 !32

most vicious human beings on the planet. Theyre intelligent enough to pick out differences
among people, but not smart enough to keep it to themselves, instead they exploit it and ridicule
others.
I was still overweight and feeling as if I didn't belong. I would look at the other kids
walking through the hallways and notice how we were so different. Most were athletic, outgoing,
good looking, they all had millions of friends and seemed so popular. I was short, fat, and odd. I
had a small group of friends but I was far from popular. I knew I didn't fit in. I could hear the
snickering behind my back, I could feel the stares as I walked by. I was the butt of every joke,
the kid everyone made fun of but never to his face. It really hurt me, I would tell myself that I
was better than them, that I was going somewhere in life. I was smart and intelligent and they
werent, I was going to make a name for myself. I would tell myself that everyday, but it never
worked. I would still remain envious of all that they had, outgoing personalities and millions of
friends. It was difficult growing up feeling out of place and different, there were so many things I
had to deal with throughout my life, it seemed almost unfair but I braved the waters and made
the best of my situation. I finally decided that it was time to completely reinvent myself. It was
my chance to become a better person and finally show everyone the type of person that I was.
Goal number one in my reinvention plan was to develop my intelligence. I read as often
as possible and good grades naturally followed. School was becoming a breeze, so I decided to
focus on a new goal. I wanted more than anything to be skinny. Being unhappy with my body
image, I wanted to look like everyone else and feel self confident. It was a lot harder than
expected, trying to lose weight and become healthier. Its not something kids my age were used
to doing. I had no guidance, no way of knowing what was the right or wrong way of doing
things. Attempting dieting, exercising, anything and everything, nothing seemed to be working. I
wanted immediate results so I never stuck to anything for too long. It was a painful process,
having little resolve or intrinsic motivation to work out and become fit made it all the more
difficult. I had been such a lazy book worm for so long that it was difficult to get my body
moving and active. Finally after a year or two of trying, I gave up. Nothing was working and I
continued to be a giant butterball. Hating myself and feeling angry at not being able to lose the
weight, I felt inadequate and like a failure. I strived to be perfect but no matter what I tired I
 !33

would never be perfect looking the way I did. If I couldn't even shed a few pounds how could I
expect to be successful in anything else? I was beginning to give up on everything. My family
hadn't been much help either. They treated me just like the middle school brats did. My mother
and sisters pointed out my weight just as often as they could. Telling me, in a demeaning way, to
try dieting and see if that would help with some weight loss. They laughed, made jokes at my
expense and belittled me. Of course there was no intention of harm behind their actions, but it
still hurt. I would take their comments personally and it would make me feel more and more
inadequate. I couldn't even appear perfect to my own family, who was required to love me. I was
at rock bottom, and hating it.
During this entire ordeal with my self hatred, my family was experiencing hardships with
money. We always struggled financially, but it seemed more serious this time around. My family
let us know that things were difficult, money was tight, or we couldn't afford certain luxuries. We
were finally being open about our financial situations to each other. I never complained and I
understood, but I felt it was partially my fault. I felt that I was spending the money we didn't
have, I felt that we were in the situation because of my actions. My parents did everything to
provide for us. I loved them for trying to make our lives better than theirs, giving us everything
they never had. Soon the financial burden of my parents became mine as well. I tried every
possible way to save, cut certain expenses and not spend money. I didn't have much, and I never
asked for much either, I didn't want my family to suffer. It was a big burden for anyone to take
on, especially a kid of my age. Kids shouldn't have to worry about things like this but I did. It
only added to the ball of stress that I already had accumulating. Feeling responsible, I never
asked much from my parents never even asked for lunch money, choosing to not eat rather then
spend the $2.00 for a meal. It wouldn't have made a difference for my family, but it was one of
the few things that I could do to help. So I cut out one meal out of my diet. The small
contribution I could make to help my family through this financial struggle. It almost seemed
gallant and self less, they way I was so willing to give up something so simple and essential, to
help my family
The only problem with this sacrifice was that I also wasn't eating breakfast either.
Digesting food in the morning made me feel sick throughout the day. Cutting out two meals in
 !34

