I wouldn’t let myself stop fighting.  Every time I slowed down I would remind myself of how much I hated high school and how determined I was to prove that even a fat, closeted loser could become something special.  I thought of the recent string of LGBT suicides and used my rage to push myself harder.  I had come so far, accomplished so much, and there was simply no way I could give up on myself or the struggling youth who desperately needed role models, heroes and hope.

Soon enough I was flying to Philadelphia, confident that I could win the national gay title. My body was the best it had ever been and, judging by the online profiles of my competitors, I was easily one of the most well-rounded contestants.  I had the look, an impressive activist resume, an education, communication skills and an intense passion and drive.  I had answers ready for any question they could throw at me and I was ready to share my story with the judges.  From a bullied underdog to Mr. Gay San Diego, I had transformed and was ready to represent and serve the LGBT community proudly.

I did not anticipate what happened next.  The selected judges were an assorted bunch of relatively unknown gay celebrities (some from the not-so-aptly named A-List New York reality show on Logo).  They instantly showed favoritism with the contestants they knew and made no secret of the shallow criteria they’d be using to judge the contest.  I was told the competition was a search for a gay man who would break stereotypes, be a positive role model and actually work to make a difference in the world.  I was suddenly feeling very misinformed.

The judges were not given any background information about any of the contestants and were instructed to select a Top 5 based solely on the swimsuit and formalwear portions of the pageant.  From there, the Top 5 contestants would each be asked a single question and a winner would be chosen.  A bit disgusted by the inadequate decision process but still determined to impress, I shed the insecurities of my past and rocked the stage with a sexy suit, Human Rights Campaign equality stickers and cute EQCA swimwear.  The judges enjoyed the gimmick and I felt confident in my body and look.  If this was the embarrassingly shallow price I would pay to win, I was more than prepared to pay it.

When they called us out to announce the top 5, I stood there with a whitened smile and bold red dress shirt.  One at a time, each of the five names was called.  My heart beat faster as each man stepped forward.  Please just say my name, I begged in my head.  But mere seconds later, in front of me stood 5 other men and the crowd cheered.  Four out of five had worked with or had previous relationships with the judges, and the fifth was a fitness model that didn’t even know the name Matthew Shepard.  All 5 were locals and from New York, New Jersey or Philadelphia.  I forced a smile, but inside I was screaming.  It wasn’t fair.  I had worked so, so hard and wouldn’t get to speak.  “We didn’t even place,” I could hear the Glee kids saying with me.  And as though God were trying to punch me in the gut, Katy Perry’s Firework began to play.  The message of finding power within oneself was like a knife twisting in my side.  I felt so defeated.

My fellow underdogs and activists were dismayed, but the few friends I had there could tell I was taking it the hardest.  We had upheld every stereotype we were claiming to fight and it was obvious that the winner would do little to create change.  After discussing the implications of the results with the other contestants, I could feel my own selfish hurt take over.  Years of practically killing myself to look a certain way, all so th­­at this shallow world would just take notice of someone like me, and I had lost. I finally looked exactly like they wanted and I had everything else to back it up, but it still wasn’t good enough.  I didn’t even feel like a person, only some empty shell paraded around to make someone else a quick buck.  The clock struck twelve and I felt my coach turn back into a pumpkin. I went back to my hotel and cried.  I was a loser once more.

Upon returning to San Diego the next morning, I had no time to feel sorry for myself.  My birthday party was scheduled that afternoon at the house of none other than Michael Portantino.  My off-and-on friend Carlos was sharing the event with me, and we were pulling things together at the last minute.  Unfortunately, my party forced me to miss the Different Strokes Swim Team Awards Banquet that same night, but I had a wonderful time with some of my best friends and was able to recover from the tough weekend in Philly.  At the end of the night, I received a message from a fellow swimmer who had attended the awards banquet: “Congratulations! You won most improved swimmer of the year!”

The message took me by complete surprise, especially after feeling like such a loser all weekend. I thought about how hard I worked in the pool and the road to nationals.  The Glee comparisons were impossible to ignore and this win was truly about the journey.  I thought about life, drowning and all the obstacles we each face.  We’re all underdogs in our own way.  Every second of life is filled with happiness and struggle, with determination and hopelessness.  We all feel alone sometimes and at any moment could choose to end it all, but we each fight to live in the hope that one day our dreams will come true.  Life isn’t about winning everything, I told myself.  It’s about not giving up long enough to find the one thing you can win and the one place where your voice is heard.

Maybe U.S. Mr. Gay just wasn’t right for me.  Perhaps there was no place in that competition for a nerdy boy-next-door.  I certainly didn’t need a national title to be the hero I longed to be.  Making a difference isn’t about being the best looking, the smartest, the nicest, and the most perfect…it’s about giving people hope and the glimmer of improvement, and that I had accomplished.

On my first day back to swim practice I looked at my lane options, smiled and jumped into the faster lane.  Without the motivation of the competition, I knew the Butterfly would be brutal.  But even as I grew tired swimming, I knew that I had improved and was one step closer to finding my place in this world.  I stretched my shoulders and told myself to be a hero.  Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, and just like that…I was flying.

I learn a lot from love and the men in my life, or, more accurately, the people in my life.  I value human connection, experience and interaction as the divine, force of life and this sacred collective essence/spirit/presence is what I call “God.”  While some find my disbelief in a single almighty deity to be offensive, others criticize my slightly existential belief that there may exist a higher energy or infinite power that connects us all.  Regardless, I maintain a completely open mind and humbly admit to only being able to speak from my own experiences.  And from those experiences, as you’ve probably read in this blog, I have come to greatly revere life and the amazing way pieces come together.  I might not necessarily believe in fate or destiny, but I don’t resist the forces I feel and I never hold myself back from living life to the fullest or experiencing God.

Recently, a chain of events took place that changed my life forever and put me in touch with my concept of God.  Two months ago I was seeking atonement and discovered that breaking out of imagination and into reality was not an easy process. My mind overcompensated and attacked all imaginary parts of my world including daydreams and romance.  I was left feeling cold, hard, loveless and alone.  But instead of fighting to get back into fantasy, I attempted to live in this colorless reality as a way of challenging my defense mechanisms.  I momentarily gave up on the search for a hero and instead fooled myself into believing I was in love with my roommate and close friend, Ryan Fair.  As I tried to discourage my romantic fantasies, it made sense to turn to a more practical prince.

