The Best (and Worst) of Times

It has been ten years since I graduated high
school.

As of May, it has been ten years since I finished high school. This July my ten-year high school reunion will take place. It’s hard to believe that a decade has passed since I was an eighteen year-old. The few years following my graduation in 2004 were some of the best and worst that I have ever experienced. This time in my life was highlighted by a number of firsts—new, fresh occurrences and events that I had never before experienced.  Some would happen only once and never again.  Others would be repeated over time.

The christening event of my newly-acquired adult life was attending my first semester of college, just minutes from the home I was still sharing with my mother and stepfather. I enrolled full-time, with a government grant to fund my education, and began classes in January 2005, after a well-desired summer and fall break from educational responsibility.

To summarize the misadventure of my first four months of higher education, it suffices to say that I didn’t apply myself at the full measure of my capabilities, making the entire semester a disaster. Consequently, my failure was the basis of my decision not to enroll for another semester, also making that the first time I dropped out of college (which I would do more than once in coming years).

After a brief summer on my own,
I had to move in with my dad.

With my college career ruined (for a time), I sought out other ways in which to become independent and grown-up. Naturally, at least for me, the best way to do this was to get out into the world (or at least the next town) and try living on my own. So, I packed a few things from what little I had of my own at my mom and stepdad’s house, and moved with a friend into a cheap student apartment just a few blocks from where I had attended college. This was another of my firsts during those years—living away from parents under my own roof that I was paying for myself.

My brief summer stay in that apartment was a time of my life that I think back on often, and with a lot of happy feelings; sometimes I wish I could go back and experience that summer all over again, even if I didn’t get to change anything that happened. All of it could happen the same way again—like the retelling of an epic story, tragedies and triumphs altogether—and I would still be content just to live it once more. I made new friends, experienced new things, and had plenty of room to stretch my independence. 

There were some difficult lessons learned that summer, and they were learned in the hardest ways; but I’m grateful for that now, because those things have stayed with me, and have made me better. It was in that apartment, pondering alone one night with a set of scriptures that I reconnected with my spiritual self, from which I had been separated for some time. One highlight of that summer was attending my first Kelly Clarkson concert that July, which substantiated a long-time obsession with the singer that I am well known for among my friends and family.

After that incomparable summer—my last summer as a teenager—I had lost another job (my second time being fired that year), and was forced to move in with my father back in my hometown; my mother and stepdad hadn’t given me the option to move back in with them when I left, which, looking back, was a blessing. My relationship with my father during those years was not the best, which encouraged me to get back out on my own once my finances were in better order. I moved back into my childhood home with my father in August 2005, and stayed for a little over a year.

I began attending church again, this time with
young single adults my own age.

Back in my hometown again, and a bit more comfortable in familiar surroundings, I began attending church again, this time with other young single adults, another first for me. I had been largely absent from the Sunday worship services of my faith—the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons)—while I was away on my summer exile. As an adult aged 18 to 29, I had the option to attend church and other activities with members of my faith who fell within the same age range, in a special, separate congregation, or ward. There I met new friends and reconnected with old friends from high school with whom I have stayed very close.

During that time, I worked in telephone customer service and as an aide in a care center for disabled children and young adults. Neither jobs were really ones I wanted to keep long-term, but they helped me pay my bills while getting free rent from my father. Both jobs, however, didn’t last long, and I was again fired from both; the growing trend with me and employment was a problem with attendance. 

This began a crescendo of an addiction, you could say, with sleep; I used sleep like a drug to forget and temporarily escape my responsibilities and problems, or anything I didn’t want to deal with at any given moment. This escape tactic and coping mechanism began with problems in high school, which you can read about in my other posts, “Walk Like a Man” and “Dear Andy.”

The next of my firsts would shape my financial stability for the next year or two. I spent my nights in the late spring of 2006 in a trade school to earn my nursing assistant certification (CNA). It was the first successful course of education I had completed since high school, and it boosted my ability to find jobs that I enjoyed, where I could help and serve others, while earning better pay. 

My sins weighed down upon my for years until
I finally confessed them.

In the summer of 2006 (though I wish I could remember the exact date), I made another first-time decision that would change my life forever. It was when I went to my Bishop, the leader of the first ward I ever joined, and confessed to him that I was attracted to men. Not only that, but I had been having sex with men since I was 17 years old and still in high school. My promiscuous activities were spiraling out of control, and I felt that getting closer to God and attempting to forsake my sins would bring about more peace in my life. To learn more about the teachings and beliefs of the LDS Church in regards to homosexuality or same-sex attraction, click HERE.

Subsequent to my confession and the beginning of a process of repentance, I also began reparative therapy, also known as conversion therapy, with a locally-renowned psychologist. The aim of the therapy was decrease my same-sex attractions, and possibly even make me straight. But I quickly became frustrated with my therapist’s attempts to help me, and ended my weekly sessions with him, never going back to anyone to attempt to change my sexual orientation again.

I dropped out of the therapy because I felt that I couldn’t be content in my homosexuality until I had tried—successfully or unsuccessfully—to have a monogamous relationship with a man. These feelings led to another first-time event as I got my first boyfriend. My relationship with him only lasted three months before I decidedly couldn’t be happy living contrary to God’s commandments anymore. I broke things off with him in the early fall of 2006, and returned to the spiritual care of my Bishop and the process of cleansing I had begun a few months before. It was the only time I ever tried to date my same sex. To read about this experience in more detail, see my post “The Greener Side.”

