Well, I have been out to pretty much everyone for awhile now, except for two people: my parents. That just changed. I was a wimp and did it via email. I composed the letter and sent it off just now, while I was at the laundromat. For those of you who think it is fun to write a tear-filled letter finally crushing your parents hopes while an old Asian man waits for your spin cycle to finish so he can lock up and go home . . . well, its not fun at all. And now I have an awful, post-cry headache.
I am not sure how my parents will respond. I trust they will continue to stay in my life and show love to me. I think what really hurts for me is what I feel to be the huge disappointment I am to them. It's all well and good to say we live our own lives for ourselves, but I think its delusional or wildly, inhumanly progressed to say one does not care if one is disappointment, particularly to the two people who have invested the most in you (in terms of time and hopes and dreams (and, yes, finances)) and on whose unconditional love and approval you may have often wanted to turn to as a comfort.
It is done, though. I can finish being the fallen golden child of the family. I can rest comfortably as the black sheep (which really has been my position all along).
Crying headaches suck, but then again so does living a lie to the two people you have loved more than any others.
I will say this. When I was in the laundromat, my heart turned to God in prayer, I saw my reflection in the mirror and I suddenly remembered a young fourteen-year old John, going to the temple for the first time, so full of pure and genuine desires, so full of . . . the Spirit and love of God. I remembered that fourteen-year old boy. And you know what? I am still that fourteen-year old boy.