Man this Post is Scary. Horror Film Scary.

So I imagine my facebook post brought you here... since I haven't posted in this blog for ages... haha. Anyway, not sure how to start this... I haven't exactly done this before. First of all, I'm using the term “gay” rather than same-sex attracted because I think that's a silly term. I've never called anyone opposite-gender attracted.

Anyway... I've felt the need to do this for a while now. So far with almost every single person I've told the thought has come to me, “ya... I should have told them sooner...” So I need to stop postponing and tear off this band-aid. I guess I'll start with a nutshell version of my life, cuz... why not?

So I've known I was different since I was little. My earliest memories of recognizing same-gender attraction go back as early as second grade. Of course, lucky for me, I was too distracted by Batman, Dinosaurs, and Turtles of the Ninja variety to dwell on anything for too long. Elementary School was when I learned the Gay was wrong and that Gay people got made fun of. If any of you knew me back then, I wasn't exactly the Brawny Man of my class. I was twiggly, good at gymnastics, and probably interested in too many “traditionally” girly things for society back then. I was teased a bit. One group called me “Pony Boy,” whatever that even meant... but luckily things weren't too bad. I had friends. And like I said, I was distracted by other radical things.

Middle School was a little different. I still had friends, and I can't even explain how grateful I am for them, but the teasing got bad. I think that's pretty standard for that age group. But this was when I learned I needed to adapt. No more letting people know I could do the splits. No more letting people know I danced with a performing group that toured Disney Land in elementary school. No more letting people see my sensitive side. I was terrified of being called “Gay.”

Anytime I started wondering if I was gay I would shut it down. No joke, there were times I would stare at myself in the mirror and say, out loud, “You. Are. Not. Gay.” (Which should have been a bit of a red flag... I mean, I don't think straight people spend THAT much time wondering if they are gay...). Of course I didn't want to be gay. The Church taught me that not only was being gay bad (and no, they didn't ever differentiate between feelings and acting on them, gay was gay), they also used terms like “unnatural,” “gross,” “vile,” “disgusting,” and “perverted.” So anytime I had any sort of temptation or same-sex related feelings I quickly learned to hate myself. Hating myself was the only way to cope. Any of those feelings I had were clearly unnatural, gross, vile, disgusting, and perverted. Therefor I was a sinner. Therefor I had to hate myself. Not exactly a healthy pattern. But a pattern that continued well into my twenties.

In High School I finally figured out how to wear a mask (for the most part). I discovered I needed to have crushes on girls. So I would always find a girl that would be my go to “crush.” But I always made sure it was a girl I didn't have any classes with and hardly ever saw. I even decided that my default celebrity crush was Shakira. I stand by that decision.

Fortunately my High School friends were fairly strict Mormons and didn't date until 16. And then once you finally turn 16 it was mostly just fun friend dating anyway. By the end of High School when they were dating a little more seriously I did it too. I wanted to date. I wanted to find a girl I could fall in love with. I dated an amazing girl that made me feel great about myself. She was kind, sweet, funny, beautiful and caring. Pretty sure we dated for like... 5 months? I never even kissed her. Just never had the urge. It made me mad I didn't have that urge. I wanted to want to kiss her. She was amazing. I convinced myself I must have just been too nervous. But I'd later discover that it didn't matter who it was. The urge just wasn't there if it was a girl.

High School was good though. I didn't really get bullied. I had the world's greatest friends (which I was careful to find platonic friends, they were more like brothers to me). And I wasn't too worried about being gay. I recognized that I had same-gender attraction, but I KNEW that God would fix me if I tried hard and served a good mission. How could He not? The scriptures say he fulfills the righteous desires of your heart. Marrying a woman and starting a family was about as “righteous” as it gets. Plus I found talks, pamphlets, and lessons that taught that God could cure people with same-gender attraction. Through the Atonement, I could be fixed.

