Let's forget

I don't know how to begin.

I don't know what to say.

I don't want to give false hope. I don't want to give false expectations. I don't want to offend.

But I want to speak.

To write.

To tell the pain and joy and swelling and shrinking of my heart. To share how perfect the little moments are, and how scary and wide other moments become.

I feel as if I am standing on the edge of a wide chasm, with no bottom in sight. I am so high, so very high. One wrong step and I'll be plunging down, down....

I am so happy. So much happier than I've ever been. I feel like half of a whole; that my rough edges have matched up with someone else's, and that together, we form a perfect fit. I can't imagine my life as it was, and I can't imagine my future alone.

I wake up every morning happy, and adventurous, and excited.

Except for those few.

Those few when doubts creep in.

It's hard to tell what will set it off. This time, it was having to lie. "Did you go to church today?"

"Yes."

Little does she know I haven't been to church, out of choice, in over 7 months. That I don't plan to go back. That I need space.

I can't tell if I'm full of courage or full of fear. But it has to be one of the two.

It's funny; at some point, my family stopped being my family. The love is not unconditional; its as conditional a love as I've ever known.

He is my family. He loves me no matter what. He treasures me. He knows me. He has seen my soul, and he loves me for it.

I wish we could run, run and forget. Forget that there was every anything except us.

Bends with the remover to remove?...

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

If you love someone, do you ask them to do things they find impossible?

Do you ask them to stay when everything in them is screaming to leave?

Do you steal the few moments of freedom they have left every day to satisfy someone else?

I guess that just means he loves me less than I love him. 

For 8 months now, I have given and given and given, and I keep asking for the one thing I need:

FREEDOM.

But it's the one thing he can't give me. We talk for hours of our future freedom, of plans and happinesses yet to come. But how much mud and shit do I have to slosh through before we get there? Some dreams may not be worth the years of suffering and work they require. Some dreams may. 

So which are these?

I need a man, someone that can, with me, put our needs, dreams, hopes, and ideas ahead of everyone else's. I need someone that can hear me when I cry for help. I need someone who can understand that I can't be caged in.

Part of me wishes I had never met him. That we had never started dating. I had JUST broken free of all the weights and shackles I've spent my LIFE carrying around, and now? I am burdened with new weights, new shackles, new people to impress.

I wish you would get rid of the instinct to run, he tells me. 

Then give me something to stay for. Come with me somewhere where we don't need to run. Neither of us. 

I know he can deliver on all the plans we've made.

But what if there isn't enough left of me to enjoy it? 

I'm young today. I'm energetic today. I want to be free today. 

My life has been full of laters, and tomorrows, and somedays. I guess I just foolishly thought that my laters were nows, my tomorrows were todays, and my somedays were quickly approaching.

When we met in the Dominican Republic, I thought I had finally found someone who would come on adventures with me. Who would realize that the dream of adults? It's bullshit. Living like your life is a never-ending gap-year is the only way to live. 

The way he spoke of his parents, I pictured the people who expected their children to find their own pathway; the kind of people who don't try to control or make decisions for them. All the things he was allowed to do were so opposite of what I was used to. It turns out they just control in a different way.

So part of me wishes I had never met him. Because the life that I want today? He cannot come with me. I came with him, I work for him, I sacrifice for him. 

He won't give an inch, and I've given a mile.

I don't want to leave him. But I want to leave. I wish that I finally had someone who loved me enough to make my wishes his wishes, as I have made his mine. 

I guess I always knew that I feel things differently than other people.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints released the following statement today regarding the decisions announced by the United States Supreme Court on cases involving marriage:

"By ruling that supporters of Proposition 8 lacked standing to bring this case to court, the Supreme Court has highlighted troubling questions about how our democratic and judicial system operates. Many Californians will wonder if there is something fundamentally wrong when their government will not defend or protect a popular vote that reflects the views of a majority of their citizens.

"In addition, the effect of the ruling is to raise further complex jurisdictional issues that will need to be resolved.

"Regardless of the court decision, the Church remains irrevocably committed to strengthening traditional marriage between a man and a woman, which for thousands of years has proven to be the best environment for nurturing children. Notably, the court decision does not change the definition of marriage in nearly three-fourths of the states."

I have a problem with this.

A HUGE, HUGE problem.

Not because I believe in marriage equality, even though I do. Not because the church is upholding its support of traditional marriage. Not for any of those reasons.

But because it is petty and immature and feels like someone lashing out in anger rather than responding in a calm, rational way. 

Let me explain.

I have repeatedly been taught by this same church that the men who founded our government were inspired by God to do so to pave the way for religious freedom. These inspired men included a set of checks and balances built into the very fabric of the government - a way to make sure no one's rights are being infringe on, and that the government (and the people) aren't acting in a way that is inappropriate. This judicial check on popular opinion might have had an effect on, I don't know, pre WWII Germany? Where a majority of the people thought Jews were the scourge of society?