This misguided (and completely platonic) romance, however, was predicated on settling and fell flat instantly. While he was indeed a sweet homebody with piercing blue eyes and the same name as my long lost love, we didn’t share that…spark. Our friendship would be stronger untouched, and I realized I was about to make the same mistake I made with Peter and Drew years ago.  I was craving that powerful human connection, but forcing romantic love (or something a lot like it) with a best friend or sparkless suitor was hardly the answer.

Failing again left me feeling incapable of properly balancing fairytale dreams with reality and genuine love.  As such, I felt doomed to dissatisfaction and begrudgingly muttered, “maybe functional, romantic love doesn’t actually exist.”  Ryan turned in shock as he watched my Disney dreams shrivel up and die before his eyes. “You’re sounding like M****** and everything you don’t respect…despair, bitterness, depression, hopelessness, misanthropy…” Suddenly the light inside my head turned on and the world came into focus. I was just like my second big ex—the broken man I dated for only two months but whom I often blamed for my tortured soul.  Perhaps Ryan couldn’t provide the sparks for romantic love, but he had just given me something so much more valuable.

In an instant, two years of resentment washed away as I realized that my ex had never poisoned me with hatred or misanthropy…he had only unleashed it.  My questions about life weren’t new.  Everything about him that I hated had always been inside of me, only hidden. He demonstrated and understood parts of me that I had never even acknowledged. That’s probably how I fell in love with him in the first place, I concluded, as my mind ran circles around the epiphany. He wasn’t an enemy, but a kindred spirit.  Almost as if he had attached pieces of himself to every unique area of my heart, it wasn’t until I acknowledged the existence of my own shadowy sub-section that I could locate the little grasp he still had.  Two years later and I finally identified my own dark side enough to free myself of the anger left over.  I was finally in control of myself and, with that discovery, the light poured in.

As the negative emotions melted away, I could feel the magic of life bubbling inside my heart.  Collective effervescence swirled around me as I felt completely in tune with the world and its inhabitants.  We are all so deeply connected and clearly born from the same whole.  Any emotion (good or bad) that we feel for others is simply a reflection of one we feel about ourselves.  The secret to happiness must be self-love because if you truly love yourself, you can’t stop yourself from loving everyone else.  My heart crackled with the sparks of humanity and I felt absolution like I had never felt before.

I texted M******, my 6’4 Superman ex, and told him of my discovery.  I had never truly hated him I explained—he had only acted as a mirror that revealed my true self.  Suddenly his name, which I promised him I would no longer use in my blogs, seemed more appropriate than ever.  Yes, he was indeed a mirror.

He invited me over to watch a movie, slightly concerned for my sanity.  His roommate was gone and it was his last week in his Mission Valley apartment.  On my way I passed the intersection where we first held No on 8 signs together.  When I arrived at his apartment I smiled sweetly and adored him with my eyes.  He offered me tea and I chose a bag from an old box I recognized.  He sat down by the fire and picked up the remote to resume Avatar, an all too appropriate movie about living in fantasy.  Just as I was about to sit down, I heard a boom.

I looked out his windows and my eyes watered instantly.  Of all the times, of all the places, what were the odds?  My heart raced and all I could think about was God.  There was so much beauty in the world and so much love to be had. I looked down at the gorgeous man sitting beside me; I felt genuinely sorry for everything I had ever said or done that hurt him. My ex looked at me with some confusion, but I would not sit down.  In a few minutes I would explain everything, and for the first time since our breakup I would see in his eyes that he was sorry too.

Yes, in a few minutes we would share one of the sweetest moments of all our time together, but until then I was entranced by the light of God on the horizon. This was the end of one love story, but the beginning of a far greater one.  My heart was full of love and my soul felt completely free, and there in front of me was a celebration of my independence.  The firebombs burst in the air and the sparks flew.  There was no more darkness, there were only fireworks.

During the training for the shift, he was nowhere to be found.  The coordinator, Joscelyn, gave me a look of sympathy and began to divide us all into groups.  After my group had been decided, he walked into the office and I almost had a heart attack.  I quickly grabbed Joscelyn’s arm and quietly begged her to restart the count.  The volunteers gave me a confused look, but I was too focused to care and Joscelyn kindly agreed.  She would later credit herself as matchmaker.

I greeted my newly assigned teammate and, by some “stroke of luck,” ended up in his carpool. His BMW convertible offered 15 minutes of Heaven.  Warm in our seats and listening to Goldfrapp, we traded meaningless stories and I silently admired his perfect features.  His words were refined and biting, and I could tell immediately that he was very intelligent.  He oozed of class and everything about him screamed Prince Charming.

Later in the week, I continued to talk to him under the pretense of getting him to volunteer again.  He never would, but he did take me to dinner after the devastating loss.  “I know you put a lot of yourself into that campaign, are you ok?” he asked.  As I ate the delicious food from the cute vegetarian café, I couldn’t help but feel absolutely fine.  I wasn’t able to get married, but being with him made the hatred of the world melt away.  He was traveled, experienced, confident, independent, adorably introverted, and a video game playing gay man looking for commitment.

The funny thing is, I never believed I had a chance with the man.  I thought he was out of my league and would never fall for a boy like me.  You can imagine my surprise when one day he texted me, “are you ever going to ask me out?”  My mind flashed back to the day Ryan Gordillo wrote his blog about loving me.  Why did men always confess their feelings for me through electronics?  It didn’t matter. I was in disbelief, but quickly responded, “yes but not via text.”

That night (November 7) I found him at his favorite hangout, the Starbucks on University, and went up to the window.  He smiled when he saw me and I pulled out a No on 8 sign.  I smiled back and then turned the sign around.  Across it, I had written in bold lettering, “Will you go out with me, M****** P****?” From there began the second whirlwind romance of my life.