the day, I would go through the entire day without food, until 3 o clock, when I would arrive
home and eat a small snack. Whatever we had in the fridge to hold me over until dinner. That
was my diet, One full meal a day, in order to save money. It wasn't a well thought out plan, but it
was the best a kid with limited resources could do. It was difficult at first, going without food for
so long, but I adjusted. Soon I wasn't hungry at all. I had less energy, but my mind felt sharp and
attentive. I was finally beginning to feel like I was doing something right. It was a very drastic
measure to take, but I did it, for my family and for myself. Wanting to be independent and self
reliant. Hating, more than anything, being a burden to others, I sacrificed what little I had.
By now I was in the 8th grade and summer break was right around the corner. Everything
seemed to be the exact same. I was still attempting to be social and outgoing but I didn't feel like
it was working. I still had my group of friends and we were having just as much fun as before. I
was still eating only one meal a day, and I was feeling just fine. The only thing that bothered me
with my new lifestyle was that, even when I cut out eating almost completely, I hadn't lost any
weight whatsoever. It was surprising actually, to see that I had changed my habits so drastically
yet physically nothing changed. It wasn't until the summer rolled around that things began to
change.
In order to fit more academic classes into my schedule, I had to adjust certain classes and
take them during the summer. One of those classes was gym. This summer gym session lasted
for 1 month, 5 days a week, 8 AM to 11 AM. Gym classes had always made me feel
uncomfortable and awkward, since there were so many athletic and talented kids who showed
off. I felt out of place no matter what I was doing. Dreading taking this class, I forced myself to
do it, since I needed it for school. I told myself in order to be successful I needed to deal with
hard things, this being one of them. So I attended, every morning, never skipped a day. I was
lucky to have a few close friends in the class with me, which made it a little bit better. However
there were still kids from every school in the district there. Fresh faces that I didn't want to
socialize with, who made me feel anxious and nervous.
Everyday followed the same routine; stretch, go over announcements, run for 60 minutes
to train for the mile and a half, split into groups and play whatever sport we were learning that
week. We learned to football, baseball, golf, soccer, basketball, and volleyball. Each sport was
 !35

played in small groups made up of 10 to 15 kids. I hated the sports section of the day. I was
never coordinated and I felt awkward playing, because I was never any good. I avoided playing
at all cost, since there wasn't much supervision, you could get away with playing for five minutes
as long as you looked busy and interested for the rest of the time. But the worst part of the day
was the running. It was constant and there was no way of avoiding it. I liked it better than the
sports because I could run along side my friends and talk, but it was still awful. I was completely
out of shape, heavy breathing, awkward running, and just feeling uncomfortable along side
people who made it seem so effortless. I pushed I pushed through the pain and tried to make it
seems effortless as well. I pushed well beyond my limits to make myself seem more fit than I
was, even though it was glaringly obvious that I was not in shape, being 150 pounds and all. I ran
every day for those sixty minutes, panting for breath, the taste of blood in my mouth, lungs
barely able to expand. It was probably harder than it should have been since I was still adhering
to my unhealthy diet choices. It was summer but my body had become so accustom to only
eating one meal a day that I only could eat dinner. So imagine an overweight, less than active 8th
grader, running sixty minutes a day, with barely enough energy to move. It certainly was one of
the more difficult things I had ever done, but I didn't care. It didn't bother me anymore, and the
pain seemed insignificant. Pretty soon I was becoming better and better at handling the pain and
stress. I was adjusting, just like I had always adjusted to every uncomfortable situation.
Three weeks had passed and the miraculous had occurred. I had lost 30 pounds. It was an
extremely unhealthy amount of weight loss in such a short time, but I didn't care. I was finally
losing weight and thats all that mattered. I hadn't noticed the change until I weighed myself. It
was a miracle, but when I looked in the mirror I didn't notice anything different. I had gotten a
little bit taller and my face looked thinner, but I didn't feel any skinner. I felt like the same fat kid
that I had been three weeks earlier. I continued to starve myself and attend the gym class, finally
by the end of the month I had lost 35 pounds and I was beginning to notice a difference. My
family and friends noticed it too. I was taller, skinnier, and looking happier. I was finally
beginning to look the way I wanted to. I finally understood what was making me look and feel
this way, it was the lack of eating. One meal a day was the key to everything. (it obviously
wasnt, it was the constant exercising that was helping me lose weight but I didn't think it
 !36