So I served a mission and loved it. I loved the Mongolian people. I loved Mongolia. I loved learning the language and teaching English. I loved that my mission was one of the rare few that didn't allow knocking doors. I had an amazing experience. Were there trials? Well, yes. Duh. But I loved it. And on the mission you don't really get to think much about dating and marriage. So that was nice. Though I did start snail mail flirting with one of my best friends back home (shhhh), figuring I'd date her when I got home and things with girls would finally start to click. She's pretty much the same person as me, you know, hilarious... brilliant... talented.... psychedelic... you get the picture, so I figured if I could make it work with anyone it would be her. Long story short, she ended up being the first person I ever told I was gay. And for the record, we are not married.

So, got home from the mission, and this is when things started going down hill. I transferred to BYU and was ultra-righteous. I'm talking count-how-many-steps-I-took-on-Sunday righteous. I read scriptures daily. Paid full tithing and generous fast offerings. Went to church weekly. Did Home Teaching. I was a gold star Mormon. The First Presidency literally sent me a Gold Star sticker to put on my scriptures. Okay that's not true.

And I dated as much as I could handle. I started adopting the “fake it til you make it” approach to girls. I figured if I constantly talked about how pretty girls are and how much I like them and how they smell amazing and man oh man if I could just meet Shakira someday, then I'd legitimately start growing attracted to girls. I dated many girls with AMAZING personalities that I had a lot of fun with. But there was never that needed “spark.” I dated one that on paper should have been perfect for me. But something was always missing. I later attended her wedding, and when she danced with her new husband for the first time as a married couple, I remember seeing how they looked at each other. I knew right then, I could never have been that for her. I could never have provided that moment.

As I continued to date, life got darker and darker. I grew more and more hopeless. I had to get on anti-depressants as I was getting closer and closer to doing something stupid and harmful to myself. I grew to hate myself more and more. And I got to the point that I wanted God to hate me too. I remember staring at a hymn book, glaring at the song “Where Can I Turn For Peace” and sincerely feeling like the answer was “no where.” I prayed and prayed and fasted and prayed and got nothing. God had forgotten me. God didn't care about me. Those were the only solutions I could manage to come up with.

One day, this peculiar thought hit me;

“What if I'm SUPPOSED to be this way...?”

I felt immediate weight lifted from me. The next morning I was able to stop taking anti-depressants, cold turkey, and never got back on them. A new wave of light and hope filled my body. I felt like this was a part of who I am. And it didn't feel like a bad thing. I didn't feel guilty. For the first time in a long time I felt... good.

Since then I started the process of SLOWLY coming out to people. Each time was terrifying, much like it is right now. While I'm typing this my heart is racing, so when I actually post this... I'm probably going to be running around the house screaming into a pillow.

I've felt more and more prompted to come out. It's been stressing me out for long enough.

What does this mean for my future? I have no idea. I'm not one to shut doors. All I know is this doesn't change who I am. I'm still the same ol' Jon you all know and OBVIOUSLY love (winky-face). I know many of you have strong opinions about homosexuality, same-sex marriage, etc., and I just hope we can be civil, loving, and respectful no matter where we stand on these issues. I also hope that if there is anyone else struggling with this and feels they have no where to turn and no one to talk to they always have a friend in me. It was Hell going through this alone. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Well, that's all I have to say. Feel free to ask questions if you have them. I'm trying to be more open and authentic in my life. Thanks for reading. Peace.       

Do you count too?

So there I was sitting at my desk one day at work, when I decided it was probably time to take a bathroom break. Now, I can't say I'm a fan of public restrooms, but who is right? I mean I'd be kind of freaked out if a met a raving fan. But I try to make it a point to use the restroom while at work because I'm a college student, and the toilet paper is free. One wouldn't think that would be an issue, but toilet paper is expensive! And plus, my roommate Nathan claims we go through it too quickly. I told him how many squares per sitting I use in a vain attempt to prove I was conservative, he thought I was weird for counting. That awkward conversation has now spread throughout most of my Provo group of friends and now everyone is counting squares. How many do you use? Systematic? Just grab a wad? Fold? Bunch? Apparently the world wants to know.

Anyway, back to my story. So I headed to the public restroom. It smelt of oranges in there, as usual. I swear the automatically timed air freshener is possessed. It's at perfect eye level and has almost blinded me on several occasions with sweet-citrus pain.