By late fall of that year, I would land a job working as a CNA for a home care and hospice company, travelling all over the county caring for individuals of all ages. Perhaps it is a little embarrassing to say, at my age, but this was the best job I’ve had in my life (thus far). And true to form, I would lose it, too; a combination of things led to that loss, which leads into another first.

My uncontrollable swearing tics cost me the best
job I ever had, and others, too.

It was in 2007, while I was working as a CNA, that my battle with Tourette syndrome became even more grueling. That was the year I developed coprolalia, a rare symptom of Tourettes that involves vocal tics of swearing, cursing, and the (often loud) uttering of inappropriate words and phrases, often at the most inopportune moments. My one-time boyfriend, with whom I spent a lot of time, had the habit of swearing recreationally, and I am almost certain now that joining in with him in his foul-mouthed talk eventually brought me to a point of no return.

Soon I was swearing every few seconds, especially when excited, upset, or stressed. Most unfortunately my word of choice was the dreaded “F-word,” which slipped in between sentences like an impatient, interruptive child begging for attention. The patients for whom I cared daily, most of them elderly, began to notice my foul language, though they knew I had Tourettes and had seen and heard my other tics. Slowly my patient load decreased as more and more patients or their spouses or family members began calling my boss to request a new aide in their home.

Immediately I requested a dose change in my tic-inhibiting medication, which only increased my level of lethargy, drowsiness, and drained me of energy; this did not at all help my “sleeping addiction.” My supervisors were amazingly understanding, and did everything they could to help me. But eventually we came to a crossroads, and, regrettably, they had to let me go. It was a terrible blow to my financial circumstances, and my self-esteem. I would eventually recover to some point, and even make it back to college again, but I have yet to hold another successful job as long as I held my CNA position.

After months of spiritual cleansing, I could enter
the temple to perform baptisms for the dead.

By the winter of 2006, my Bishop felt that my repentance was complete. I was once again able to partake of the sacrament of the Lord’s supper, similar to the Catholic communion; this is a crucial ordinance in Mormon worship that takes place every week in Sunday church meetings as a way to reflect upon the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and renew our devotion to Him. I also received a temple recommend, which allowed me to enter Mormon temples to perform the ordinance of baptism for the dead, as mentioned by the Apostle Paul in the New Testament.

My circumstance were finally beginning to improve; and with a small financial gift from my Bishop (from donations of my ward members), I paid the deposit on a new apartment in a new town not far from my hometown, and moved out of my father’s house to start a new life. I moved in February 2007. While I worked as a CNA, before the coprolalia began, I was enjoying the bachelor life, and a life clean and pure from sin and transgression. I began attending a family ward in my new town—a little reluctantly because of the swearing tics—and it was one of the best decisions I made while living in that apartment for the next two years.

By 2008, I was highly active in my faith, attending regular Sunday meetings as well as weekday activities with my ward members and their families. I developed more relationships, and have held on to many of them to this day. After a period of time, my new Bishop and I agreed that I was ready to advance in my Priesthood authority, and I was ordained an Elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood in August 2007. 

Then, in January 2008, I began preparing to enter the temple, God’s holy house, to receive the higher ordinances of the Mormon faith, known as the endowment. I was open about my homosexuality with my Bishop and other leaders, and they supported me in my desire to receive my temple rites; I viewed it then as the icing on my spiritual cake, so to speak—the last official step in my spiritual journey, in order to better prepare myself for the possibility of a lifetime as a single gay Mormon. I have since become more open to the opportunity of marrying a woman, which would also take place in the Temple. To read more about why a gay Mormon would consider marrying a woman, try my posts “The Road Less Traveled By” and “When a Man Loves a Woman.”

This photo of the Provo Utah Temple was taken the
day I entered that building to receive my endowment.

On March 8, 2008, I entered the Provo Utah Temple, accompanied by many friends and family members, to receive my temple ordinances. It was one of the happiest days of my life so far, and the crowning moment of all the experiences I had had during those four years since my high school graduation. Today, six years since my endowment in the temple, I remain steadfast in the gospel of Jesus Christ and active in my faith, in spite of my continued attraction to men, which passion I must carefully bridle.

Truthfully, not all my firsts have been accounted for in this post. I have left out one of my most beloved and significant influences of the past nine years to create a more poignant effect for this inclusion in my blog. It is not an event or a happening, but a person—someone who was by my side during nearly all of the events I have just listed. In a previous post, “The Greener Side,” I wrote a little about my relationship with this person:  a special girl named Danielle.

I actually went to high school with Danielle; she was a year older than me, but I really only knew of her rather than actually interacting with her on any occasion. However, we finally made a friendly connection during that first semester of college in 2005. She also happened to be good friends with the cousin of my best friend, so I had a chance to talk to her a few times. Though I’m not entirely sure how it started, we began meeting up on campus in between or after classes. We wrote notes to each other, and traded them in between our meetings. Soon I invited her to my parents’ house, where I was living then, to hang out. We would eat snacks and watch our favorite childhood cartoon reruns, something we shared in common (adults though we were).