It's there so a majority vote that is unconstitutional can be overturned. Such as the majority vote to make a group of people not qualify for a list of civil rights based on sexual orientation.

So I find it troubling that the church is suggesting to its members that the built-in checks and balances we have are the enemy when something doesn't go our way.

I also find it troubling to have a petty little final line about how this MONUMENTAL and HISTORY CHANGING decisions really has done almost nothing to deter OUR goals.

In short, this statement is a perfect example of the reason I can believe that while the men who run the church are good men, they may not be receiving inspiration all the time. The voice behind this statement is not what I know the voice of God to sound like or look like. 

And here are some quotes by those inspired founding fathers:

Short skirts

I have a burning desire to write about today's DOMA ruling in the Supreme Court. (If you want to know the facts, see here.)

I also have a burning desire to write about my church's response, and how much it angered me. (If you would like to see the official statement, see here.)

But my thoughts are jumbled and full of heat of intellectual passion, and I need a few days to process them. Otherwise I'll just look like Miss Utah answering an interview question.

And to be honest, I am hesitant to post about the things I want to post about, because I don't want to offend people with my small liberations I'm taking from the lifestyle I lived when I was 100% in the church. I still take my religion very seriously, and I believe in the pure Gospel of Christ. I can't handle the organization that surrounds it, including the extremely patriarchal nature of the temple. (I believe that there are meant to be ordinances, but that something, somewhere, went wrong there.) I know this may differ from your views. Just know I respect yours. And I'm not trying to flout anyone's beliefs when I have some small celebrations.

It's been about a month since I removed my garments. And I still dress the same - same modesty standards, everything.

Today, however, I bought a skirt that hits about 3-4 inches above my knee.

It was on sale. And it looks DANG GOOD on me.

And that small act is so symbolic for me. There is nothing even remotely inappropriate or suggestive about the skirt. It is modest, and decent, and doesn't expose me. I'm just celebrating my ability to see modesty in a way that wasn't taught to me as a link to my personal relationship with God. I believe he cares more what's on the inside than the outside, and that my new skirt doesn't offend Him.

It's a step into what I believe is the next phase in my relationship with God, with my body, and with myself - where I don't have imposed standards that dictate my relationship with deity.

Anyway. I wanted to celebrate. Quietly, in my own little corner of the internet.

Bitch

So I read this book, once.

It's called "Why men love bitches".

This is the cover. I am ashamed to admit that I read this. Avidly.

And it talks about lots of things. Like why breakups are the worst (because you altered your whole life around this person, and now there's tons of empty stuff in your life when they are gone), and how to get your significant other to do things, and how to get out of doing the laundry and cooking. It's awesome. I bought it in Bangkok International Airport. I wanted it, but was too embarrassed to buy it in front of my extremely educated and literary sister. When her plane took off, that book was MINE.

One thing the author never really does is define, in one sentence, what a bitch really is. She describes this "tongue in cheek" bitch she is meaning to describe.

I am here today to define the word bitch.

Bitch (noun): A woman who does whatever she wants no matter what anyone else wants. No matter what.

Now that that is clear, I need to vent.

Swiss boyfriend's half ghanaian grandma (say that 10 times fast) is in town, and she is, by my definition, a BITCH.

The first 2 days, she was on her best behavior. Now, she has become a raging she-dragon of a woman, who I tiptoe around. Her presence has caused 2 fights in our relationship so far, and she has only been here 5 days.

Let me give you a few examples.

1) We went to a blues festival. She was cold. So she made swiss boyfriend's dad go get her a coat, and made swiss boyfriend's mom switch her seats. Then she got hot, so the whole process was reversed.

2) On the way home in the car, she got hot. SHE WAS WEARING A WOOL SWEATER. but her solution was to make swiss boyfriend's dad turn up the AC until I was shivering. Making me shiver, I might add, is a FEAT. I have a high tolerance for air conditioning, especially on a hot june day.

3) She has corrected my table manners at least once a meal since she has been here. I have a strong desire to eat everything with my hands and lick between my fingers when I am done.

4) 2 months a year, on sunday nights, a show I like comes on TV. I wait for it all week, sing the theme song all the time, and thing about it all the time. So on sunday nights, I'm pretty much uninterested in other people's plans. That's all I ask - 10 sunday nights a year. Last night, she decided that EVERYONE had to watch a movie together. No exceptions. So by the time swiss boyfriend and I got to watch the show, it was past midnight. We were up till 2. We work at 8. Thank you, swiss boyfriend's half ghanaian grandma.

5) She insists on cooking dinner, then complains about how stressful it is and how everyone expects her to cook, and she uses EVERY DAMN DISH IN THE HOUSE. And we clean up after her.

Here's the thing; swiss boyfriend's parents are awesome. And chill. And now, I know why. To survive any sort of relationship with this woman, one has to take an enormous daily chill pill.

Post Mormon? Ex Mormon?

I'm confused what to call myself now.

I don't think I'm a post-mormon, because that means someone who has left and has dealt with the emotional consequences.