Since the breakup, I’ve often tried to dismiss the short-lived relationship as a tragically dysfunctional infatuation with a depressed and broken man, but the truth is that I really loved him.  He was intoxicatingly gorgeous, but there was so much more to him than that.  As an ex-model, he resented pictures of himself and shallowness of any kind so I designed a gift to demonstrate that, while traditional beauty catches the eye, the contents of a gift (or person) are what truly make it (or him) beautiful.  On Christmas I gave him the perfect box from Tiffany’s.  Inside was not jewelry, but rather a hand-carved box from Thailand (his favorite place in the world).  On the box were two elephants (his favorite animal after caring for a number of them in Thailand), representing the two of us.  Within the box I had printed 50 pictures of different things he liked, did or represented to me and on each one was a statement explaining how they made him beautiful in my eyes.  There was not a single picture of him, but the gift still succeeded in presenting his true beauty.

Indicative of our two different ways of thinking, he gave me a $5,000 limited edition Quantum of Solace 007 Omega watch.  Despite the glamour, the gift was meaningful and came with the sweetest card explaining the symbolism of the watch with one of his few and precious memories of happiness.  The often pessimistic and misanthropic Superman then quoted the Bond line, “I have no armor left—you’ve stripped it from me. Whatever is left of me…whatever is left of me…whatever I am…I’m yours.”

But the armor came back on as quickly as it came off, and mere days later on New Year’s Eve, after he revealed more of his tragic past, our communication and differences broke us apart forever.  The next day, our mutual friend admitted to having paid for my Christmas gift.  Suddenly my only Quantum of Solace was no longer genuine and I was left even more confused, hurt and devastated.  As I’ve told before, the heartbreak and rage ate me alive and I became a monster.  The rest is history.

Only now that I’ve found atonement can I finally understand how this all led me to where I am today.  For this, I want to acknowledge and celebrate the wonderful parts of our relationship and let go of the negative.  My second Superman changed my life and I could not be more grateful.

During my first year at UC Berkeley, I met a boy with the most beautiful grey-blue eyes. This quickly became the classic good-girl/bad-boy romance as my naïve and inexperienced self became infatuated with the gorgeous rebel. I don’t know if I was just intrigued by our differences, wanted to save him, or both, but nothing could free me of my desire. As I fell in love, every fantasy and dream I ever had swept over me…and I gave him everything.

Instead of recapping the relationship, I’ll share a (somewhat poorly written and embarrassing, but undeniably sweet) poem I wrote for him on our six-month anniversary. It does a fairly good job capturing our story, my feelings and imagination, as well as my first-love state of mind.

The Moment I Met You

Ryan, Sweetie, Monkey, my dear,
I wrote you something I need you to hear
The sweetest moments in all their glory
This, my Superman, is our story:

What began with simple MySpace mail
Turned out to be love’s true tale
Your head shaven, you came on BART
In downtown Berkeley doth our story start.

Up in the dorm you met my friends.
Our first frat party, the drink that offends
Nervous and fearful, we did not dance
But in those blue eyes…I saw romance.

We got tired, so we headed back to my floor
And as we walked the rain began to pour
There I stopped you for our first kiss
For months to come, how this moment I would miss…

The next two weeks came with a painful cost
For my keys were not the only things I lost.
Whether it was my fault or the drugs you were on
As quickly as he’d come, my sweet Ryan was gone.

I can’t even describe the months that I spent
Mourning the loss of my own Clark Kent.
I did so in silence, and it hurt oh so much
Missing your voice…your eyes…that rare loving touch.

When finally you messaged me one fateful day
You liked me again, or so you did say
I was so excited, my heart skipped a beat
You were clean, happy, and above all…sweet.

Of having you back, I had only dreamed
And suddenly so close my dream did seem
But on Friday the 13th, with only a few words spoken
I lay on your floor, my heart twice broken.

I couldn’t cry, though believe me I tried
Something inside me had suddenly died.
We became close friends, but it wasn’t enough
Getting over you twice, was twice too tough.

So it began once again with a dance in a cage
An uphill battle for your attention on stage
I went for other guys, while you had no clue
That all I ever wanted was a chance with you.

But after your blog, my comment, Nick, and gay prom
Suddenly it clicked and you dropped the bomb
My world blurred, and I tried not to scream
As I sat there reading the words on the screen

The sky fell around me with the season’s first rain
I cried, disillusioned with happiness and pain
I ran to my car and told Nick ‘we’re through’
For nothing could make me let go of you.

I drove to your house, and stood as it poured
Soon I would be with the man I adored
I played Ryan Cabrera and tried to stay strong
For I knew it now, it wouldn’t be long.

When finally I saw you with that look in your eye
I swallowed my fear, and tried not to cry
For now I could see that this was True
So after months of waiting, I truly kissed you.

I looked into your eyes, and I saw that gleam
You smiled and said it was just like your dream
The rain, the kiss, even down to the song
But you, Ryan, had been my dream all along.

Then was the Crib, where the past didn’t repeat
For I didn’t even ask, but I got the front seat
And wearing the clothes from the first time we met
We danced a dance I won’t ever forget.

Following that, a week of romance began
At Santa Cruz beach we spent the night in the sand
Candlelight dinners, roses, it all went to plan
So I asked, ‘be my boyfriend, Superman?’

Not long after, you were lying in my bed
Apparently there was something you had not yet said
I suddenly felt it, I suddenly knew
You looked at me and said ‘I love you.’

For the 19th celebration of the day of your birth
I took you to the Happiest Place on Earth
We fought at first; I did nothing but whine
But after my nap and some food, we had a great time.

To my Prince, a magical time I did owe
But never did I imagine that fireworks show
The way you held me, I couldn’t help but melt
If only I could describe the way I felt.

Watching you go wild and become a child
I just hope you saw the way I smiled.
You should have seen yourself standing in line.
I still couldn’t believe you were finally mine.

But from Mickey, to Goofy, to Chip and Dale
From Fantasyland to the Toon Town Jail
Of all the magic that we did share
The most magical thing was just having you there.

And months later, even though we may fight
The magic still sparks, and my candle burns bright
Let’s forget the past and all of our lies
Look at me now, right in the eyes

The truest thing you’ll ever know
Is the feeling of mine, at our first Hello.
I’ve always believed in love at first sight
And Ryan, my love, you’ve proven me right

That day you walked out of Berkeley BART…
It was that day that you captured my heart
For you rose on the escalator, me standing above
And it was the moment I met you I fell in love.