through) It was the answer to all of my prayers. I had figured out the stress free way to lose
weight, stop eating. My body had adjusted to it already so it was easy to continue to stop eating. I
continued to eat only once a day throughout the summer. I went from 150 to 115 seemingly
overnight and I couldn't be happier.
School was back in session and I had made a complete 180. I bought a whole new
wardrobe with my own money. I reinvented myself as a stylish and skinny 9th grader. I was on
top of the world, finally an upperclass man and with renewed self confidence that no one could
crush. For once in my life I felt happy with who I was. My friends noticed the changed, but never
really commented on it. They were happy for me, but didn't care too much to say anything. Now
more and more people were noticing me besides my friends, they commented and complimented
me on my change. I felt changed for the better. I had self confidence to go out and be social. I
was suddenly making new friends, talking more and more to people. Going out of my comfort
zone to be sociable. It was as if I was a completely different person. My family noticed the
change and were excited. They loved the new me. I seemed happier and healthier, they could
almost see my new found self confidence radiating off of me. I had done it, I found the perfect
me. I did everything I could to be perfect and finally found the solution. Now it was my duty to
continue perfecting myself. Presenting myself better in every way possible. I never left the house
without looking amazing. No more sweatpants and t-shirts, only the best clothes that I could
afford. I wanted to appear intelligent, well put-together and beautiful. I felt like it, now I could
show it. I got a job at my parents restaurant, paid for my new lifestyle and became more self
reliant. By now my family wasn't struggling too badly with money, but I still didn't want to take
the chance, so I continued to provide for myself. I ate only once a day to keep myself looking
and feeling this way. I was finally happy with how life was going, I hadn't been happy for quite
some time and I wasn't going to let it go.
I continued to eat only once a day for the next three years. There were days where family
or friends would comment on my emaciated look, but no one ever did anything. Since 9th grade I
had gained 20 pounds from puberty and growing, but it made me furious. I refused to go back to
my old weight and I starved myself to remain at my new 135 pound weight. I could afford my
own lunches by now, but I chose not to eat. I figured that with my new dieting habits I could
 !37

remain as skinny as I wanted. I was borderline anorexic for 4 years of my life, simply out of fear
of gaining weight and being less than perfect in the eyes of my peers. I wanted to feel and look
beautiful and the only way I could maintain my facade was by starving myself. I was smart to
never cut out food entirely, I didn't want people catching on to my problem. I also didn't want to
place the burden of my eating disorder on my family, so I kept it regulated. Controlling it as
much as possible so it wouldn't cause alarm to others, but I could still look the way I wanted to.
Every time I looked in the mirror, I couldn't see a change. I looked and felt the same as I had
when I was fat in 8th grade. No one teased me or called me fat, but I did it to my self. I looked in
the mirror and saw fat that wasn't there. I saw an image that was clearly not mine. It wasn't
noticeable to me that I look like a twig. I felt I still had love handles, man boobs, and fat rolls
everywhere. I couldn't understand why I looked the way I did, I was skinner but not skinny
enough. My family commented on my miraculous change and never even suspected my eating
habits. I was too skilled at hiding the fact that I was starving myself. I always ate during family
dinner or when I was with friends, that way they never got suspicious, but anytime I was alone I
would never eat. It was a perfect plan and it was mostly done subconsciously. I knew what I
needed to do and I did it, all in the name of beauty and self esteem. At school I was outgoing and
gaining self confidence. My style had improved, my humor advanced, my out going personality
had come out. I was making friends with everyone, wanting them to see the new me.I had finally
accomplished everything I had ever wanted.
I never was diagnosed with anorexia, I was too clever to ever let it go too far. I didn't
want to face the embarrassment of my problem. It had been so many years of my life wasted,
trying to make myself beautiful. That was everything to me and the only thing I had, my beauty. I
didn't care how intelligent I was, or how friendly and social I had become. The most important
thing was how I was perceived as handsome. Every move made was meant to make me seem
more appealing. Money makes the world go round, but beauty is what makes the stars shine and
the worlds align. Greed might be the root of all evil, but vanity is the unfortunate byproduct. I
wanted to appear perfect, meaning I had to be intelligent, handsome, and good at everything. It
was this image of perfection that had ultimately driven me to become the person that I was. To
cut out meals and starve myself. I could lie to myself and say I did it for my family, and that may
 !38