I couldn’t possibly contain all of my memories with Danielle in this post without it becoming a novel; but from that semester on, she and I grew only closer. Several of her friends became my friends, and mine hers, so we were spending even more time together socializing. When I moved out for the first time, she was a constant guest in my apartment. It was my blossoming relationship with her that made that summer unforgettable. We stayed up late, often with other friends, watching movies, hot-tubbing and swimming, and playing games. After she would leave my place in the early hours of the morning, she would call me when she got home, and while lying in our beds in different towns, we would talk on the phone until the sun came up. Then the next day we would do it again.

I wanted Danielle to be my girlfriend; it seemed
only natural with all the time we spent together.

I remember the night that I thought that I wanted to date Danielle steadily. It just clicked that I liked her, a lot actually, and that the most natural step to take next was to ask her to be my girlfriend. There was protest from one mutual friend when we made our plans to date known, and it caused us some grief; but we moved past the issues involved, and started dating. She was by my side during that first Kelly Clarkson concert, and we sang every song together.

She was there for me when I lost several of those jobs. She attended that single’s ward with me, though we were paired off together, and I was proud to display my love and affection for her. I kept a secret inside me, however, because of my attractions to men. I still desired her, but I also wanted to experience the other world of homosexuality; I was intimate with men many times while she and I were together. I found out later that she suspected I was gay, but she never mentioned it to me directly. She allowed me to wait until I was ready to tell her.

She was the one who told me about the nursing assistant school, which was owned and operated by a family friend of hers; she even came to some of the classes with me. She helped me study and fill out and practice my flash cards. Indeed, she was involved with so much of my life. She was my best friend. After months of knowing her, taking trips together, and becoming intimately connected in so many ways, I knew that I loved her—I had fallen in love with Danielle. I felt like she could be the woman I could marry. But I was still conflicted in my sexuality and wasn’t ready to give up my sexual encounters with men, which I felt were necessary to fill a longstanding void in me and alleviate my psychological turmoil.

Even on the night I went to my neighborhood church building to confess to my Bishop that I was gay and sexually active, she was there to support me; though she knew nothing except that I wanted to make some changes in my life that would require confession. She gave me a note of encouragement to take with me on my walk to the church, which I read just before I entered the building; it brought stinging tears to my eyes. 

On a drive alone up the canyon one night, my admission to
Danielle that I was gay finally came, and not to her surprise.

A few months after the meeting with my Bishop, I told Danielle, too, that I was gay, and confessed every act of indiscretion I had committed while dating her. That was September 2006, and we drove up the canyon together just to be alone for the occasion. It was more of a funny thing for us, as close as we were at that point. We laughed about the odd and crazy experiences I had had, and about how she had really known all along, and was just waiting for me to be ready to tell her.

Just as I can’t really tell where my romantic relationship with Danielle began, I can’t really tell where it started to end, either; but end it did. As we attended the single’s ward together, she was introduced to other men, and I was at that time deciding that I, too, wanted to date a man monogamously. We were the best of friends still, and occasionally kissed each other, but there was no real definition to our relationship any longer. Things between us had evolved, and they would never be the same. 

She confessed that she liked some of the guys in the ward, and I expressed how much I wanted to start dating men myself. She was shy, and I did my best to encourage her to flirt and show interest in other men. I still was in love with her, and I didn’t expect my encouragement to lead her into the arms of another man. But I also couldn’t expect her to wait for me to figure out whether or not I was happy dating men and possibly return to her if I wasn’t. 

Some bridges were burned between Danielle and I; but we
never completely lost our powerful connection to each other.

As my relationship with my boyfriend began and ended within three months (and I even introduced him to Danielle once), I desired to return to the church and back to Danielle. But her closeness with one particular man had grown stronger during that time, and they had declared themselves a couple.  My feelings told me that that man was not good for her, but I wasn't sure if it was just because I selfishly wanted to keep her as my own.   I remember standing before both of them on one occasion, outside a church during a single’s dance, crying almost uncontrollably and begging Danielle to leave the other man and be with me. The man knew that she loved me, and said so, trying to console me; Danielle confirmed her love for me, but told me gently that dating her new lover was the path she wanted to take then. I left their presence devastated.

Eventually Danielle would marry that man; then in a few years, they would also divorce. I continued down the path that I had chosen, progressing in the gospel, and making lasting changes in my life after experiencing so much difficulty. Danielle wasn’t living far away, and we were still best friends. But our time together became shorter and less frequent. The enjoyment and pleasure of her company seemed to be only a glimmer of the bright shining romance that we shared that summer of 2005. And though our relationship would never really be the same again, sometimes talking to her or seeing her makes me feel like nothing has changed. 

Danielle is still the one person, besides probably my mother, who knows me best—all my likes, dislikes, favorites, faults, skills, abilities, traits, feelings, emotions, experiences, tastes, talents, and all the rest. She’s still the person who can laugh with me about things that were funny to us five, seven, or nine years ago. She’s still the one woman whom I can look in the eye and honestly feel that, had circumstances been a bit different, I could have made her my wife. And though we don’t get together often, she is still my best friend, and the only woman I have ever truly been in love with.

The poem I wrote for Danielle, about our changing love,
still reminds me of what we could have had together.