Happy Six Months, Sweetie. These have been the best months of my life. I love you so much.

Always and Forever,
Matthew

Ryan was, at least in my mind, perfect—a sweet, family-oriented homebody and a balancing force in my life. The two of us were inseparable and with him I learned the true meaning of intimacy. From surprise birthday parties, to cabin trips, to romantic singing under the campanile at Berkeley…my moments with Ryan are some of my most treasured memories.

When he eventually left me, I was devastated and unwilling to accept the breakup. I wrote, sealed, and delivered a letter describing how I had one day planned to propose. The envelope read, “If you really want us to be over, open this. If you still have hope, keep it sealed.” He never opened it, but I eventually told him what it said and that resulted in our getting back together (again). Unfortunately, I quickly realized that I was only prolonging the inevitable. We had such different goals in life and neither of us could stop being ourselves. I couldn’t hold onto him or my fantasy forever…so, after two and a half years, I ended it for good.

Ryan Joseph Gordillo was my first love and is my longest and most successful relationship to date. My parents and Disney taught me what to expect from love, but he taught me how to live it. He gave me a taste of my fantasy and future—of husband and home—so losing him left me feeling alone in a scary world. Being financially dependent, at a job I didn’t like, and living with my parents suddenly felt painfully real and I wanted to go back into the dream. I tried to fall in love with my best friend at the time, Drew Richardson, but eventually that crumbled as I realized that I was still not truly over Ryan.

A year later, when my parents asked if I would join them in moving to San Diego, I considered all my options. Leaving the Bay Area meant leaving my friends, few as they were. It meant giving up my dream of working at Sony Computer Entertainment America (PlayStation) in Foster City, a bucket list goal that felt further away than ever before. But, most importantly, it meant leaving the place I learned to love and the places and landmarks that kept Ryan alive. I thought of the BART station, his blue eyes, the rain…

I squeezed the stuffed monkey he bought me for Valentine’s Day. “ARRRRR… King Kong. I love you Sweetie,” the recorded voice roared. I smiled and quickly got into position. He had been racing around Disneyland collecting pieces of a poem I wrote. Each stanza gave a clue to the location of the next, each held by a family member or friend that supported us both in a spot where we had shared a special moment. Finally he stood before me underneath the castle and smiled upon seeing me in a tux and holding a rose. I read him the poem I wrote for our six-month anniversary once more, this time strengthened by a mature writing style and new memories. As I finished, my knee dropped to the ground and I pulled out the ring he picked out. “Ryan Joseph Gordillo, will you marry me?” His eyes sparkle and he says ‘yes’ as our family and friends gather around and cheer. He grinned like a Cheshire cat before pulling me in for the best kiss of our lives. The fireworks burst in the air and we lived happily ever after.

It was over, but whatever lessons I had learned and whatever fire he lit in my soul…that was still there and would never go out. That taste of love changed my life and gave me a drive and power that I never knew existed. I could go anywhere and be anyone I wanted. “Yes, I’ll move to San Diego.” I said to my mother, “why not?” And with that simple decision, my life was never the same.

In my last blog entry I faced a rabbit hole of fire and my Purgatory world literally ripped itself to oblivion.  I had every intention of diving into Hell, catching my angel, killing my Jabberwocky satan, learning to defy gravity, and flying out like a hero.  I was going to somehow soar into an open sky where I would find blissful atonement.  If I could not do it in real life, I would do it in fiction.  As usual, however, things didn’t go according to plan.

As my real life fell apart, I couldn’t just survive through writing and so I went to a psychologist.  I told him about my perceived selfishness and similarity to Scarlett, the way people loved and hated me, the attacks, my fears, my insecurities, my strengths, my Peter Pan complex, my dreams, my romances and everything else that consumed my mind.  At the end of the first session, he blew my mind with a simple question,  “You seem to live in your mind through imagination and films; do you find reality disappointing?”

My world shattered and my eyes welled up the moment he said it.  I instantly realized what was wrong.  Everything I was doing and living was happening more in my head than in real life. The men I loved became grandiose princes and angels.  My meaningful, but often limited, activist work was that of superhero proportions.  The day-to-day drama was the plotline of a film and its songs the soundtrack of my life.  As realization took hold, the augmented and imaginary aspects of my world were ripped from reality and the depression and sadness I long denied surfaced for the first time in my life.  Reality was disappointing, and the fragmentation I’d been feeling, fighting and about which I had been writing for so long had actually been caused by my own imagination.

For the next few days I cried my eyes out.  I held desperately to my films and songs, specifically Inception, Alice in Wonderland and Katy Perry’s “Not Like the Movies.”  My mind was desperate to go back to the imaginary world.  I opened my mind to the possibility of infinite universes and parallel times and convinced myself they were all equally real.  But with that defensive and unobservable reality came desperation to escape and, for a moment, I genuinely wanted to die. My little totem was spinning and I wanted to feel real and happy again…in the way I had always known.

Now I know this all sounds crazy, but trust me when I say that it comes from a place of deep intelligence and awareness.  I never would kill myself for fear of hurting those I love in this reality, but I’m choosing to share this because it was a shocking, unique and extremely new feeling for someone like me.  I’ve never once thought of myself as unhappy or scared to live, but as it turns out I’ve been genuinely denying reality my whole life.

From the very beginning, my parents protected me from the outside world and I became isolated.  I was smart they said, but I was very different and there were lots of bad people out there.  Not everyone understood or accepted the fact that I wore skirts, played with dolls or pretended to be Alice in Wonderland.  As a result, imagination, books, music, video games, TV and movies were always my escape.  The defense mechanism became so strong that I was able to completely deny my sexuality until I was 18 years old by living vivid, heroic, hetero, albeit non-sexual, scenarios in my head.

I thought ‘coming out’ was the end of my fractured self, but coming to San Diego and facing an entire community of people has led me to discover latent versions of this problem. I never had more than a few friends back in the Bay Area and that allowed me to maintain a sense of emotional and intellectual isolation, but now as an activist and role model in the Hillcrest community I can’t get away with inappropriately interacting with others and mismanaging my differing realities.  After reaching breaking point with one too many poorly constructed friendships and relationships, I’ve finally discovered the root cause of my problems and am now consciously deciding to kill the defense mechanism.

