Hello...

My name is Kelsey and I am 21 years old. I have a wonderful family and I love my friends. I enjoy reading, writing, playing video games, *trying* to make other people laugh and (just in general) being a goofball. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. And I'm gay.

Since this is just the start of my blog here, I'll just start off at the beginning...

I can remember, even to this day, who my first crush was. Her name was Angela. I was in first grade and I didn't even know what being gay was, because being gay was just normal to me. I just knew I liked this girl who was in third grade. I didn't know I was different until a friend asked me who I liked and when I told her, she said "Ew, you're GAY??" I didn't know that there was supposed to be a "set" sexuality. I just knew that she liked a boy and I liked a girl. It's always been that way for me.

Growing up, I was pretty blissfully ignorant of what heterosexuality/homosexuality was. I had my crushes, but they were just the youthful, innocent ones that every child gets. I had a wonderful childhood, with parents who love me and friends that I enjoyed playing with. I loved playing the Nintendo 64 and loved creating things with Legos, and I hated anything girlie. I've always been comfortable with my body, but I never liked the frilly things my second oldest sister would wear, and I loathed flowery, pink clothing. I was a tomboy to a T. I still am (though I must admit, my attitude toward clothing has changed a bit. I still hate frilly things, but I also no longer throw a temper tantrum when I have to wear a dress, etc). :)

As I entered adolescence, my awareness began to change. I started to realize that (though I never fully acknowledged it) I was different. Even as these thoughts started to creep their way into my mind, I kept them at bay for a while, mostly by confiding in my mom and otherwise trying to convince myself that I wasn't "that way." In the LDS school that I went to, I remember having two very distinct crushes, but even with this evidence right in front of me, I still refused to acknowledge that I was different.

I was 14 the first time my homosexuality really hit me. I had heard a particular song by a female artist that just hit me. I remember me and my sister were painting my room blue and we had the radio going, where Michelle Branch's "Are You Happy Now" began and from the first notes, my heart was pounding. Her voice forced me to finally recognize that I am different. It seems silly now, at 21, but at the time, that was a huge moment in my life. My crush on Michelle Branch swept away a long time ago, crushed by an interview she'd done for Maxim Magazine. At the time, I didn't know what kind of magazine it was and when I went to read the interview, I was crushed because I thought she'd been disgusting. In a way, I felt betrayed. Silly, I know, but that's how I felt at the time.

From the moment I heard that song, I had a huge crush on her. I remember I would look at her fansite all the time, looking at all the photos. Looking back now, I know that was just a harmless crush, but at the time I felt so guilty for even looking at her website (though I never looked at innapropriate images of her or anyone else). To me, my looking at her website was the equivalent of me stealing something, or doing something else that causes guilt. I remember I used to pray to "God" to forgive me (while still never fully acknowledging that I was gay). I think the phrase I repeated the most was "Please forgive me Heavenly Father... I'm not that way." (The last part was more or less said to myself, to convince myself that I wasn't gay. That maybe if I'd repeated the words often enough, they'd somehow come true.)

Even while I still never fully acknowledged I was gay (I know I keep repeating that, but it's so crucial to my personal story), I felt guilty all the time. I was gross, filthy, a sinner and was most certainly going to hell. I was convinced that "God" hated me, and that nothing I did that was considered "right" or "righteous" would ever make up for that. I was, therefore, damned. Eternally. From the ages of 14-17, I was constantly wracked with guilt, my conscience working in over drive. I lived a hellish cycle that consisted of trying (unsuccessfully) to ignore my conscience, finally breaking down and then confiding in my mother (who, when I look back, I know now was right) and who then would try to reassure me that I wasn't, indeed, going to hell and then I would have a few, very short lived days of happiness, at which point guilt and doubt would begin to gnaw on my mind. My friends didn't know it, but I was depressed. Feeling like you're constantly fighting a battle with "God" for your soul (and knowing you're losing) was pretty heavy stuff for me to go through. All the while this was happening, I had come to the conclusion that no one could know about this and that I was entirely alone. Out of everything I've gone through, I think that's what makes me saddest, the thought that I was truly and utterly alone, left to carry this burden by myself.