Not a tenth of my legacy of friendship and courtship with Danielle can be told here; but I hold it all my heart. And all of what we went through together has built me into the man I am now, in many ways. I’m not sure if it is a good or a bad thing, but Danielle is the pattern to which I compare all other women nowadays, if and when I date them. All I know is that I would want any woman who would become my wife to be just like Danielle: My best friend in the whole world, the one I can laugh with, cry with, and the one I desire to be with forever.

Once, Danielle asked me if I would write a poem for her. I don’t normally accept such requests, because inspiration for writing isn’t something I can force. But when things started getting rocky between us, and emotions were high, some inspiration did come to me, and I wrote a poem for Danielle. It was a May evening, and there was a soft rain pour outside, which started the pattern that repeats in the verses. 

It was not the romantic sonnet that perhaps she and I had hoped it would be, but it was meaningful and accurate of our relationship. It remains one of my favorite free-form poems that I’ve ever written, and a beautiful portrayal of two lovers drifting apart, but not forgetting each other as they embark on their individual journeys.

❧

– Not the Only Thing –

~

Raindrops are not the only things falling today—
I look into your eyes and can see the tears you are holding back.

The color of my eyes seems to reflect my somber emotions.

Love is not the only thing I feel for you—
The frustration and pain I possess condenses in my eyes; it’s so unusual to me.

Time becomes almost still as a single tear falls;
My imagination magnifies the sound as it meets the pavement; it pierces my thoughts.

I am not the only one who is alone here—
My offering to you lies coldly on the ground, unnoticed.

You turn away, but don’t seem to want to go;

If I reach out, will you take my hand?

I fear we are so far away that no one can save us.

Our moments together are not the only things being wasted—

Your hope for a better day waits upon my ultimate decision;

My serenity lies only in you.

We are heading for unknown destinations, both not knowing what may become of us;

But I hope you can see me there on the horizon.

The sun descends upon who we once were, 
setting the firmament aglow with orange and red;

But the sky is not the only thing burning tonight—

Already abandoned bridges are aflame in the darkness,

The light of them guiding us on journeys down diverging paths.

I know I must leave, but I do not know where I’m going;

My stubbornness enshrouds all my doubts and gives me false hope.

But I am not the only one who is uncertain of my future—

You continue to run from everything that you know is right, 
determined to reach happiness.

Can’t you see that we are both lost, slaves to our own indecisiveness?

But I know, even now, that our hearts will lead us to each other again.

I hope to find myself out there, though I’m not sure if it will really happen.

But if I do find something more that this life can offer,
How much will it really matter if you’re not here to share it with?

A beloved friend is not the only thing I would lose if you left now—

But if you go, you will take my whole heart with you.

~

- Wade A. Walker -

May 21, 2006

Danielle and Wade — Summer 2005

~

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When a Man Loves a Woman

Emotions run deeply in me, and I am very
sensitive to an array of feelings.

I feel like I have a great capacity for emotions. There are some emotions that I experience more strongly or more often, and others that I don’t encounter much at all. For example, I tend to succumb to sympathy and empathy for others, especially those who have apparent physical challenges or hindrances. My heart automatically hurts for people who seem to struggle with disabilities or misfortune, and I’m always left feeling like I wish I could do something to make things better for them. 

Also, I don’t typically become outwardly angry; confrontation makes me terribly uncomfortable, even when I’m not directly involved. And because of my passive-aggressive nature, I usually keep to myself when I get frustrated or upset, until the feelings pass or I have a chance to vent my emotions to a third party. Sometimes I feel as though I have more sensitive receptors for emotions. Things that would mildly bother some might be tremendously hurtful to me; or things that would normally put the average person in a good mood can leave me feeling absolutely elated.

I learned the emotion of love from the amazing
women in my life, particularly my mother.

Love is one of those emotions that I have always had an abundance of. Between family and friends, especially particular women like my mother and paternal grandmother, I have never had to be without exceptional loving support and care in my life. Affection has always been an important way of showing love in my family, especially kisses and hugs; friends sometimes tease me for the fact that kissing on the lips is normal in my family, at least with female family members. My mother, my grandmother, and even one aunt have always greeted me and parted ways with a kiss on the lips, even now that I am well into adulthood. For my three older brothers, it is the same. To others it is awkward and abnormal; to me, it has always been the sweetest form of love and affection.

Aside from family, good friends have long been sources of love and caring in my life. It wasn’t until junior high that I feel like my friendships from school began to transition into personal relationships outside of the classroom. Many of my most enduring relationships that I still have today began in classrooms and other school activities. 

Crushes and infatuations with both girls and
boys started early for me.

The first crush I ever had on anyone was a girl with whom I attended first grade. I was infatuated with her. I still remember a dream I had about her one night; we were on the playground at my elementary school. We ran off together and hid under an outdoor staircase and shared a brief, innocent kiss. I woke up wishing that it had really been true. However, other crushes that I had at that time (around seven years-old) were usually on young celebrities—but they were all boys. Young movie stars, mostly, whose films I had seen and enjoyed. I began to obsess over many of these boys. I admired their talents and their looks; that’s when I really remember noticing an attraction to other boys’ facial features.