This starts with the broken and fictional portions of my blog.  Even in my writing and emotional coping, I use hyperbolic fiction to augment my own reality.  I don’t want to do that anymore.  I have not lost my imagination or creativity, but rather I’ve gained an important and mature control over it and the emotions I feel.  Simply by becoming aware of my defense mechanism, I suddenly understand so much more about my life and the reality I’ve been denying.

I understand why I’ve had a nagging fear of being ordinary (nothing about the world in which I wanted to live was ordinary).  I understand why I’ve always wanted to be an actor (because life has always been an act for me) and why I became an activist (to be a hero).  I understand why people sometimes find me shallow or insincere (I limit relationships to maintain isolation and protect my fantasy world).  I understand how and why my relationships have all failed (I focus on fantasy but never work with genuine emotions).  I understand why I overeat and overindulge in sensory pleasures (to attempt to feel real and alive).  I understand why I often feel empty, ungrounded, disturbed, or crazy (I never committed to this reality).  I understand why I feel like an alien and relate to Superman (I didn’t feel I belonged in this reality).  I understand why I concentrate on sins and love (because I criticize and am fascinated by the innate and fundamental emotions and actions of humans).

I studied sociology so that I could act in accordance with people, but all the while maintained distance and isolation.  I am very social, but not intimately so.  I fictionalize and characterize people and myself with archetypes and original/rehashed screenplays from my head.  All of this has been an attempt to go through the looking glass and into my dream world, but all it has done is cost me love and humanity in the real world.  I have felt broken and soulless, and now I am finally done pretending.

There very well may be an infinite number of parallel universes, continuums, layers of dreams or realities, but I am living, breathing and feeling in this one.  And while death is inevitable and none of this may ultimately matter, there’s plenty of time to worry about the bigger picture and infinite time/space philosophy bullshit when I’m gone.  While I’m here in this body, mind, and soul, I am capable of wonderful, genuine and real human connections…and I’m done wasting that.  I knew love would be the key to atonement, but I never realized it was me who needed to accept, live and love reality itself.  I have always said that my family and friends make me feel at home with their love, but I feel I’m only just now truly accepting that gift.  I’m here in this reality to live and love, now and until I die, one hundred percent.  And with that commitment, I finally feel whole.

An hour after quitting my job, I was feeling unnerved.  James came over to talk about everything, but instead of giving me ground to stand on, he pulled the rug out from under me. He told me that he was not done untangling himself from his ex and he felt he still had feelings to work out.  His eyes were cold and I knew we were done.

Suddenly, the monster began to move.  My eyes widened with terror as I watched the beast pull himself up from the ground and laugh menacingly.  He wasn’t dead.  “As long as you and the angel are alive, I too must persist,” the embodiment of sin explained, “like a shadow in your mind, I am there.”

I had always been nervous about the relationship since he essentially left his ex to be with me.  I don’t believe rebounds usually succeed, but he was so genuinely wonderful that I convinced myself our relationship was different and that it might work.  In a moment of cruel irony, however, I realized he had in fact rebounded onto me just as I had rebounded onto a new job.  He didn’t have enough time to think between men and felt like he was not in control of his own life.

As my feelings of hope disintegrated, the angel began to cough.  Around me, the very fabric of reality began to tear away and menacing pockets of black formed across the landscape and started to swallow everything around them like vacuums of evil. Piece by piece the world broke apart and was sucked into darkness.  It was only a matter of time before everything would cease to exist.  All I could do was desperately hold onto my fragile angel.

I didn’t want to be angry, but my mind wouldn’t stop churning.  He had been the one chasing me.  He had been the one to (prematurely) say, “I love you” the day before.  And now he was dumping me?  I stared as the war-torn veteran expertly buried his feelings.  Through his eyes, I watched my hourglass run out of sand.  The switch flipped, and then there was black.  I had seen him do it to his ex, what hubris had stopped me from expecting the same treatment?  Feeling completely used, betrayed, and hurt, I allowed the wrath to take hold.

The sky was pure black and Satan was standing at full strength.  His claws grabbed at the legs of my fallen angel and pulled my weakened friend towards him.  I lost grip of the angel and watched as the incarnation of evil took hold of the body.  Wrapping his fangs around the poor man’s wings, he ripped the feathered pieces from the angel’s body.

My heart was torn open and out poured anger and frustrations I had kept safely hidden away for years.  James, Matthew, Adam, Drew, Ryan, my heartbreaks began to blend together like a dark storm. My fists clenched as I considered the similarities between James and the others.  His tales of wealth and abuse brought back the painful memory of Matthew.  Like a knife cutting open scars, my heart bled as I thought of Adam and how, he too, had led me on while dating someone else.  I thought of how he ended up with Jimmy and how much it hurt when he innocently, but inconsiderately, paraded him around the apartment.  I thought of Drew and our love triangle with Shawn.  I thought of the countless times my first love Ryan had destroyed me.  Then I sharply re-focused on James and his unintentionally cruel and painful manipulation of my emotions. All the anger I ever felt in my life ran through my veins.  Whatever this was, it was the exact opposite of atonement.  It was wholeness through loathing and sin.

The angel weakly cried in the arms of the monster as I was forced to watch in horror.  Satan coldly spit a mess of blood and feathers from his mouth, and at his feet the ground began to split apart.  I stepped back quickly as the shaking earth broke open to reveal a long fall to Inferno.  “Join us,” Satan called out to me, as I looked down the hole to Hell.

I could feel goodness leaving my soul again, lost to evil.  Wrath, envy, gluttony and sloth became the sins of my broken heart and pain consumed me.  Somehow I became the center of evil gravity, and horrible things began to happen to and around me.  Already destabilized from being unemployed for the first time in years, things only got worse as my organizational ties were threatened and my car and property vandalized by unknown criminals.  I felt constant fear for two weeks straight, as though the flames of Inferno were licking my face.

Dark rain and lightening tore through the sky as the tower and castle broke apart and were sucked into nearby black holes. El Diablo stepped towards the hole to Hell, still clutching my angel.  He beckoned me with his claws and pierced my soul with his red eyes.  I felt possessed, and almost as though I wanted to be with him.

