#MeanMuggles

So, a vlogger I follow on YouTube hosted a blogtv session, and spontaneously decided that we were going to launch a trending topic on Twitter, which was #MeanMuggles. They were quotes taken from Mean Girls, but given Harry Potter twists. And now I'm posting them.

Mine:

"Oh my god Hermione, you can't just ask people why they're nearly headless."

"Don't use the unforgivable curses. You will get the dark mark. And die."

"Oh no. It was coming up again. Incantation vomit. No, wait, slug vomit."

"Know who's looking fine tonight? Dobby." "He's your house elf." "Yeah, but he's my first house elf."

"Professor Sprout has a huge ass? Who would write that?" "Who wouldn't write that?"

"Do you wanna do something fun? Do you wanna go to the Hog's Head?"

"My remembrall can always tell when it's gonna rain. Well, it can always tell when it's raining."

"Mr. Potter, why would Draco refer to himself as a 'Filthy Mudblood'?"

"I hear she does broomstick commercials. AT HOGWARTS."

"Cho Chang made out with Professor Filch? And so did Padma Patil!"

"Why are you eating a licorice wand?" "I'm starving!"

"I can't. I have to go to Ron's to practice for the talent show. We're doing a dance to this song..." "Weasley is our King."

"We want to invite you to sit at the Slytherin table every day for the rest of the week."

"My gran takes her vulture hat off when she's drunk." "Your gran and I have that in common."

"That is the ugliest effing dress robe I've ever seen."

"I heard he has a moleskin pouch, and a Nimbus 2000."

Others':

One time, Hermione Granger punched me in the face. It. Was. Awesome. (@kingsleyyy)

"Wow, Dumbledore, you've truly out-gayed yourself." (@tyleroakley)

"I know it may look like I was being a mudblood, but that's only because I was acting like a mudblood." (@tyleroakley)

And I want my pink robe back! (@Jack_Skaggs)

Don't be nervous. You can do this. There's nothing to break your focus, because not one of those Durmstrang boys is cute. (@Mione_J_Granger)

Tom Riddle knows everything about everyone. That's why his Chamber is so big, it's full of secrets! (@AmberSatchell)

"Is Butterbeer a carb?" (@johneepixels7)

Don't try to apparate. Because you will get splinched. And die. (@alliepants06)

Twitter is fun.

Letter to my Antagonists

Dear You,

You are someone who contributed to my depression or anxiety in school, or even afterward. You are someone who saw me struggling to breathe, but didn't dare offer a helping hand. You are someone who called me a friend, until I removed my mask. Likewise, you are someone I called a friend, until I removed my mask.

When I was seven, you told me that the group was more fun without me. You told me I should go be in another class, because it wasn't any fun with me in it.

When I was eight, I sat alone at the soccer post, watching you. How dare you have friends? I'd observe the way you treated each other. I'd see a relationship I so desperately wanted to have with someone. I hated how much I wished you'd come talk to me. Invite me to play. Even if I had to be 'it' in every game of tag, or was always the monkey in the middle. Even negative attention is attention.

When I was nine, I thought I'd gotten what I wanted. People fought over me. They wanted me. Enough to contest for me. I could whiz through math facts, and kick the kickball all the way to the blacktop. Then I identified that it wasn't me you wanted. It was my skills. You wanted me to be a tool for you. And I was eager to be that tool, because even negative attention is attention.

When I was ten, I learned to see through the smiles and lies. Your eyes didn't communicate the same thing as your mouth. You didn't want anything to do with me. You were just stuck in my reading group, or stuck sitting next to me in art class. The closer we got, the more distant I felt. But you wouldn't dare call yourself my friend.

When I was eleven, I thought I'd found a friend. You and I were practically twins. That lasted until pressure happened. What I thought was an unbreakable bond that I wished I'd had three years previous was shattered in a moment, and I wasn't even there to witness it.

When I was twelve, I could do nothing but observe those around me. I didn't have anybody permanent. People close to me were only so because I had the answers written before the assignment was entirely explained. The ringing bell signaled the leave of my peers. The bell signaled the end of four classes every day. I'd look for someone who was going to the same next class--perhaps that short hallway walk could be prolific in procuring a conversation with you? Or maybe I could even bother you a little bit. Because even negative attention is attention.

When I was thirteen, I moved. You saw me struggling to find my niche in my neighborhood. You made it your mission to make this venture impossible for me. It's okay though, I had the internet. You don't have to know people there. They can't hate you if they don't know you. Slowly though, you began to see my power.

When I was fourteen, you were almost scared of me. All of the tools that had since been taken advantage of by my peers had come forth with personality and conviction. You couldn't touch me. I was too smart for you. Too fast for you. Too strong for you. And the best part is that you made me so. You tried to remove my tools. You teased those who befriended me. But you made me stronger than you.