Looking back, I think early sexual involvement with boys my own age who lived in my neighborhood had triggered such same-sex attractions in me. The details of the beginnings of those behaviors are vague, and I don’t remember if I was the initiator or if someone else was. I knew that my parents and the parents of the boys with whom I did such things would be upset if they found out (and a few times they did), but to me they weren’t abnormal behaviors; I actually liked it, and I often sought opportunities to experiment with my and other curious boys’ bodies. I noticed boys, and even grown men more often after that, and was drawn to them in emotional and sexual ways. It wasn’t until I got older that I began to recognize what such attractions implied—a separate orientation altogether, different from all other people, one that I realized didn’t fit in with the rest of the world’s expectations of normal feelings or behavior.

I felt more comfortable around girls than
I did boys; like I could be myself.

As early pornography exposure turned to an addiction that fueled unhealthy sexual appetites and habits, crushes and infatuation with boys and girls became more intense. I was highly attracted to many boys and girls in my school; with the boys, my attractions were strictly carnal, lustful, and emphasized by a desire to act out sexually with them. I took immediate notice of the boys who were more handsome and good-looking, and they were the targets of my erotic thoughts; sexual fantasies were common place during those years. With boys my age, I felt inadequate and inconsistent as I constantly tried to act in a way where I could be measured according to masculine standards and expectations, wherein I always failed.

Girl crushes and attractions were simpler, characterized by feelings of belonging, relation, and understanding; I could act like myself around girls because I felt more comfortable doing things that were considered to be more feminine, and that was okay with them. I admired girls for their talents and personalities, but there was no sexual attraction at all, and certainly no erotic fantasies involving girls. With girls I felt wanted and accepted, and my own personal talents like humor, kindness, and sincerity were able to shine through and were appreciated.

My love for girls began to grow,
while with boys I could only lust.

By my high school years, my admiration of my female friends eventually crossed the line into my first loves. I loved them romantically, affectionately, and emotionally. They were confidants and supporters. Attractions to their minds, personalities, and spirits shifted into physical attractions that in previous years I hadn’t experienced much, since a natural inclination towards women was not (and still isn’t) as normal for me. The boys, however, remained immediately attractive in every physical way, and the subjects of my fantasies. But I had never been close enough to any attractive boy long enough to discover if he was also beautiful on the inside. Very few boys seemed to accept me as I was, and the ones who did were typically not the boys I felt the most physically drawn to.

Actually, I was doing it all backwards: I was getting to know girls on a deeper, more emotionally intimate level first, while physical attraction and true emotions followed after; with boys, I was awkward and struggled to see past their handsome looks and muscular bodies long enough to actually find out if I was even compatible with them as a friend. So, the boys remained sexy, but mysterious and elusive—strange creatures that were so different from me, despite the autonomy in our chromosomes and anatomy. Girls however, were the entire package—beautiful, smart, funny, sexy, sweet, and everything I felt like I could ever want in a relationship—a relationship that I felt could last and really mean something. And perhaps unlike other boys, my goal was not to run the figurative bases with the girls I loved; I wasn’t interested in what they were like underneath their clothes.

Even though I hugged, cuddled, and even kissed
some of my female friends, we never dated.

There were several girls during those years in high school, and the years following, who I truly had intense and loving feelings for. Because of the perfect match I felt we were as a pair, I would’ve loved to date them and make them mine—and I can’t say I didn’t try at some point with a few of them. But I knew (and they insisted) that all we would ever be was simply friends, and to this day, we are—even the best of friends, who have stood the test of time together. One or two girls I came very close to dating, and having as my girlfriends. Our relationships progressed from long hugs, into cuddling, even kissing a few times, and saying “I love you” constantly. But ultimately even those relationships weren’t meant to be anything more that lasting and beloved friendship. 

To this day, with many of these girls whom I truly loved, the emotion is still there. I could still see myself being with them, if things had ever happened differently. I can still feel the love that I had for them all those years ago, but with time I have seen how that love has gradually been molded into something more poignant and beautiful and deep—something beyond friendship—something eternal, and perhaps more meaningful than if we had been lovers.

It was important for me to learn that
I could romantically love a woman.

To some extent, this may all seem like normal boyish emotion—something all males went through at that age. But to a boy like me, who from five years-old onward knew that he was different because he liked other boys more than he should, these emotions are significant. Now, as a grown man who is more or less openly gay, I have accepted the fact that I may or may not ever feel emotion and love strongly enough to make a relationship with a woman last a lifetime—even an eternity. I may or may not ever find the girl to whom I can propose marriage, and make it actually work. But if the love for a woman has touched me so powerfully before, it can come again. And when it does, I will be open to accepting it. Most times I wait patiently; other days, loneliness can creep in. But I know that I have the capacity to love a woman, despite my strong attractions to men. And that gives me hope that maybe, somewhere, there is a girl out there for me.

Here is a poem that I once wrote about a girl whom I was very in love with. I wanted her to be my girlfriend more than I desired anything at that time. She was afraid that dating would complicate our unique friendship and possibly cause damage to it, so we never did get together. But she was right to choose as she did, because she remains to this day one of the best friends I have ever had—one who knows me inside and out, better than many people do. Her love for me, and my love for her, as it is now, is something I would never give up or replace with anything.  This poem reminds me of the powerful emotion that is present when a man loves a woman.

❧

‒ My Heart ‒

~

My heart makes its journey

from my chest to my throat,

and then back down again.

An up-beat tempo

rattles my ribcage

as it beats furiously for you.