I felt nothing but darkness when James confirmed he was returning to his ex.  “You have a loving family, friends, a support system…I don’t have that.  All I have is Grant,” he said. I burned with rage and envy as I considered the way his ex would now continue to treat him.  Through it all I could hear Matthew’s words looping in my head, “You have everything. I have nothing.”

Purgatory collapsed around us and Lucifer gave me one final look of triumph. “I know you want to come with us.  It’s that or get swallowed by the black holes to Limbo,” he said, dangling my angel over the ledge with a smirk.  My body paralyzed, I wept and muttered under my breath, “I am still good…I am still good…”

But my mind and body gave way to heartbreak and guilt.  It gave way to the guilt that denied me happiness for so long and made me want to become a victim so that no one could resent me for my good fortune.  It was that same guilt that poisoned and perverted my childhood fantasies of being saved by a superhero.  It was the same guilt that grew like a tumor onto my loneliness and gave me disordered eating and masochistic work schedules.  It was the same guilt that made me hate him and myself.  It was the same guilt that wouldn’t let me forgive anyone.  It was the same persistent guilt that stuck in my mind like a little spinning totem, holding me in purgatory.

The monster laughed and screamed back, “Well let’s see how goodness handles gravity.”  He burst into flames and vanished, dropping my wingless friend down towards Inferno.  Around me, Purgatory ripped open to reveal the black limbo and I took one final deep breath.  No matter what I did, I couldn’t win.  I had tried so hard, but couldn’t fight the gravity of evil and the flames of Inferno.  All hope was lost.

Before Carlos and I stopped being friends, I talked to him as part of my attempt to call every man I’d ever loved (all in one night). I tried to unify the memory of all my most emotionally charged experiences to find some sense of wholeness.  It was ultimately Carlos who served as my constant and who reminded me of my humble past and forgotten dreams. Like the older brother I never had, Carlos left a handprint on my heart and gave me a strong sense of hope.  Even if he left my side, I knew he would always be with me.  It was with that memory and strength I decided to pursue my passions and quit my job at the defense contractor a few weeks ago.

And just as I began to move towards the demon, I heard a soft whimper and turned around. The angel was still alive.  My heart skipped a beat as relief and joy swept over me.  Please don’t leave me, I thought, as I continued to move towards Lucifer.  Strengthened by the resurgence of hope, I could feel a power run through me like none I knew existed.

I accepted an offer from a friend to do marketing at his high-end retail store (a position created specifically for me).  With a newly empowered and positive outlook on life, I decided to stop worrying about what people thought of me and just do what felt right.

I stopped doubting myself, entered the Mr. Gay San Diego 2010 contest, and won.  I began a new chapter of Gay For Good in San Diego after several weeks of amazing trips to LA and meeting the co-founders.  I attended the movie premiere of The Kids Are All Right with my good friend Nelson and even landed a shot on The Food Network’s Cupcake Wars.  I went to the very first LGBT event at the LA Mayor’s house and met tons of amazing people.  I finally made it to E3 and got a taste of the professional gaming industry.  I applied for The PlayStation Network’s The Tester reality show and await a decision in August.  Our HRC San Diego steering committee pulled off a fantastic comedy night and pride weekend. I experienced Comic-Con 2010 and watched amazing panels including the 10^th and final one for Smallville.  I was doing all the things I had always wanted to do and it felt amazing.

The monster continued to laugh as I approached him, oblivious to the fact that my arms were swelling with the untapped power of hope.  He mocked, “From purgatory I shall take you to the depths of Inferno, where you will find no love, only sin and hate.”

Then I met him…  As Mr. Gay San Diego 2010, I judged the Mr. Gay Pride San Diego 2010 contest where I shamelessly ogled a ruggedly masculine military boy in the audience.  I was disappointed when Stampp introduced him as the boyfriend of the contest winner, but that didn’t stop the handsome man from introducing himself as James and asking me to have a drink at Mo’s.  I respectfully declined in the presence of his boyfriend, the recently crowned Mr. Gay Pride San Diego, but later stopped by to see if they were still at the bar.  James was there, but sans man, and so of course we struck up a conversation.  I kept a distance, but we quickly discovered an undeniable chemistry and connection.  He asked me to dance and we shared a sweet moment to “If We Ever Meet Again.”  I knew I couldn’t have him, but it was a memorable romantic moment looking into his eyes. Before he had to leave for another party, he walked me to Fiesta Cantina so I could meet some friends.  We said our goodbyes and he walked out.

One minute later, he came back in.  The look he gave me melted my heart, and I knew right there and then that one day we’d be together.  He said he just had to see me one more time and asked if we could ever hang out.  I said, “if we ever meet again,” and let his hand slide out of mine and pushed him towards the exit.

A few days later at Gossip Grill, he confessed his attraction to me.  I coldly asked where his boyfriend was, and he corrected, “ex-boyfriend.”  Apparently his relationship had been falling apart for months.  His ex was an emotionally disconnected, financially dependent cheater who wanted an open relationship while James did not.  James told me that I sparked something in him and that in one week we connected more than he had in a year and a half with his ex.

James was a perfect gentleman and didn’t waste time pursuing me.  He was protective around other guys, assertive, sexy, smart, romantic, opened doors for me and even brought me coffee in the morning before work.  Appropriately, our first real date was at Filter, a coffee shop that was new to both of us at the time.  We decided to split a sandwich, and he opted for the Tuna Melt.  I was hardly in the mood for something with mayo, but it ended up being amazing.  I’ve never ordered anything else since.  While watching passersby, James would tell me tragic marine stories and about his political aspirations.  The perfect blend of secure and insecure, dominant and submissive, assertive and passive, I quickly fell for the beautiful war hero. And, for the first time in years, I felt like I was on equal footing because he really liked me back.

From happiness, hope and love was born great strength and fearlessness. My fists hardened and began to glimmer with the power of light.  The evil voice continued to mock me,  “You will join me in hell.”