So I locked myself into a stall and... well... ...... I feel like this post is getting too graphic. I'll spare you the imagery. SO, the restroom was empty, which is preferable, until the janitor came in, which isn't uncommon. He tends to wander the building and clean whatever is nearest. He started mopping, which I thought might make my exit slightly more dangerous than usual. But don't worry, I have incredible balance.

The janitor walked past my stall (which, naturally, was in the furthest corner possible). Then the dream-like sequence began. As I peered through the unnecessarily large, gaping slit where the door is hinged, I realized the janitor was a woman. "Hmmm," I thought, "this is awkward." Her mop casually swept beneath my door, then she tried to push the door open. My body froze in a state of panic. Thankfully, the thin metal lock held like a champ.

The janitor came to an instant realization that she was not alone. The mop dropped from her now lifeless hand, but she had effectively exited the bathroom in a full sprint before the mop even hit the floor. When I left, she was nowhere to be found.

In my defense, there were no signs up that the restroom was closed. And in her defense, accidents happen. I've been eating for 23 years and still manage to bite my tongue on occasion, if that isn't proof that there are honest mistakes out there, I don't know what is. Needless to say, this didn't help cure my phobia of public restrooms...

A Day in the Life of an Alarm Company Technical Support Agent

"Thanks for calling Alarm Security Technical Support, my name is Jonathan. Can I please get the home telephone number on your account?" (Articulate if early in shift, mumble at 4 times normal speed by close).
"Yes it's 555-555-5555"
"For a Mr. Johnson?"
"Uh, yes, this is Marie Johnson."
".... ......... perfect so can I can your verbal password Mrs. Johnson?"
"It's 'Jesus.'"
"Great, what can I do for ya today?"
"I have had it with you and your system! This **** thing has been giving me trouble all morning! I pay monthly you know! I pay on time, every month for a security system to work and protect my family. If you cant get this working immediately so help me I will take my business elsewhere and I will report you and your company as a bunch of greedy liars!"
"Im sorry to hear the system is giving trouble, may I ask what it's doing?"
"The **** thing wont stop beeping!!!!"
~~~~~~~ BEEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEP~~~~~~
"See you hear that! ALL. MORNING!"
"Yes I actually did hear that. That's certainly no fun to wake up to!"
"**** Straight!"
"Well now, I hate to tell you, but that beeping isn't actually our panel."
"Sir, I don't think you are listening to me. I can hear a beep coming from my security alarm panel, my security alarm PANEL! It is right next to me, I've been hearing this since 4:00 AM sir!"
"Oh well that's awfully early to be woken up by these obnoxious beeps! But I assure you... it isn't actually our panel. But I think I may know the problem."
"IT. IS. THE. PANEL. SIR."
"Have you checked your fire detector batteries lately?"
"............................ ...................... well I'll be.......... I think you just might be right......"
(mutes phone, "uh, hello, im the all-knowing tech agent, never question.")
~~~~~~~~~~BEEP BEEEEEEEEP BEEP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Well bless my lucky stars it IS my smoke alarm. Well I'll be darned."
"Oh no problem at all! Common mistake." (mute, laughs, rolls eyes and shakes head.)
"Oh, well, now I am SO sorry to bother you this morning! I guess my system is fine then?"
"Absolutely mam."
"Well bless your heart. Thank you dearly for figuring that mess out darlin." You have a blessed day now!"
"Oh I will. You do the same Marie."
"Alright then babye."
(click)
(Turns to neighbor) "Another smoke detector battery."
Neighbor: (Smiles) "Idiots."

Social Experiment: How to Erase Wrinkles

So for my art major a new requirement was made that a handful of prereqs are required to be taken before applying to any emphasis. The same classes are required from graphic designers to photographers. So basically it's high school art taken again to make sure you have a broad skill range in artistic basics. Now this doesn't seem peculiar in any way except one; i'm ancient. You see, most people that take the class are freshmen-sophomore because they think they know what they want to do with their lives. Ha, shows how little they know. Ok fine, shows how little I knew at that age. Have I changed my major a few times in my day..... ask my mom, i've told this story too many times.

