Story Material

Jack-Mormon

When I say my boyfriend was a jack-Mormon, I mean it in the nicest way possible. 

I will tell you a little bit about him. His name is Benson, and he likes Asian food, doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't party (often), is still a virgin, and is a textbook Mormon. He doesn't curse, drink coffee, and avoids Coke on most occasions. I just call him a jack-Mormon to tease him. He's soft-spoken and anxious, but can get defensive you you push the right buttons. One of those times was when I went to church with him and a peer made a sideways comment about me. I shook it off easily, but Benson did not. Quietly but firmly, he gave a sharp rebuke to the offending classmate and kissed me on the mouth to drive the point home. Later, he apologized for being rude, and the classmate did the same. 

But while we love each other more than anything, there is a darker side to our relationship. 

At times, I will wake up to him panicking and sweating and have to calm him down. He knows the rules of his religion inside and out, which lends itself to episodes of emotional and mental breakdowns. He loves me, but he also loves God, and feeling like he has to pick between the two of us tortures him with quiet anguish. He sometimes comes home early from church with frightened tears in his eyes. As far as he knew, he was alone. There were no other gay Mormons he knew of, from whom he could draw support. The ones on his church's website said they were gay, but married to the opposite sex and said they were happy. Benson didn't want to live a lie, he told me. 

Because of his deep respect and fear for God, he refuses to have sex. It's fine by me, but if we planned on being in this relationship for a long time, sex would have been good for us. Especially if you're considering marriage. He knows it, too.

Things got especially bad five months after we were officially a couple. A few people from church told him that his lifestyle was sinful and that he needed to repent and end the relationship. Those words hit him hard. He cried as I hugged him close to me, trying to offer comfort. Two nights later, I was awoken by him getting up from bed in the middle of the night. At first, I wasn't concerned by it, my subconscious mind thinking he was just using the bathroom. But after a minute, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that I couldn't ignore. So, I got up and gave the apartment a drowsy once-over. There was a slip of paper on the kitchen table. 

It was a suicide note. 

I didn't finish reading it before I took off running through the apartment, searching frantically through every closet and room. He wasn't there. None of the knives were missing from the kitchen, and all the pills were in the cabinet still. He must be on the roof. That is, if I wasn't too late. 

My legs felt no pain as I forced them to their limit running up the stairs to the roof of our apartment complex. I practically flew up the twelve flights, frightened tears streaming down my face and falling to the cold concrete steps. Finally, I burst through the door, wildly throwing my gaze around, desperate to find him. 

"Benson!" I cried out into the night air. 

There he was, standing on the edge of the roof. I ran up to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him roughly away from the ledge, catching him in my arms as he stumbled backwards into me. I hugged him tightly, sobbing quietly, scolding him. 

"Don't ever do that again!" I sniffed, squeezing him tightly and planting a kiss on his forehead. He was still for a few minutes, as if he wasn't comprehending anything. But soon, I could feel his breathing seize up in sobs that racked his whole body. He hugged me tightly, not letting go, crying hard into my chest. There we stayed for longer than I cared to account. Soon, sobs faded to sniffs, and sniffs faded to quiet breaths.

"Benson?" I asked.

"Hmm?" He answered, looking up at me with scared, bloodshot eyes. 

"Don't ever to that again!" I said, hugging him tightly. "I could never live without you... I would be better off knowing you're alive, even if we do separate. Please don't do this to yourself!" 

"But I don't want to split up!" Benson objected. "I love you too much..."

"Then don't go jumping off roofs... it would hurt me more than if we broke up." I stated, hugging him again. There was another minute of silence.

"God spoke to me." Benson said softly. I gently stroked the top of his head, looking down at him. 

"And what did he say?" I asked softly. 

"He said that he made everyone, including me..." He paused. "He said that he made me this way for a reason, and that he loved me this way too." 

I smiled softly and tilted his chin up, giving him a gentle kiss. 

"That's good." I smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. "What did he tell you to do?" 

"He didn't tell me to do anything." Benson said. "I think he's leaving it up to me what to do next." 

*                *                *                *                *

Fast forward to today. 

We're engaged. He actually proposed first, which threw off my plans. I shouldn't have procrastinated going to the jeweler for a pair of rings. 

He still goes to church, never curses, rarely parties, but is no longer a virgin, courtesy of yours truly. He attended counseling to help with his anxiety and internal struggles, and is doing much better now. He loves God and loves his church. His faith hasn't wavered, and I'm proud of him for that.

The wedding will be in a month, after which we will go to Europe for a week long honeymoon. He even invited his family to the wedding, even though he knows they disagree ardently with his decision. We know there are a lot of bumps in the road ahead, but we're prepared to face them undaunted. We are determined to stay together for the rest of our lives, 'til death do us apart.

But until then, we have never been more in love.