I felt close to atonement…only one thing was bothering me.  Two weeks in, my new employers sensed that I was unhappy with my job at the retail store.  I broke down and confessed that I had taken the new position out of fear of being unemployed.  I hadn’t taken any time to think, reflect or search for other jobs in between quitting my last one and accepting their offer.  As one might have predicted, I suddenly felt just as trapped as I did at my previous job.  And now with my developing bravery, I didn’t want to feel like I was making choices based on fear. I had again embarked on a path that was created for me, but not really chosen by me. I didn’t feel like I was in control or steering the course of my own life and certainly didn’t feel like I was pursuing my passions.  No more accepting limits, I thought.

Without pause or warning, I punched through the chest of the monster, shattering his exterior with my shining fist, grabbing his heart and tearing it from his body.  Lucifer gasped and looked at me with a terrified and shocked expression.  I trembled as I held the still beating organ and watched the giant fall backwards.  I couldn’t breathe until the heart stopped beating.  It was then I smiled in triumph.  I had finally won.

As I walked away from my second job in a matter of weeks, I burst into song.  I started to feel the freedom and true happiness I had been craving for so long.  I felt free of guilt, regret, resentment, hate and fear.  I cried as goodness filled my soul.  I had defied fate and the gravity of fear.  I called James and waited for him to come over.  I couldn’t believe it…I had it all.

I ran to the side of the angel and held him in my arms.  Somehow goodness and hope still lived.  I looked to the sky and waited for a sign.  I knew it wouldn’t be long before I could finally escape purgatory.

Sometimes it feels like goodness is losing the battle within me.  My heart has hardened substantially and my emotional walls are built stronger than ever.  The more good I do, the less good I feel…and I remain trapped in my own purgatory.  I work so hard to find atonement and happiness, but I can feel myself becoming more jaded and protected by the day.  Even if goodness is not gone, it is becoming harder to access and I rely almost exclusively on other motivators.  I’m not proud of any of this, but it is important for me to recognize and analyze.  For the most part, this began with a man named Matthew Power…

As I pulled myself up, I looked around for the fallen monster.  Within seconds, the ground shook as the infernal creature kicked the ground not 10 feet from where I stood.  He faced me with a snarl and our eyes locked.  I looked into his dark, red eyes and a peculiar sense of familiarity rushed over me.

When I fell in love with him, I had already been struggling with the ideas of love, monogamy, marriage, romance, optimism and hope.  After years of studying sociology, my first failed love with Ryan, and my short-lived experience with Peter, I no longer believed in fairy tales.  When I recruited the Superman-esque beauty onto the No on 8 Campaign in October 2008, I had no idea he’d rekindle that side of me.  Unfortunately, my feelings were subconsciously and shallowly based on his perfect image and embodiment of wealth, fame, fashion, and beauty—everything a gay boy with Hollywood dreams could ever hope to have or be.  He was intoxicatingly beautiful and I mistakenly and shamefully overlooked the signs of a rotten interior.

Without warning, the beast burst into a sprint and I instinctively reached for the sword inside the fallen angel.  I pulled the blade from my friend and winced as he howled in agony.  I raised the sharp edge to the level of my chest and ran directly towards the monster.

Not only did he turn out to be (what I can only assume was) a compulsive liar with severe depression and an eating disorder, but also an extremely selfish man who couldn’t acknowledge his own faults. Playing victim until the end, Matthew took years of abuse out on me and resented every bit of good fortune I had in my life.  He made me feel gut-wrenchingly guilty about everything I had (and everything he didn’t) through verbal abuse, insane communication, lies and manipulation.  The relationship did not last long, but it ripped my heart and mind to shreds.  To this day I don’t know how many of his stories were lies or how broken he really was, but he certainly made me doubt everything I ever knew about the world and myself.

I screamed and clashed my sword against the hard, burning flesh of the Devil.  He roared and grabbed my neck.  For the first time, he spoke to me with a deep hiss, “You will die.”

Matthew genuinely made me feel like a bad person.  After dating him, I felt guilty for any love in my life and spiraled downward into self-loathing, fear, anxiety, and insecurity.  But eventually heartbreak and guilt turned to rage, and I was consumed by hate. As the negativity bound itself to the residual frustration from the passage of Proposition 8 and the inadequacies of my past, I found great power in anger and I used it to fuel my actions. I compensated for my guilt by becoming a savior, and I did so with a vengeance.  Every weight at the gym, every bite of food I didn’t eat, every flag I waived, every volunteer I recruited…I did it to beat my enemies. My actions and my entire being were driven by revenge, loneliness and anger.  All these things became my fire and I became a firebomb.

I continued to slash at the monster, but the sword could not break through his exterior.  My arms began to tire and I fell into his grip.  His eyes met mine once again, and my stomach dropped.  I could see my own reflection in his burning red pupils, and I instantly recognized the demon as the manifestation of my own sins.

Matthew was a beautiful, deceptive monster but I allowed myself to be poisoned by the hate he carried. I became Glinda the Good, but I used darkness to fight my enemies.  This worked well against the Yes on 8 voters, against the National Organization for Marriage, against all the people who wanted to see my LGBT brothers and sisters fail.  To my friends and to myself, however, I was just as much a monster.  When one of my best friends decided that our tactics and motivations seemed too different and he could no longer be my friend, I felt the most profound loss of all.  Carlos Marquez is far from perfect, but he was right that I had lost sight of my truly good side.  While I was not yet the total fame monster he accused me of being, I had indeed forgotten who I was and why I was really fighting.

Lucifer bit my sword with his fangs, and in one fell swoop, shattered it to pieces.  “You are powerless,” he laughed and then pushed me onto the ground towards the angel.  I looked on helplessly at the now still body.  My eyes watered and I turned around to face my evil.  It was about damn time…

When I was in high school, I was the smart, fat, unknowingly-closeted misfit who had lunch with his teachers.  People laughed at the way I looked, and I felt completely alone.  I was the underdog, like Elphaba (Wicked), and hated it.  One day, a devilish boy named Ryan Albano came up to me in the locker room after a science test.  He was proud of his A- grade and asked me what I got.  I told him that I got an A and he snarled, “well I got an A, a girlfriend, a car, and a job.  I’ll bet you only have one of those things, fatass.  Oh and you’re a faggot.”