And that is why I wanted to start this blog, so that people would know that they're not alone. You are never alone.

Anyways, when I was 17, I was being interviewed by a church member who extended a calling to me. As I was about to accept, an explosion of guilt surged its way into the pit of my stomach. He had asked "Are there any sins or transgressions that should be taken care of?" and I sat there stunned. Usually I was able to wave away the feeling of uncleanliness when being interviewed by my Bishops (I *hated* those interviews!), but this time the feeling of unworthiness broke over me in waves, settling in my stomach and heart. I knew I had to tell my Bishop, who would be the first person I told (outside of my parents). Shakily, I "confessed" that I was attracted to other girls. I expected an unrelenting torrent of disgust and shame, followed by him telling me that I need to "repent." I recieved the exact opposite. To this day I believe that that particular Bishop (and my parents) saved my life. At first he was a little shocked, but not in an unkind way. He said that he still loved me and that what I went through wasn't as uncommon as I thought it was. My head started to feel light and relief seemed to wash over me. He gave me a recommendation to see a counselor at LDS Family Services.

It was the best thing I've ever done to help myself.

I'll admit that at the time, I thought my couselor would help me change my orientation. I was wrong, but what she did help me realize was that I was not a filthy person, I was not hated by God and that I was, in fact, a human being who deserved to be loved and to have every happiness possible. I also remember being *very* relieved when I met her and I wasn't attracted to her. That was one of my biggest fears. Who would be able to talk to their counselor about being gay when they're attracted to them?? I know I wouldn't be able to. I'll also admit that I was sooooo nervous when I went. I remember filling out some forms with my parents and I had forgotten to fill out the back of one of the forms. When the receptionist handed it back to me to finish, my dad said jokingly "You failed!" and I burst into tears. I know my dad was joking (and I admit that I have his sense of humor) but he didn't know that failing was my biggest fear. I was so afraid of failing "God," my parents and my church, that that joke struck the rawest nerve inside me.

I can say without a doubt that counseling changed my life. I read a book while in counseling called "In Quiet Desperation" (By Ty Mansfield and Fred/Marilyn Matis) that just struck a comforting chord with me. I devoured that book, and wept when I realized that I was not alone and that the depression I'd struggled with was a normal side effect. If I could meet the authors of this book, I would just simply say "Thank you." It is a small to medium size book that deals with a heavy subject. Every person I've given it to has been unable to finish it, but I realize that they've been unable to do so because it is, quite simply, a sad book. That's why I loved it so much; it captured the anguish I'd felt for so many years in such an eloquent way. If anyone has the opportunity to pick it up, I highly recommed it.

After I left the counseling sessions, I emerged a better person. Not because I was "changed" but because I knew I wasn't alone and that it wasn't something I should be ashamed of. Because of my Bishop, my counselor and my parents, I have grown from a depressed, guilt-riddled child to a happier, more well rounded adult. (Well, as "well rounded" as I can be. To those who know me personally, I know, I'm an oddball.) The reason I've written all this is for multiple reasons; as a form of catharticism, to finally put down my story (however meager the details may be and which I know is only half-over) and to (in a sense) get this "off my chest." I hope what you've read has been clear and has broadened the understanding of those who aren't gay and has brought hope and comfort to those who are. I know I've referred to Heavenly Father as "God" (purposely with the " " marks), but that was to show a distinction between my relationship with my Heavenly Father now and my relationship with "God" then. Now I know Heavenly Father loves me, but when I was struggling with my sexuality, Heavenly Father was "God" then, some unknown, uncaring being who didn't want anything to do with me. So, when ever you see ' "God" ' like that, it's to show that my thinking or reasoning at the time was that I was dealing with a bitter deity. When you see "Heavenly Father," it's because I view Him now as a merciful, kind and loving Creator who will always love us no matter what.

Anyhoo, I know this is a bit long, so I'll stop now. If anyone has any questions or comments, feel free to ask/post them. God bless you all!

Kelsey :)

Oh, one final thing...

Please, please, PLEASE, do *not* leave unkind comments to other readers (if I even have any...) or try to start a debate. I didn't create this blog to start debates, I started it for the reasons listed above. Thank you!