Author has written 2 stories for How to Train Your Dragon, and Rise of the Guardians.
This is like a 15 hundred words presentation, but I wrote it by heart, and even if it speaks about someone else, It says exactly who I am.
First Gay Crush - from a Gay Mormon
Not sure if someone’s going to read this or if anyone will ever believe this but I don’t care. I’ve got this thing weighting down on my chest for years now and I feel like it’s time I start opening up about it.
I am in love with a friend. I’m not going to say some shit like “the only problem is that he’s a guy” or whatever. There are many problems. One of them is that we’re Mormons. He’s much younger, and apparently much more faithful than I am.
I’m not going to say I’m afraid of him being straight, because he’s Kinsy-6 gay. We weren’t like “best friends forever” or anything, but I’ve known him ever since he was a toddler - and if I remember it right, I’ve loved him even then, that innocent childish and friendly love. He is the first boy I’ve ever found cute. We’ve met through church, him being 3 years younger and with his entire family devoted to faith.
I stepped away from church as I grew up, and we wouldn’t see each other for years, to the point I didn’t even remember who he was then, and he probably didn’t remember me either.
Until I made 15.
Depressed and dealing with my conflicting rainbow that insisted in growing inside me - which didn’t go well with Mormon beliefs AT ALL. When I came back to church, after beginning seminaries every day, eventually, I found him.
That film taken moment when you see someone in the mid of a crowd. And then BAM, your heart stops and everything goes in slow motion. He was so beautiful, dark wavy hair and that crooked smile. Those dimples on his cheeks, and his eyes… So big and shining with wonder and mischief. He was taken out from a John Green page right there. But he’s real, and if he reads this, may the living Jesus forgive me.
I tried to convince myself it was just a phase. That eventually it’d die out. I focused into school girls, kissed a few dragons and tried to read the scriptures. In the sickening feeling of my despair, I finally jumped into the wastelands of fear and prejudice.
Nothing worked.
I didn’t have one straight inch on me. Fear gave out to sadness and anger, and I was depressed, more than ever. I’d cut, skip meals, cry sometimes and consider suicide. Most of all, I considered running from my life.
All I wanted to do was to love him, to show him how much I cared and felt for him. It was not a choice to feel, or to want to have him, to hold his hands or just simply be with him. Was that really so evil of me?
That’s when we met. Gospel classes paired us up in seminaries, and I was afraid of him. By then I was already 17. At first, we didn’t talk much. I was so afraid of saying anything to him, I felt like I was embarrassing myself… And I probably was. I forced myself to say anything about this girl in our class who I was friends with, and tried to believe I had a crush on her.
The problem there was her boyfriend. A tall, arrogant jock that gave homophobic remarks every now and then. And he mocked the boy I liked, constantly. The way he would blush and lower his head, and the visible sadness that grew in him, made me realise what an idiot I was becoming for not taking a stand.
I decided to talk to him. Quite idealistic too, there was this party - which I had zero fun, trust me -. I didn’t hope to find my crush there. But I did. He was shy and introspective most of the time, and the awkward way he tried to move in through the crowd and try to dance between his friends was so sad and adorable at once, that when I finally decided to do it, I waited a minute just to watch. It was cringy, but funny as hell. I pulled him by his arm, and he seemed too happy to have an excuse to leave…
I took him outside, and it was the first time we actually talked. Talked for what felt like hours. We looked like opposites on our personalities, but boy, we weren’t. Every single topic of our conversations would match. Books, Netflix series, that meme on Tumblr, even old vines, rest in peace. Self depriving jokes and sarcasm. I fell for him all over again. He was so adorable, like the kind of person you just want to cuddle and kiss the daylights out of his cheeks.
And like me, he was just as lonely. Insecure, fragile and seemingly sad. His self-esteem was so low already, and it broke my heart to see so much of me in him.
We became good friends. We’d sit next to each other and pair up for every activity, first class every morning. He was much younger, and so smarter than me. I’d sketch him when no one was looking, and I’d try not to be too obvious. I consider myself decent with a pencil, so when a colleague of ours found his drawing on my sketchbook, details like his lit freckles and dimples, she immediately showed him.
The entire class got silent, as if something shockingly horrible had just happened. Blushing furiously, I said, “he just appeared on my drawing” and tried to convince that it was only meant as a friendly thing. For my relief, honestly, he loved it. He couldn’t keep it, but I saw his blush, creeping up beneath his skin and for a moment, I knew that there was a chance, however small it was, of my feelings being mutual.
I never came out of the closet, though. On that year, I managed to befriend him, get his bully suspended (apparently he messed up with his girlfriend - that before anything is a great friend of mine, even today), and even get some sort of choreographed dance with him. He’d just follow my moves, and yell excitedly that we were in sync.
He hugged me once, by the year’s end, and he’s not a person for showing his feelings through physical affection. So when he did, lacing his arms around me, just like normal friends do, I hated myself for the warmth that spread through my body, inside out. I still remember his scent, something between grapes and freshly clean clothes.
That was my last year on that class, while it was only his first. Two years have passed. I came out to my parents the following year, which… Wasn’t easy, and sometimes I think it’s my fault that my father feels so depressed. My mother was harder, though. I think I broke her heart.
Now I ask you, was it so selfish to tell them the truth? All I did was to open up to them, being honest like they have always asked me to, and what I get is the realisation that often, the truth isn’t enough.
About him… He won’t talk to me anymore. On the rare occasions we meet nowadays, he’ll probably pass by me without waving on my direction, or ignoring the poor attempts of conversation. It’s shitty to realise that someone you love actually hates you. Maybe because I left church. On social media, he likes and follows everything I do, but only messages me on my birthday - three days after his own, when I message him first. If he ever finds this, and probably knows it’s him, then I am sorry for whatever I did. If I ever scared you or tried to push you to coming out. If I lied to you when I said I was straight, all the times I laughed along with those terrible jokes. Or if I never came back to church when you asked me to. I can never truly be in a place that has messed up so much with my head, and you know that. I can never trust anyone for granted. But I know why I never came out to you.
Because it would break you. If you find this, I’m so sorry for falling for you. You have a family in there and friends. You have your faith a million times stronger than mine, and I have no right to put myself in your way. I have known you forever, and I hope you come out of your shell one day. You have no idea what an amazing, beautiful mess of a human being you are, and I love you. I miss you.