To this day, I still remember my shock.  I remember hating every fiber of his being and swearing I would beat him one day.  Within a year and a half, I swam my ass off, lost 50 lbs, got a car, girlfriend, and a job.  I had more confidence, but I couldn’t completely kill my own insecurities.

A few years later, I volunteered to fill in as an emcee for the Motorola booth at a huge trade show, confident my developing personality would be enough to carry me through the gig.  I memorized the script and went to work, nervous but foolishly self-assured.  When the show started, the machine I was demoing broke down and we had to switch up everything.  They told me a few lines to improvise but I suddenly started shaking.  I completely froze.  I underestimated how nervous I was speaking with the mic in front of all those people and suddenly I felt fear like I had never felt in my life.  I tried to speak on the mic, but it was a mess.  The Motorola employees glared at me with disgust and disappointment.  ”Who hired this loser?”  I’d never been so ashamed in my life, so I ran to the bathroom and cried.

El Diablo’s eyes flared and he roared as his claws dug into my arms.  I howled in pain as we plunged towards the ground.  My fists clenched, “not this time,” I growled back.  “I won’t let you beat me!”

I couldn’t let myself go down without a fight.  I had to try, no matter how much I wanted to run away.  I returned the next day on BART to the San Francisco Convention Center and felt like I was going to die.  By the afternoon, however, I started to get the hang of it.  I never got to be a fantastic emcee, but I faced my fears and did better than I thought I could. I didn’t love any part of the experience and to this day I hate to think about it, but it changed me. I made a vow never to have stage fright again and I felt well on my way to beating my perceived personal weaknesses.

Before I left the Bay Area, Ryan Albano, after gaining a lot of weight and impregnating his high school girlfriend, showed up at my parent’s house in a Round Table uniform to deliver a pizza.  Instead of feeling vindicated, I felt awful.  I gave him a generous tip and a look of pity.  I couldn’t hide my sadness or he his shame.  I suddenly could see that his cruelty in high school came from a place of unhappiness, fear of the future, and lack of self worth…all wrapped in an inescapably boring existence.  I shivered at the thought of being trapped in Purgatory. I knew what I had to do, and I knew who I wanted to become.

Moving to San Diego was a blessing in disguise, because I truly got a second chance.  As the fresh face on the No on Prop 8 Equality for All campaign, I was afforded, what appeared to be, an unlimited amount of opportunity as long as I was willing to work hard.  Determined to transform into the Glinda I never was, I became a champion for the cause and worked tirelessly to be a nicer, better man. I freely admit that through the process I have also sought the popularity, confidence and approval that I never had when I was growing up.  However, while not always 100% selfless (I don’t believe anything selfless even exists), I know my work and mission is honorable and a genuine attempt at living as a good person.

I’ve now developed a knack for networking, events, PR, and promotion.  There’s so much more to study, but I’m learning to wield a power I never even knew I had and it’s an exciting time in my life.  It certainly comes with a new set of challenges, but I feel proud that I’ve come so far.  My goal now is to never lose my loving, grounded nature, intelligent perspective, and humility (whatever is left of it).  For that reason, I relive my past through this blog and always keep every piece of me alive.  To some degree I will always be the fat loser in high school, and maybe that’s for the best.  I never want to forget my beginnings, home, or where I started.  How else would I recognize growth and personal development?  Times might be tough right now, but I will always remember that things improve with positive thinking and hard work.  I believe in myself and I know my own strength.

The evil crushed me in its grip.  Holding back cries, I started to fight back.  I kicked, screamed and thrashed as his body burned me, but all the while spinning and positioning the devil to absorb the impact.  Through my tearing eyes, I saw the ground coming. Within seconds, everything went black.

I was shaken by the suicide of fellow activist Ray Leon.  I believe that he too was looking for atonement and the sense of wholeness that makes life feel satisfying and wonderful.  Following his wake and “Celebration of Life,” I won’t presume to know anything about what really happened with his family.  However, for whatever reason, he did end up on the street by age 15 and I genuinely believe he felt lost without a home.  I can only hope that his fatal jump afforded him some measure of peace, freedom and love that he could not find in his short lifetime.

My leap has been very different than Ray’s, but his tragedy motivates me nonetheless.  I want to give love as much as possible, and I certainly want to be grateful for the family and home I have.

When I moved here as part of my financial dependence on my parents, I hated San Diego for its more conservative leanings, slow pace and limited industry.  I thought it would never be my home.  However, I’ve discovered that home is not a place, but rather a feeling.  Going to the San Francisco Bay Area this weekend and walking around Berkeley was a sweet reminder of a past life, but my real home was right there in the friends that came with me.  I realized that people in my life and the love they provide are what make a place home.

I love each of my friends differently, and I will eventually talk about each one of them, but today my ex Peter is at the forefront of my mind.  Peter is special to me because we met when I first moved to Poway and he got to see the person I was before Hillcrest changed me.  He truly loved me for my past, present and future.  Last year, in a drunken post-break up night, Peter cried in my arms and told me that, with me, he was home.  Ironically, that night went on to hurt our friendship due to my own selfish dishonesty, but I never forgot his powerful sentiment.  Later, after sharing the Glee “Home” episode and the San Diego Gay Men’s Chorus “Our House” concert in the same week, I knew that some distance wouldn’t change our connection.  After inviting him to the Glee Season Finale filming, experiencing the “Glee” concert together, and Peter’s empowering decision to follow his dreams as a singer and join the chorus, we’ve both grown as people and become good friends.  He is part of my home and I love him dearly.

People like Peter, my family, my friends, and those who love me for my past, present and future are what help me find atonement.  While I work hard to make my life what it is and do it without financial help from family, I am constantly reminded of the important emotional support I still have.  Perhaps freedom is not defined by our independence, but rather the breadth of choices available to those who love and rely on others.  We all need a little love and support in our lives, and, of course, a place or a group of people to call home.

My body felt warm.  I was happy and accepted whatever was about to happen.  The clouds swallowed me and in the distance I could hear myself screaming “There’s no place like home.”  As I continued to fall, I found myself passing through time and into my own body. “Superman, God, someone, anyone…SAVE ME!” I could hear my own voice and I watched as the sky turned red.  I was falling back from the tower, back where I started, back to the moment just before I died.  I was getting a second chance.