have been the original intention, but it only ended up serving my own selfish needs. My own
inability to be happy with myself and the image that I saw everyday in the mirror.
It wasn't until I graduated high school that I finally realized the problems that I had
created. Attending therapy for my gay problems opened my eyes to the several different things
I was struggling with. I had an eating disorder, feelings of inadequacy, struggles with my family
life, an unhealthy drive for perfection, a constant battle with depression and countless more. I
had finally figured out who I was and what would really make me happy, it wasn't dieting and
hating myself, it was pushing myself to be better. I wanted to be a better person, and that wasn't a
bad thing, it was only a burden when it become impossible to achieve the things I wanted, like
perfection.
I finally began eating more than one meal a day. I still hated the way I looked, constantly
feeling fat and unattractive, but I understood what it might take to improve myself. Eating a
healthy and balanced diet, as well as regular exercise would help me achieve the chiseled body
that I wanted. I began gaining a healthy amount of weight back (some call it the freshman 15, I
called it the new me). I was far from being completely cured or even relatively healthy but it was
a start and I was glad that I was finally making a change. Everyday brought new challenges, but I
learned to face them. Every now and then I might relapse and feel horrible about my body image.
I might cry in the mirror at the weight I gained, cutting out my meals for the day. Or maybe my
family will point out the weight I gained, or that my pants don't fit, or I am looking a little
chubby (they still don't know that I struggled with body image issues), and it will send me into a
depressive spiral. I will cut out eating once again, but know I at least understand what I am going
through, why I feel the way I do, and nothing can hurt me the way it used to. I have grown as a
person and now look at each new day a little differently, hoping that maybe someday I can
finally be truly happy with the person that I am.
 !39

Chapter 10
Depression: The Still Darkness

Ive suffered from depression for most of my life. There were moments where I felt true
joy and happiness and there were other times where I simply didn't want to exist anymore. Going
through life, attempting to be happy and put on a brave face for everyone, left me tired and
broken. Most often no one knew about my depression, I was too good at hiding it. Depression
was a weakness that I couldn't bother with. I didn't want anyone to know what I was feeling, so I
hid behind a mask of happiness, going on with my business and pretending as if everything was
normal. No one ever knew what I was going through, it was nearly impossible to tell. I certainly
didn't act like other depressed people, I didn't look depressed either. I would go through the day,
making sure that I would do everything I needed to, finish every piece of work, as to not raise
any suspicion. How would anyone have guessed that I was alone, sad, and crushed underneath it
all?
 !40

One day the pressure of it all got to be too much for me. Every aspect of my life was
beginning to crash around me. I had just gotten into a huge fight with my father the day before,
my life at home was anything but cheery, I was alone at home and at school, I had hardly nay
friends, my life just seemed so sad and meaningless. I went throughout the day, just simple going
through the motions, not wanting to be there at all. I didn't speak to anyone at all. I ignored every
comment directed at me, every question raised. I simply was not in the mood to talk to anyone.
My friends were worried for my sake. They had never seen me in such a state before.
They were used to a happy and outgoing Stevan, not a sad and lonely one. So they would berate
me with questions, asking how I was doing or why I was acting this way. I avoided all of it, just
sick of everything and everyone. Earlier that day I had written a note, a note describing how
empty and alone I felt, questioning the entire point of life and why it was necessary to suffer
through so much pain. I didn't know what my intentions were with the note, I had addressed it to
my seminary teacher, who I liked very much. He was a very nice man, who cared for his students
and enjoyed having them around. In his classroom he kept a slotted box, he let students slip in
questions pertaining to the church that confused or baffled us. He would carve out ten minutes
each day to answer our questions and we loved how honest he was with his answers.
The note was written as a question, asking what the point of our existence was. Whether
it was all worth it in the end, whether it wouldn't be easier to simply end it all now and not have
to deal with the pain and suffering for the rest of our lives. I didn't know if my intention was to
slip him the letter, have him read it out in class, shocking everyone to their cores to see that
someone in that very room felt this way. I never did put the letter in the box, my friends got to
the letter before I could ever do anything with it. They found the letter and read it, crying the
entire time.
I begged them not to show it to anyone or talk about it ever again. I didn't want others to
know what I was feeling or going through. It was my personal business and they had no right in
sharing it with others. They promised me, but of course it was a hollow promise. Within the next
few days I was called down to the counselors office. My friends had slipped him the note and he
was extremely worried about me and my well being. It was his responsibility to report any
suicidal behavior to my parents and the authorities, since it could get out of hand. He instructed
 !41