You look into my eyes

and smile laughingly,

and my heart leaps;

I gaze back into yours

and see into forever—

the soft hazel hue

reflects your genuine nature.

My heart overflows with joy

at the sound of your voice—

only the enlightenment of your laughter

exceeds the beauty of your song.

You occupy my thoughts,

lost in the corridors of my mind,

possessing only the key to my heart.

I hold your warm body in my arms

and listen to your gentle breaths;

My chest rises and falls with yours,

while underneath my flesh

my heart melts away into ecstasy

and flows into my soul.

My affection for you blossoms

each time I hear those words

pass through your lips:

“I love you,” you say,

and at that moment

my heart fills with excitement.

Your embrace ignites my bosom with passion;

blissful emotion fuels the flame

which burns in my heart.

At the moment you pull away,

almost unwillingly,

I go cold—

My heart frozen in a state of longing,

With only the warmth of your tender touch

to keep me alive.

I soar through the unique wonderland

that is your personality;

My already-frantic heart quivers with amusement

because of your matchless style.

Images of you circle like a whirlwind in my head,

Mixing with the pounding sound

coming from within my chest.

Time slows as I listen to the rhythm,

and your name repeats with every beat

of my enamored heart.

~

- Wade A. Walker -

November 30, 2004

To read more about why a gay man would
choose to be with a woman, try my post,
"The Road Less Traveled By."

~

** NOTE: I share my writing on this site trusting that visitors are scrupulous enough not to plagiarize. If you'd like to share this poem or other content with others, please share the URL to the entire blog post. Please DO NOT copy and paste any text for personal use without written permission. As the original writer of the content herein, I’d like the credit for these pieces to remain mine. **

Even As I Have Loved You

I am gay; Jo is straight.  We are best friends

One of my best friends in the whole world is Jo. I met him in high school when I was a senior and he was a junior. We were in a large, semi-exclusive school choir together and spent many occasions bonding and getting to know each other in rehearsals and on related extracurricular activities. We lost touch for a year or two after I graduated, but were reunited at a local church congregation that we both began attending at the same time. Looking back, I am beyond grateful that he and I took the time to catch up one night, sitting in his car in the chapel parking lot after a meeting of the young single adults in our congregation; from there our relationship was rekindled and we began spending more time together, and I think both of our lives have been forever changed.

I was twenty years-old in 2007 when I moved to Provo, Utah from my home town just a few miles to the south. It was not too long after that Jo and I started hanging out again. I had just recently become active again in my faith—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons)—after straying from my religion for a year or so to pursue a promiscuous, sexually-active lifestyle in the local gay community. I thought at the time that willingly disobeying the commandments of God and teachings of my Church would bring me the missing happiness I sought and fill the void that resided in me from being torn between my homosexual attractions and my faith. After undergoing much counsel with my ecclesiastical leaders and engaging in a rough process of repentance and reconciliation, I moved to Provo to start a new life in a new town and give myself a fresh start.

Jo was a frequent guest in my humble apartment for the nearly-three-years I lived there, and at one point he was my roommate for a time. Our relationship had become strong, but I longed to express myself to him in deeper, more meaningful ways. For many gay men who feel the need to hide their sexuality, the act of confessing their attractions to loved ones can be a nerve-wracking, but freeing experience. At that time, though, I was very nervous about revealing my homosexuality to people whom I thought might be hurt or offended by my attractions. Jo is as heterosexual as they come, and I was worried that any homophobic feelings he might have—which are so often typical for straight men—might affect our friendship.

"In Quiet Desperation," published by
Deseret Book Co.

At the time I had recently bought a book entitled, “In Quiet Desperation,” written by three Latter-day Saint individuals who were significantly affected by the issue of same-gender attraction—a father and mother with a gay son, and a single man who was himself attracted to his same gender. I had been reading the book in my living room one night, and was expecting Jo to come over sometime that evening. While straightening up the room, I realized that the book was still on the floor next to the couch, and I went to snatch it up and hide it before Jo arrived. But then I stopped and thought that this might be the perfect opportunity to let Jo find out that I was gay without having to actually to make an outright confession. So, I left the book where it was. I said a little prayer, and waited.

When Jo arrived, we sat on the couch and talked for a bit. At some point, he noticed the book on the floor and picked it up. I remember faking surprise to cover up the mixture of delight and anxiety I was feeling at that moment. He looked at it for a moment and asked what it was. I told him it was a book for individuals with same-gender attraction. “Is there something you want to tell me?” he chuckled. I admitted to Jo then that I was gay. I don’t quite remember all that was said after that, but I know that he told me that it didn’t change anything between us. I was still his friend, and his knowing my sexuality didn’t make a difference to our friendship.

Jo and I were able to talk openly about my attractions from then on; though for a few years he would become a little irritated any time I lost sight of my tact and over-expressed my lustful desires for another man. His discomfort seemed to disappear, though, the closer we became. We joked easily about the quirks that homosexuality brings to my life and personality, and it always felt so good to laugh about issues that for so long brought more tears than anything. My relationship with Jo has stood the test of time and has persevered through trials that he and I have both individually experienced and shared with each other; presently he is one of my dearest, most beloved friends. Our years of friendship and our openness with each other has formed the strongest bond of brotherly love I have ever felt with a straight man—I dare say that it even rivals the relationships that I have with my own biological brothers, to whom I still have never vocally confirmed my homosexuality. Jo and I have grown completely comfortable and relaxed around each other, and we share a lot of untypical male-to-male affection and behavior.