I don't think I'm an ex-mormon, because I still believe the pure gospel is true.

I don't know what to call myself.

I feel like the most appropriate title would be a still-believing-church-doubting-heartbroken-former-devout-unquestioning mormon.

But that's just a mouthful.

What I really am doing is discovering where my spirituality truly lies.

When I was younger, I found it in the quiet moments, when I was awake and alone in the middle of the night. I felt a closer connection to deity in those moments than any other. In the moments when the world is dark, it's easy to find the light in your own mind and heart.

I started learning to feel it in nature. In the things that surround me. That my soul craves fresh air and the freedom to breathe it.

Then I started to feel it in Yoga. This intense sensation of balance, that the world is moving around me and I am still, unmoving, just observing.

I still believe in faith. That faith and hope and charity are the most divine qualities a person can have. Basically, that believing in something, hoping for happiness and good things, and being nice to people are the main tenants of being a good person.

It's not a cry for help. It's a cry for recognition

I just looked at the last time I posted on here.

February 6, 2012.

Over a year.

I've been recoiling into myself.

I've been avoiding the topic.

But the readers of this blog are few. And they are all people that I have considered talking to, at one time or another, about this.

But in the end, I'm scared.

Terrified.

And if this post horrifies you, you can turn your back on our friendship. That is ok. I think I'd understand.

I am losing my religion.

Slowly, painfully, like life-giving blood oozing from my body. And, like a mortal wound, it gushed out at first. Frustration, pain, longing, loneliness, despair. And now, with each pulse of my spirit, my whole soul aches. The last little bit of that part of me is leaving.

Let me explain what I mean.

When I was barely 19, I had my first anxiety attack. It was crippling and horrible; my breath caught in my throat, my fingers and toes began to go numb, and it felt as if someone were constricting my whole body at once. I was in sacrament meeting when it happened.

Over the next 2 years, I phased in and out of activity in the church.

I submitted my mission papers after a period of 8 months where I didn't attend. My bishop approved, because one of my best friends had just attempted suicide, and he thought it would be good for me.

I went on my mission. My soul rejected my actions every day. I love that time for what I learned about myself and my God. I hate that time for what it forced me to become.

Ever since my mission, I've been struggling with the church. Silently, most of the time. It seems to me that mormons are nice to everyone except people who doubt, question, or leave. So I kept it to myself.

And yet, it was still happening. When I talked to people about what I felt, it was as if they were trying to help me solve a different problem. Here is an example of how the conversation seemed from my end:

Me: "All my fishes are dead."

Friend: "It's okay! I'll help you find them."

Me: "No  - I know where they are, they're just not alive anymore."

Friend: "Don't panic - I'm sure we'll find them. Where was the last place you saw them?"

And so you see, I couldn't really talk to anyone about what I was feeling. Partly because I didn't know what I was feeling, but partly because no one seemed to understand what I was saying.

And so, I planned to leave. To leave Utah, to leave everything I knew and loved. To separate myself from the situation, to clear my head. I needed everyone else's voice out of my head, so I could get some quality time with myself and with God.

Last summer, I think I knew it was the end of something. That's why I wanted to relish it. Why I wanted to spend every waking moment with the people I believed would shun me after they realized how I felt. I spent joyful days, hours, and moments with friends who may hate me after they realize who I am.

And then I left.

And I found a world I didn't know existed. A world of people who lived because there was life, and swam because there was water, and breathed because there was air - and never seemed to think twice about being happy!

I was angry and jealous and wanted to blend in. Happiness seemed always, to me, a glimmering prospect just out of reach. Something I had to concentrate on, and focus on, and every 3 months or so, I'd have a moment. But these people - they were happy! Really, really happy! Why? What was I missing?

I started to question everything, piece by piece. I've visited all the anti websites. I've read all the damning articles you could find on the internet. I have considered, and pondered, and prayed.

And here is my conclusion.

I love the gospel. I love my God. He is nice, and he is kind, and he loves everyone. And he doesn't like when we're mean or exclusive or unkind or judgemental. Because he never was. I love Christ. He is strong and gentle and constant. I love the restored gospel. I love that God speaks with men.

I do not love the church.

I can't love the church. It makes me feel wretched and awful about who I am. I can't be a good mormon if that means supporting the idea that people can't choose. Agency is everything in my mind. I can't be a good mormon if that means trying to deify evil things - like witholding the priesthood from black people, or making me swear my sacred oaths to my husband rather than directly to my God. I can't abide an organization that controls young people so rigidly so as to overpass the most rigorous regimes. I can't look back on my mission experience and all the indoctrination that was done there without feeling wretched and bitter.

I feel trapped and suffocated when I attend church, and I feel trapped and tricked and something close to rage when I wear my garments. I feel like the God I know and love wouldn't ask his children to do or support or say the things my church wants me to do and support and say.

I can't do it.

And so here I am, sobbing, as I write this blog. I feel so alone, and so hopeless. and yet so much freer and happier than I have ever felt.

 I will always believe in God.

But I cannot believe in the church