me to get help from the school districts therapist, who dealt with cases like this. After a long
conversation between him, my mother, and several other people the matter was settled.
I went on through the day as if it had never happened. I confronted my friends, yelling at
them for betraying my trust. They said they did what they had to do, because they loved and
cared for me and didn't know what else to do. I wanted to hate them for what they had done to
me, but there wasn't much I could do. So I just pushed it down and ignored the pain until it went
away. I remained friends with them for along time after that, forgetting what they had done for
me. I went to my seminary class, where my teacher had been informed about my letter addressed
to him, he returned it with a note saying I had dropped it and he wasn't sure if it was intended for
him to see. He wrote a long paragraph instructing me on how much people cared for me and
loved me, including scriptures and sayings that were intending to motivate me into appreciating
life. He didn't handle the situation very well, but it was probably the best anyone could have
done.
After that I wished that none of it had happened. I simply wanted to disappear even more.
Now my friends, my mother, teachers, everyone disappointed in me. I was seen as less in their
eyes. They all had pity for me and what I was going through. I despised them for suddenly
noticing the pain I was going through, but they only noticed because I had to tell them. They
wouldn't have seen the pain and loneliness in my eyes, the sadness and darkness that was apart of
my everyday, it took a letter and an act for them to notice. It made me feel as if they didn't care
or even know me at all.
The depression only got worse from there, I was so alone, hating everything about
myself. My mother took me to the district therapist. She questioned me for an hour, but I put on
my mask of happiness and she barely even said a word. I had convinced her that nothing was
wrong with me, it was simply a lapse. My mother bought the therapists diagnosis and my fake
disposition and that was the end of that. But underneath it all there was still the pain and sadness.
The depression was growing and growing but I was learning to hide it even better. I stuffed down
all the emotions I felt, all the darkness that was around me and pretending it never existed. I went
through everyday acting as if nothing was wrong, that I was just as happy as every other kid, but
it was all just an act. To this day it still hasn't gone away. Every now and then, I can feel it
 !42

creeping up, trying to sink me down into its dark depths, dragging me down into the depressive
funk that Ive always been in.
No one really ever understands what you're going through, no one understands how much
depression hurts. Its a fog over your life, leaving you an empty shell. You're emotionless and
tired, lost and ready to give up on everything. Nothing brings you joy, nothing keeps you going.
You simply want to disappear, just to have this feeling stop. It feels like theres no solution to
your problems, like theres a giant weight on your shoulders just slowly suffocating you. Its hard
to go through life like this, with no one noticing. You want to scream at the top of your lungs, but
you don't even have the energy to open your mouth.
Depression is a still darkness that hangs over your life and leaves you wanting an end, but
it seems as if there is no end. I have suffered with it for many years, attempting to fight it. Its a
hard fight and some days are a better and easier than others, but its always there, waiting for a
moment of weakness. Don't let it take over your life. Fight as hard as you can. Hopefully I can
overcome it one day, but today certainly is not that day.
 !43

Chapter 11
Daddy & Son

More often than not, gay men have a bad relationship with their family. It can stem from
coming out of the closet and being disowned for your sexuality, or it could come from long
before then. Thats why gay men have daddy issues. Its easy to interpret these issues with
family members as the cause for our inherent sexuality, and in some cases it actually might be a
way to lash out against an unloving parent, but most of the time it isnt. We gays are born a
certain way, that makes us no different from everyone else, were just simply attracted to our
same sex. But the fact of the matter is, there is a large number of homosexual men with difficult
relationships with family members.
For me, the tension was between my father and me. We never seemed to have a very
close relationship with one another. We were two very different people, with different priorities
and levels of seriousness. Since an early age my father has always been a jokester of sorts. He
would laugh and poke fun at anyone and anything. Most of the time they were crude sexual
jokes, that could be easily misinterpreted as a sexist, but it was all in good fun and never had any
seriousness behind it. For me, I was a very precocious child. I took things seriously and literally.
I would laugh and crack jokes, but I was serious most of the time. This opposition between my
fathers and mines personality, left a rather giant riff between us as I grew up.
 !44