I put my hand under Jo's shirt and scratched his
back while he played the guitar and we sang.

On Thanksgiving Day this year, after sharing dinner and festivities with our families, Jo and I met up at his apartment to spend some time together, just the two of us. Between his daily responsibilities and mine, we hadn’t seen each other in a while. I kicked off my shoes and lay on his bed, while he sat on the edge next to me, playing his guitar. After a few moments I put my hand up his shirt and vigorously scratched his back, which is something he enjoys. He sang songs as he played his guitar, and I hummed along to the ones I knew. Music is our common passion, and we really bond this way. He played several songs and simple tunes, and by the end I was just gently rubbing the bare skin of his back with my open palm.

I don’t know what made this experience different from many, many similar ones in the past, but I suddenly felt an outpouring of the deep, special love that Jo and I have shared for so long. It was purely platonic, absolutely rooted in true concern, admiration, and friendship; there was nothing sexual or inappropriate about it. It was almost surprising to me, considering that during high school I had a bit of a crush on him; and even though the crush had been gone for years, slowly fading away as our post-high-school friendship grew, in that moment in Jo’s room I struggled to even recall any previous enamored feelings. 

After he put his guitar away, he laid close next to me on the bed, and we just talked about everything and nothing. I could feel the warmth of his body near me, and breathe in his clean, masculine scent. But I didn’t want him. It was so satisfying, but never arousing. And I realized so clearly then just how important my relationship with Jo was. Our bond helped to satisfy the innate longing in my mind and heart for another man. Every long, tight hug, every intimate conversation or music jam session, every back scratch or shoulder massage filled that void that I still retain some small part of by choosing not to be romantically or sexually involved with a man. 

Our society today thinks that men don't show
affection with one another, unless they are gay.

I understood in that moment that all of the complicated psychological reasons suggested as being behind the issue of same-sex attraction—feelings of inadequacy towards men; troubled relationships with male patriarchal figures; lack of consistent, appropriate male-to-male affection, etc.—were all met in this amazing relationship with Jo. And I didn’t have to feel ashamed. I was doing nothing wrong, and neither was he. If anything, we were doing it right! Our society’s gender norms and male stereotypes definitely tell us otherwise: “Men don’t show affection with other men—that’s gay!” And the fact that Jo is undoubtedly 110% straight makes the affection between us that much more satisfying for some reason. 

Perhaps it’s because I know that we will never take our affection too far, even if I was still attracted to him. Or maybe it’s because it isn’t as difficult to get love and affection from a fellow gay man as it is from a straight one; certainly I have many gay male friends with whom I am very affectionate. But either way, I saw that I was getting all the male attention, male acceptance, male understanding, and male love that I need, while maintaining a seemingly-perfect Christlike love for another human being. Not lust. Not desire. Not passion. Just the purest form of love, just as the Savior Jesus Christ commanded His disciples, and all of us, to have.

I couldn’t hold back my gratitude, and I told Jo right then and there almost exactly what I’ve just written. I explained how common it is for same-sex attracted men to have a great need to connect physically, emotionally, and spiritually with other men, especially when breaking the commandment of chastity is not an option they will accept. I told Jo about all the things that he and I do together that meet my desire for male bonding, without feeding any sensual hunger. I told him I didn’t know why this was all coming out just then, but I had to thank him and tell him how much I appreciate and love him. 

The brotherly love Jo and I share is a powerful
influence on many aspects of my well-being.

Jo and I have never been strangers to saying “I love you” to each other, but hearing him say those familiar words again in that moment, in such a heartfelt and sincere way, seemed to fill my heart to overflowing, and solidify our bond even more. I thought to myself that I don’t ever need a boyfriend—I have Jo. It made me chuckle a little, but it was true. There was nothing more that I needed from another man that my best friend didn’t already provide. And he probably never knew the extent of it, and even I don’t think I fully did either, until that night.

On one occasion a while back, Jo and I were talking over burgers and fries, like so many other common hang-outs together. In between bites, he suddenly stated, “Wade, you’re like my angel.” I was a little surprised, and chuckled a bit. But he insisted that he and I were meant to be friends, and suggested that our friendship existed everlastingly in heaven before we came to this earth. He said he knew that I was placed in his life for a reason—to be a guiding light and an example, and he declared that he didn’t know what he would do without me in his life. It greatly flattered me, and made me glad that I had such an influence on him, and I agreed with everything he said. 

My relationship with Jo satisfies my
need for male affection and bonding.

But as I’ve pondered my relationship with Jo since that inspiring Thanksgiving night, I’ve come to the conclusion that one of us certainly is an angel to the other. But who’s to say that it isn’t Jo instead? In all these years since I’ve come back to the LDS Church, I would suggest that in fact it is Jo who has been one of the most influential people in my life, and an anchor in helping me to live the gospel of Jesus Christ. I do not downplay Jo’s love for me, however, and his compliments and affection continue to feed the longing within me for the love of another man. But as Jo says I have helped him along life’s sometimes troubled paths, I have realized just how pinnacle Jo’s offerings have been in filling that void within me. As the ancient-American prophet, Alma, so eloquently stated, “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” Indeed, I believe that Jo’s openness with affection all these years has helped me little by little to not seek out male affection from more inappropriate sources.

