You Find Out Who Your Friends Are

Some of you may find this sarcastic and rude, some of you may find this loving and sincere. You're all correct...it's everything, but I certainly have no intention to offend.  Sure, there is a slight "airing of grievances" feel, but it's just a jumble of my thoughts.
You find out who your friends are when they visit you regularly,
When they support you at your job by SPENDING MONEY to see your work's latest play or attraction,
When they don't complain about the price of your work's shows or admission,
When they don't ask you if they can get in for free or for a discount,
When they know your job title,
When they know what your actual job duties are (If you spend the time explaining them, that is.),
When they know your major,
When they know your minor...s,
When they come to Europe with you,
When they do all they can to go to Europe with you but just plain can't go,
When they stab you in the back,
When they leave and never come back,
When they leave without saying goodbye,
When they tell you all the things you do that drive them absolutely insane but let you do them anyway because it doesn't really matter,
When they won't tell you what's bugging them and keep it all inside until they either fade away or blow up in your face,
When they say "I love you,"
When they say "I hate you,"
When they call you a fag,
When they call you a bitch (or betch),
When they like your boyfriend so much they can hang out together without you,
When they put on a gas mask for you,
When they make a fool of themselves in front of you,
When they let you vent about your frustrations with the LDS Church and just say "I know! I'm so sorry!  It sucks!" rather than starting a fruitless debate,
When they accept a present from you,
When they fail to accept a present from you,
When they give you a present,
And when they ask you what you'd like for a present so you receive something you'd actually like to have.

Simple Pleasures

Stepping on gooey tar on a hot summer day.

Newly painted street lines (especially on a newly surfaced street).

Freezing cold tap water in the dead of winter.

Slipping into a bed with fresh, clean linen just after a shower.

Staring at your favorite piece of art when no one understands why you love it so much.

Staying up too late reading a textbook that's just too good to put down.

Daiquiri Ice.

Pants that fit.

Blogging.

Orange chocolate.

Mint chocolate.

Raspberry chocolate.

Chips and salsa.

The complete and utter silence during a heavy winter snowstorm.

Listening to the same amazing song over and over and over again.

Staying up way too late watching TV on my MacBook in bed.

Lunch at University Hospital.

Computers that work.

Friday nights.

Secondhand smoke-induced Europe flashbacks. 

Juicy nose-clearing sneezes.

Laughgasms - aka, Laughing Attacks.

She Spies and D.D. Cummings.

ThinkGeek.

Gay cinema.

Cuddling with my boyfriend.

Marilyn Monroe.

World.

Depression, Anxiety, Love...and Other Drugs

*tap*tap*tap*

I can't write.
Why?
Well, the title pretty much explains it all.  It's also not vague in any way.

Okay, maybe it's a little vague considering I kind of copied a movie title a little tiny bit.

I have depression and anxiety.  Both are likely inherited (thanks, parents).  I have always been a rather anxious person.  I figure a large portion of my anxiety was actually learned and conditioned considering I grew up "different" and Mormon.  To say the least, that calls for a lot of nervous times.

Of course I have also been depressed at times...even suicidal.  But this time it's different.

Miserable Emptiness

There's no foundation to the sadness.  I feel an emptiness I believe could never be reconciled.  A void that could absolutely never be filled.  I don't want to do anything.  I don't want to move.  I don't want to talk.  I don't want to wake up.  I don't want to sleep.  If I sleep, I have to eventually wake up and...and...do something.  I don't want to see my friends.  I don't want to see my boyfriend.  I don't want to see my family.  It makes me sick.

I want to quit school.  I want to quit my job...s.  I want to quit.  I don't necessarily want to die, but I want to hurt myself so I can prove to you all how sick I am.  So I can prove to you how much I need to quit school...to quit my jobs...s.

I want to run away.  Running away will fix everything.  It will fix nothing.

I'm in love.  It's weird to be in love for the first time and also be extremely depressed.  And then to be taking an antidepressant that increases your anxiety five-fold.  I'm in love.  Why now?  What bizarre timing.

I want to run away...with him.  That will fix everything.  It will fix nothing.

I can't write.
I'm afraid to write.
I'm afraid to tell you what is going on with me.
I'm again afraid of being judged and having even more stereotypes hurled at me.

I want to run away.  I'll run until the pills, pills, and more pills kick in and fix everything. They'll fix nothing.

They won't fix me.
They won't fix my family.
They won't fix the business.
They won't fix my boyfriend.
They won't fix my relationship with him either.

I guess I have to participate too.

I want to run away.  I want to hide until I have the energy to help the pills.

They're so demanding of me.

Burdened Bench

Hobos sleep
Kids climb
Women breastfeed
Lovers cuddle
Parents watch
Cats catnap
Dogs are tethered
Birds drop
Gossip whispers
Newspaper reads
Women womanized
Men hypermasculinized
Passers-by people-watched
Hair mocked
Clothing scoffed
Jealousy onlooks
Coworkers conspire
Strangers confide
Always vacant
Until needed

What a burden for slabs of wood and cast metal to uphold.

Inspired by:

Garry Winogrand
World's Fair
New York, 1964

This I Know

I would give my life if it would save even one person from having to go through the mental misery, emotional agony, and spiritual hell I went through to get where I am today.

This I know:
God exists.
I am one of His children.
He loves me.
He wants me to be happy.
He will help me find happiness here in this life and in the next.
I can have a personal relationship with Him.
He will answer me.
God knows I'm gay.
My spirit was "gay" before I was born into this life.
I will be "gay" in the afterlife.
It's okay.
I can have an eternal family with another man.
I can have spirit children with another man.
The Church's current stance on gays is simply incorrect.
One day more will be revealed.

What do you do?

What do you do when the ones who love you don't love you any more?
What do you do when you don't feel safe in your own "home"?
What do you do when hypocrisy is the head of your household?
What do you do when fear and dread won't let you sleep?
What do you do when you hear hatred bang on your bedroom door?
What do you do when you bruise easily?
What do you do when you're freezing?
What do you do when you're already hurting?
What do you do when you can't leave?
What do you do when your pillow can't absorb any more tears?

What do you do when you want to do nothing at all?
What do you do when hate everything you're doing?
What do you do when you don't even want to listen to your favorite music?
What do you do when your legs bounce like Thumper's do?
What do you do when your homework reads like a foreign language?
What do you do when you're numb?
What do you do when you're bouncing off the walls?
What do you do when you want to bury yourself in a hole?
What do you do when you want to fall asleep and not wake up until it's better?
What do you do when it feels like your world is falling apart, only the world hasn't even noticed a crack?

I don't know what to do.

Leaves

I want to leave this place.
I want to be somewhere lacking majority;
everyone is minority;
no privilege;
and that's what makes it perfect.

I want to leave this place.
I want to live somewhere I "belong";
extra-long stares and gawks unthinkable;
no double-takes;
and my normal is (your) normal too.

I want to leave this place.
I want to settle somewhere safe;
drama and heartache more bearable;
no knives in back;
and knowing someone has mine.

I want to leave this place.
I want to reside somewhere rich in kahones;
label dodging unnecessary;
no fear of being found out;
and we all have the balls to be.

I want to leave this place.
I want to exist somewhere that gives a damn;
bullying and suicide not taken lightly;
no 'jokes or 'phobes;
and hateful misunderstanding has no clout.

I want to leave this place.
I want to stay somewhere gray;
black and white absurd;
no "my way" nor "highway";
and being is not "just a phase."

I want to leave this place.
I want to dwell somewhere dreamlike;
this destination nonexistent;
nowhere is this blissful;
and what makes me think leaving will help?