I remember an event as a child where I was crying for some odd reason. I don't quite
remember why, but I was wailing to my father. He had friends over and my mother was
entertaining them, they were close friends and constantly around so they felt more like family.
Which let me feel comfortable around them enough to cry incessantly. However my father
always had alternative methods of raising us and hated crying more than anything. He couldn't
tolerate one minute of it. So as a way of being humorous in front of his friends and in an attempt
to stop my crying, my father lifted me up in one swift movement and placed me on top of the
kitchen cupboards. There was a small space between the ceiling and the top of the cupboard
where a kid of my size fit perfectly. I don't know where in my fathers mind he would think this
would shut up a crying child, but it only made me cry even more. I was afraid of heights and had
a fear of falling off, so I cried and cried some more, loudly trying to get him to take me down.
My father found this experience extremely hilarious and entertaining, enough so to take a
picture of his wailing child and keep it forever (we still have this picture in an old scrapbook of
ours). My father and his friends laughed and laughed as I continued crying and begging him to
bring me down. He refused to do anything until I stopped crying, which took a lot longer than he
expected. Finally my mother came into the kitchen and told him to take me off the cupboard. He
reluctantly listened, but they both found it amusing that I was up there and crying so much.
Now I may have dramatized this experience a little, and it certainly wasn't as extreme or
serious as it seemed, but for a small kid it was horrifying. I hated every moment of the
experience and as we look back on the photo of a sad boy crying on the cupboard and laugh
about it, I cant help but feel a little resentment and hatred towards it. I didn't like that experience,
yet everyone always finds it incredibly amusing.
You're probably wondering what any of this had to do with my detachment from my
father, but this was the beginning of it all. This insignificant experience is the start of a sad and
rocky relationship I had with my father. Growing up I felt distant towards my father, feeling as if
I didn't have anything in common with him. He was constantly working, that was pretty much all
his life consisted of. Leaving for work early in the morning before I went to school, then getting
home late, past 9 or 10 oclock, which left little or no time for bonding. Now Im not resentful of
 !45

my fathers work ethic. He did everything to provide for my sisters and I and we meant more to
him than anything in the world. He just had difficulty showing it.
Growing up in Brazil, surrounded by Brazilian culture and standards, my parents did a lot
of things differently when it comes to children. Disciplining your child is something that is
expected and almost demanded on all occasions. Corporal punishment is the only form of
discipline that they used. If you bad mouth your peers, step out of line, do something that needs a
teaching moment, words were never exchanged, only a swift crack down. Now this is normal in
most countries except for the US. This was the way my father was raised and how he raised us.
Being cold and distant was the only way he knew how to act, especially towards me. With my
sisters it was always easier for him to show them love and compassion. Theres always that
special bond between daddy and daughter. Kind of similar to the bond I had with my mother.
My dad was hardly around growing up, and whenever he was, it seemed like he was
always fighting or disciplining me. I used to just accept the fact that this was the way all father
and son relationships were like. The father was emotionally distant and demanding and the sons
just had to suffer through it. Whenever I saw my grandfather and father together they seemed
pretty distant from each other. But every time I would see other family dynamics like my friends
and their dads, they always seemed happy together. I guess coldness ran in the family between
the Lopes men. My friends and their dads would do fun things together and wanted to be apart of
each others lives. Heaven knows my father tried to share special interests with me.
He tried everything. He put me in soccer, we got matching mopeds, he bought me a go-
kart thinking I might be into racing. He tried countless things to give me something we could
share together, but it never seemed to work. I either hated whatever we did or we would always
end up fighting.
We had had our fair share of fights over the years. My father would say something
infuriating and Id end up yelling at the top of my lungs about how much I truly despised him
and hated him, wishing I had never been born into our family. Or other times I would say or do
something that would set my father off and he'd end up with a belt or sandal in his hand. Ive had
my fill of spanking but that was just the way things were.
 !46