ANYWAY, getting back to the principle point of this pointless post (that was kinda fun alliteration, no?). So it all started one day in class. One devious thing led to another and now it can't be undone. What can't be undone you ask? Well let me tell you about that fateful day.

After an hour and a half of grueling labor (drawing circles...) my professor (who I love, but has openly admitted he still plays dungeons and dragons...), decided it is time for us to have a ten minute break. I walked out of class with a new friend I made named Whitney. She casually turned to me and sheepishly asked, "so... you're a freshman right?" My eyes glanced from side to side checking my surroundings, only to find us completely alone. I then turned to her and simply replied, "uh, duh!"

After announcing that she was TOTALLY older than me and I should basically grovel at her feet, she proceeded to let the news slowly drift in her conversations with other classmates until everyone in the class thought I was, in fact, a freshman. Now, I know what you're thinking. You think I'm a terrible person and should probably get kicked out of BYU for breaking the honor code. But let me turn the tables here and ask you to put yourself in my shoes. If you could suddenly be 4 years younger, wouldn't you take the opportunity? I mean suddenly people are more willing to date me because I'm not a creepy, desperate return missionary, suddenly I don't have to tell people I have changed my major about six times (wait, I thought I wasn't going to share that....), suddenly which high school I went to is actually a worthwhile bit of knowledge. I mean, I had a chance to relive my life. So I took it. Judge all you want, but deep down you know you would have done it too.

So eventually my conscience began to eat at my soul and I trusted of few of my other classmates with the truth. Bronte and Wes were now the only two that really knew me, and instead of becoming my enemies and rebuking my lies, they took it upon themselves to become my accomplices.

I told Whitney and the rest of the class that I was in fact 23 and they all laughed. "Ya right! Shut up you're totally 19 and you are much too immature to pull off anything else!" Ouch. I told them again that I had lied and that I was 23. Someone from across the room demanded I tell them my birthday immediately. I shouted the truth. They began adding up the years on their pre-calc-freshman-fingers and concluded I was right. "Man he's good!" Came a cry from the inquirer. "Then where did you serve your mission??" Again, I told the truth. "Mongolia? MONGOLIA????? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! They don't even send missionaries there!" Poor naive freshman. "Then speak some Mongolian!"
"Bi ta nariig mash ih gaihaltai huumuus gej boddog ch gesen, ta nar jaahan teneg yum shig sanagdaj bna aa."

Mongol Script

"Ha, ya what was that? Klingon?" They then demanded I write something. I promptly grabbed some paper and wrote in Mongolian Script (it's more fun than the Cyrillic alphabet Mongolians were forced to use). "What is that elvish?" Came whispers from the masses. Pretty sure they now just think I'm a nerd, not a 23 year old that served in Mongolia.


So I told them that they didn't have to believe me, but I could show my license to prove my age. They laughed and went back to work discrediting my "lies" and feeling confident that they didn't even need to see proof. They later told me I was incredibly good at lying and said I spent too much of my spare time coming up with an alter ego. I finally said, "alright, I actually have told the truth about myself to Bronte and Wes, if you don't believe me, ask them." The class turned to Bronte, she glanced over at me, smiled, and replied, "he's 19."

Once Upon a Time I Owned Your Soul....

Welcome to my brand new blog. Yes, i finally caved and thought it might be fun to create one of these things. I figure my life isn't public enough and I'd like to officially sever any further privacy. So to begin, I thought it would be fitting to introduce the narrative (use as reference so you know who the crap I'm talking about)~

The Villain: Duh, me.
The Prey: Well that would be you.

The Parents: Michael and Lisa
The Sibs: Chris, Andrew, Matthew, and Maddie

The SLC group: Clay, Stein, Michael, Jake, Stephen, Stephenie, Marin, Ginger, Ellie, Megan, Kember
The Provo group: Nathan, Carlos, Elizabeth, Taylor, Kirsten, Skally, Reyna, Heidi

Now this doesn't cover everyone, so if your name doesn't appear on the list above it's probably because I don't care about you and have already forgotten your name. So maybe send me gifts to help me remember you. That might win you a spot on "the list."

Now, welcome to the circus and please, enjoy the show~~~~~~~~~~~~~