Certainly I do not mean to imply that my internal desires for male bonding on intimate levels are what rule me—like a driving addiction needing a frequent “fix." Certainly Jo’s friendship has always been much more than just that, and I feel that I have risen above many of the lustful yearnings that plagued me more in the past. In fact, I had to learn for myself years ago that a night of sensual intimacy with a man, no matter how romantic or titillating, did not complement my need for male affection as I thought it would. So often after such experiences, the void would remain, and even feel more piercing than before. That is why I have sought and found fulfillment for these drives and needs in more acceptable and appropriate ways—ways that are not only satisfying to me, but acceptable to my Heavenly Father and Savior.

When same-sex romance is not an
option, gay men need male friends
who can love and understand them.

I know that there are many same-sex attracted men of many different religions wherein homosexual activity is considered a sin. Many of these men have spent several years and countless dollars on clinical therapies and professional counseling to help them cope with the lasting effects of childhood traumas; they have also had to learn how to express their overwhelming feelings for men in ways that are appropriate for their personal well-being, while keeping their actions within the parameters of their faith. Whatever the causes of these attractions might be—and many have speculated—one outlet for these religious men who desire to stay faithful seems to be appropriate, but satisfying male-to-male contact.

I personally know men who have taken simpler steps to improve their lives by mending broken relationships with fathers and brothers, where before the relationships have caused them great turmoil. Others have opened up to straight male friends about their homosexuality, and even just confession alone can be liberating. But after this experience with Jo, I believe that the real mending of the heart and soul—the filling of the void within us—occurs after the confession, when a gay man can trustingly, confidently express himself in the company of another man in the pattern of Christlike love and concern that the Savior taught us. For some the extent to which affection is displayed does not have to be extreme. It may be a hug that satisfies one man, while open conversation about his sexuality will satisfy another. The answer, however, seems clear to me, and it is simple: An ear to listen, a mind to understand, a heart to feel, a hand to hold, and a soul that is open. I call it “positive male affirmation.”

"Jesus Washing the Apostles' Feet" by Del Parson

Copyright © 2002 by Intellectual Reserve, Inc.

If I have achieved my purpose with this post, then hopefully those who are reading will understand better just how important a friend can be. I believe that the love of friends is second only to the love of family. Greater than both of these, however, is the love of God, which was displayed through the matchless gift of His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ. Christ came into the world to redeem its inhabitants from sin. He brought with Him the perfect love of His Father, which love Jesus bestowed upon those whom He called His friends. And as the Lord’s disciples, we are called upon to spread that love—the love of God—to others.

On the occasion of the Jewish Passover, knowing that the fruition of His purpose as the Redeemer of the world was fast approaching, Jesus gathered His disciples together to feast. Then, after eating their traditional Passover meal, Jesus individually washed the feet of each of His twelve Apostles in an intimate display of reverence, solemnly teaching His servants, by example, of divine attributes like humility and selfless service. That night, among many other things, Jesus spoke of His love for these men, saying:

          “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

Jesus Christ ultimately proved that teaching by example when He atoned for their sins, and the sins of all mankind in the Garden of Gethsemane, and upon the cruel cross at Calvary’s hill, where He died to fulfill all righteousness. Our Father in Heaven does not ask us to give our lives for Him, as He required of His Son; but rather, our Father sent His Son to show us by example how to love and obey, that we may have the desire to forsake past things and let our former lives die as we take up our crosses and follow the Savior back to God’s presence. The Father gave us His Son, and the Son gave us His life. What better example of pure love can there be?

"Journey's End" by Derek Hegsted

Copyright © 1982-2005 by 

Derek Hegsted Fine Arts, Inc.

Moreover, I feel that we need to break the misconception that affection between males is wrong, unacceptable, or something that only gay men do. To any men reading who remain unconvinced, I ask them to humbly consider this thought: If you suddenly found yourself in the presence of the Savior Jesus Christ (and may I point out that one day you will!), and you suddenly felt compelled to embrace Him tightly, to shed happy tears upon His firm shoulders, and to bathe His pierced hands and feet with your grateful kisses—do you honestly think that either you or He would be uncomfortable in that moment with fact that you were both men who were showing each other affection?

For this life, I strive to keep a relationship with my Heavenly Father and my Redeemer that I will be able to take with me beyond this mortal veil and into the heavenly realm. I want to know my Savior then, and to feel comfortable in His mighty arms because of the trust and closeness I’ve shared with Him in mortality. I am not a stranger to Him. And I don’t want Him to be a stranger to me. If more individuals, like Jo and I, can continue in the pattern of love that has been set for us by Jesus Christ, I do not see how God’s children can ever cease to be whole.

The void within me will likely always remain to some degree, but its width and depth have been reduced to near insignificance by two things: First, the richness of faith and testimony that I have nurtured since coming back to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the assurance that my lifestyle of faith brings me; and second, the remarkable relationships with wonderful people (particularly men) like Jo that act to sustain my faith and help me keep my covenants with God by giving me all the emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual attention I need. And I am especially grateful that, for this life, I have a sincere, satisfying, loving relationship with at least one man that I will never have to be ashamed of, or regret, or risk my salvation for.