My father never understood me, we were two completely different people. I never knew
much about him or what he was thinking or feeling. He kept very much to himself, whenever he
was around we would get into fights about every little thing. He never understood how anxious I
was about everything, or how perfection driven everything was for me, or how little self esteem I
actually had. He thought I was the same exact person he was, a carbon copy. I was nothing like
him and he didn't seem to understand that, so we would clash over everything. Every small detail
would escalate into a flow blown fight. Both yelling and screaming at each other, neither quite
understanding what was beneath it all. We were two different people, in two different stages in
life, both trying to make the other understand their intentions.
It never worked, we would only end up fighting more and none of the fights were ever
resolved, like they do in family sitcom TV shows. We would just fight, get it out of our systems
and the next day pretend it never happened. There was never an Im sorry or an I love you.
We just simply let it go, unresolved, until it came out again in our next fight.
We never communicated or expressed our feelings in anyway, keeping everything bottled
up until finally we would both snap and be at each others throats. It certainly wasn't a healthy
relationship, but it was the only way either one of us knew how to handle things. My grandfather
was raised that way, he raised my father that way, and now he was raising me the same. I
promised myself I would never end up like my father, that no matter what I would always love
and care for my children, giving them my undying devotion and attention. But as each day passes
I find myself acting more and more like my father. I have zero patience when it comes to
children and their whining. Im cold and distant occasionally with people and every once in a
while I just have the urge to unbuckle my belt and teach some kids a valuable lesson. I guess its
pointless pretending that we wont all end up like our fathers, we always do in the end. But id
like to think that someday, when I do have kids, Ill be able to balance the two sides.
Be loving, nurturing and expressive when needed and cold, demanding, and punishing
when necessary. That was the beauty of my parents, they each had their role to take on to raise
me right, my father just got saddled with the unfortunate job. My parents did everything right,
they raised me to love and care for others and be the best that I could possibly be. Its amazing
how parents can be so wise, when really they have no idea how to handle their own lives.
 !47

When I found out that my father had cheated on my mother, it wasn't until 20 years after
the fact. I was rummaging through some old letters and memories in a trunk my mother kept in
her room. Inside were our baby pictures, important documents we needed, and other odds and
ends. I found a letter that was addressed to my father from the church offices. I was curious to
read it, on account that I had never seen letters from the church before, I didn't even know they
sent things out.
I began to read it, but I soon regretted it. Written inside was counsel on how to handle
adultery. My father wasn't going to be excommunicated, but he would have to refrain from
partaking sacrament for quite sometime. The letter droned on about scriptures and how the love
and bond of marriage is sacred. I stopped reading the letter, completely shocked at what I had
just read. It didn't make any sense, my parents were madly in love with each other. This wasn't
possible, I wondered if my sisters knew, my parents always kept secrets hidden from me because
I was the youngest, but my sisters must have known.
My mind was spinning, I was trying to make sense of it all. Did this mean that my parents
love wasn't as strong as I though it was? Was there no hope for me when I decided to get
married? There didn't seem to be such a thing as true love anymore if the 27 year marriage of my
parents was all just a lie.
After an hour of complete shock and bewilderment, I put everything back in its place and
pretended as if nothing ever happened. I still don't know whether my sisters knew anything about
it, or the full story behind it. My parents, to this day, probably don't even suspect that I knew
about my fathers adultery. I simply pushed it down and moved on with my life, much like what
my parents must have done after the event in question had occurred. From that point on I never
could look at my father the same way or the love he shared with my mother. None of it made any
sense and it still baffles me to this day. Most often I look past the incident all together and
honestly if my parents could work past it, I could too. It obviously meant nothing to either one of
them, but I couldn't help feel they had no right to judge me or give me input on my love life and
sexual interest in men. Their life wasn't exactly as perfect or in accordance with God either. This
whole incident certainly didn't help with my relationship with my father. It simple angered me
more and made me lash our at every stupid little thing. I learned to get over everything, I never
 !48

let it bother me to much, because it wasn't important. I knew that they had resolved whatever
issues they had in the past, and that their love was something that nothing could truly shake. The
past was in the past and there was nothing I could do to change it, it had happened 20 years prior
and I knew my father didn't have any bad intentions when it came to my mother.
Years later, I look at my parents and see that their love is just as strong as the day they got
married. My father tired his best at everything, but he was only human and we all have our trials
to face. He tried his best, tried to love my mother and never stray from her, tired to give me
counsel on my life and the choices I needed to make, tired to give me everything that he never
had, but it all came at a price and I had never noticed he was paying it. He was so involved in
providing us with everything and dealing with the demons in his life that he lost track of time,
didn't get to do everything he wanted with us, didn't get to share his love for us, that the way he
acted was just because of the situations he was in. It took me long time to understand this, and I
wish I had known this growing up, it would have saved us a lot of fighting and tears, but Im
glad that I learned it at all, so I can learn to appreciate my father for the great man he is, rather
than focus on the flaws that were apparent.
Its an unforgiving job, being a father. You do everything to give your child the best but
they only grow up unappreciative of what you did give them, and regretful of what you couldnt.
My father and I may have our differences, he may be cold and occasionally emotionless, but I
still love him. With age he has grown softer and kinder, taking advantage of showing me love
and compassion. Ive matured and learned to look at everything form both sides and to never
take anything as it seems. This has helped our relationship grow, its certainly not perfect. Very
far from it, but its a good start. Hopefully as the years go by and we both become softer and
weathered down by lifes experiences, we can learn to appreciate and love one another even
more and accept both of our differences, just the way we are.
 !49

Closing Remarks

As I said before, this book wasn't written for you. It wasn't intended to fill your heart with
sympathy over my life experiences, it wasn't supposed to make you laugh at my witty and
sarcastic comments, and it certainly wasn't intended for you to be envious or happy for my
choices. I wrote it to learn something valuable about myself. To finally understand who is behind
the mask.
Ive gone my entire life living behind a mask, hiding my true self. If you asked me who
my true self really was, I couldn't tell you because that person was lost a long time ago. There
was always something I was trying to hide. My real interests, my sexual identity, my wit and
charm, my intelligence. There were reasons to hide all of it, behind a dark and permanent mask. I
didn't want people seeing the real man behind it, out of fear of judgment or ridicule. I hated
myself, and still struggle to find the happiness in my life. I certainly try everyday to find it, but
its proven itself much more difficult to obtain. I certainly will continue to have obstacles,
regardless of wherever life takes me. Thats the burden of living a gay lifestyle, its never picture
perfect, especially trying to live a life within the standards of church that doesn't necessarily
believe you should. I will have challenges to face and there will be times where my mask will be
impossible to remove. Ill try to hide behind it, attempting to be perfect and something that I
know Im not. I will look at myself in the mirror and find disgust in whatever looks back at me. I
may never find the love of my life that Im desperately searching for. I may be excommunicated
and ridiculed by the church that I love dearly and hold close to my heart. But nothing can ever
take away the love of my family.
 !50

I know Ive written horrible things about them and it seems as if we have hardly anything
to do with one another, but they mean the world to me. They aren't evil monsters bent on ruining
my life, they want whats best for me. In a world thats so cruel and unforgiving, its important to
have people who will love and care for you for the rest of your life. If anyone is a true monster in
this scenario, its me. Ive never appreciated the love and respect my family have shown for me
and I never could ask for anyone better than them. I don't deserve their love and affection, but we
balance each other out. Were certainly not perfect in any way, shape, or form, but were meant
for each other. God truly knew what he was doing when he placed us together, and I cant thank
him enough for it. So don't think ill of my family and the horrible things that Ive written about
them, every family has their problems. I just made mine much more public.
And don't think worse of me either. Im a man trying my best. I have my issues and I
have my flaws but they are what make me unique. There are somethings I can never change
about myself, and there are somethings Im desperately trying to, but I am who I am; Flaws and
all. Hopefully one day I will be able to completely remove my mask. Hopefully I wont be driven
by perfection and feel the need to hide behind my sarcasm and indifference. There may come a
day where I wont need to be cruel and unloving, dark and morose. Maybe I wont hate myself and
be shrouded in feeling of inadequacies in every little thing I do. There may a day where I will
finally be happy, but there will never be a clear answer as to when.
I dont know what the future holds for me and honestly it terrifies me to my core. I
cant think of what my life will be like, who ill be with, or if ill even have a future to write
about. I just know that if I want anything, anything in my life to turn out the way I want it to be,
I need the love of a man. I don't need the love of my future husband, or the love of my father. I
don't even need the love of God. I just need to learn to love myself, and the rest of the pieces will
fall into place. I will learn to better appreciate what God has given me, learn to take each day as a
step towards a brighter future. Learn that nothing is as it seems, and that I will be happy one day,
I just need to see what really matters in life. I know one day I will be closer to God, I will know
that what Im doing in life is worth something. I know that one day I will be happy with the man
I love and the kids we have together. I know that one day I will appreciate every sacrifice and
cold gesture my father has given me was simply out of love. I know that one day, I will
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appreciate my own beauty and intelligence for what its worth, rather than knock it down like I
have been. Life is what you make it and I hope that someday in the future, I will make a name
for myself and finally be able to appreciate all the people in my life and what they have done for
me.