When I was fifteen, you looked at me as a brother. We did things on weekends. I had friends. I could say with confidence that I'd be busy most Friday nights. Because I had friends, and we did friendy things. We watched movies. We doorbell ditched the old guy a couple streets down. We ran like hell when his son answered the door and was twice my size. We got pizza and played poker. We watched Avatar and played Halo. Then you found out I'm gay. We didn't do those things anymore. Suddenly, it hurt when you looked at me. But that pain was better than you not looking at me. Because even negative attention is attention.

When I was sixteen, you pretended to be my friend to me. Then you said harmful things about me when I wasn't there. You thought I couldn't see it. You thought I didn't notice your hesitance to look me in the eye. The interesting thing though, is that it wasn't spite or contempt. It was fear. You were afraid of me. You were afraid of what I might do to gain your attention. We had that in common. You feared that I was 'singling you out', because of my many texts and calls. I guess the others didn't tell you I'd been trying just as desperately to contact them. Because even you, who hated me, were all I had. I was clawing for you, not due to attraction, but for a sincere, desperate need for someone to tell me that they loved me. All of me. For me. I hated you. All of you. I'd hear about parties I wasn't invited to. I'd sit near you at lunch though, because maybe my sheer presence would be enough to elicit some revival of our former friendship. Shamelessly, you'd talk about your misadventures the previous weekend. Plans for more this coming weekend. You'd avoid eye contact though, so you wouldn't have to invite me. You didn't understand, though. And I couldn't expect you to. What would any of you know, of being trained to hate yourself? You're all straight, white Mormon males. What unwarranted opposition have you ever had in your life, ever? I unnerved you. I could feel my presence making you all uncomfortable. And I loved it. I loved being the catalyst in the minimal suffering I could cause you, if only for the mountainous suffering you'd caused me.

When I was seventeen, we had a couple of classes together. And suddenly I was your friend again. Because suddenly I was useful again. I was once again a proofreader, an editor, a calculator, a calendar, a resource. But for some reason you shut me down as soon as I tried to be a human. Why can't I be human? A person, with my own thoughts, feelings and emotions? That would be too difficult to control, is why. You liked having me around because I was a powerhouse. But if left unchecked, a powerhouse can be extremely destructive. You didn't trust me like you said you did. You were still afraid of me. But secretly, in the corners of your soul that you don't dare speak of, the ones where you know this is all true, you wanted me to snap. You wanted to see just what would happen if I was pushed too far. I felt it.

When I was eighteen, I made a lot of fake friends, because you wouldn't talk to me. I felt your eyes on me in the halls just seconds before I looked up at you to see you looking at the opposite wall. I didn't blame you at that point. I wouldn't know what to say to me, either. You'd left me in the dust far too long ago for it to be a viable option to offer me a ride now.

Now I'm nineteen. And because of you all, telling me that I can't, and that I shouldn't, trying to restrict and restrain me, I am freer than any of you. My mind is agile and flexible. My spirit is strong and unbreakable. Because through some perverse translation of those events, I was made better. And I have you to thank for that.

Unearthing Records of my Personal Hell

A few days ago, I cleaned my room. And no, that's not what this post is about. I ended up finding a lot of things and putting them in their proper places. Today, I found an additional magazine that I meant to put in with my collection of its brothers. When I put it away, I found a little notebook with a red cover: my journal from four years ago. It only covered a few months (Feb-May 2008).

Resolving to amuse myself by my own wit and cleverness, I began reading. I learned very quickly that my sophomore year was something that my brain had been hard at work suppressing. There was darkness in my life then that I'd since forgotten about. On seven separate dates I'd promised my journal I'd be dead before the year finished out. Three of them were illustrated. On two pages (also illustrated), I was killing my former friends. Those weren't what scared me, though. No. What scared me (and continues to scare me) is that I don't read it and say, "What a naive, pretentious douchebag I was." I read it and feel that my past self was reasonable in everything he wrote in that book. I'm filled with the same feelings I had then. I suddenly remember being abandoned. Replaced, even. I've written about a lot of this in another post.

If you read that post, I think you'll agree that it was being mild, compared to what I found today to be the truth. Extremely mild. Even I didn't know about the horror I felt then. I knew of the depression, and loneliness, but my brain was in the process of burying all of the violence I wanted to unleash.

Now, my question for anyone who reads this: Have I been healing without realizing it, or have I just been shoving it away? Should I confront these feelings or move away from them? If I do move away, will they follow me, or will I arrive in a place of light that will provide no haven for such feelings?

Accepting Homophobia

I'd like to point out a distinction today. Homophobia, as it's commonly known, is characterized by hatred or intolerance toward homosexuals. However, by definition, homophobia is the fear of homosexuals or homosexuality. The two are very different. In context, homophobia is something we associate with hasty Conservatives, right-wing radicals, and the Westboro Baptist Church. What many people don't realize, however, is that the actual fear of homosexuality is something that's far less controllable (and far more reasonable).

This past summer, I went to California for a door-to-door job (my personal lap of luxury). As I was planning to go out there, I had no intention of hiding my sexuality. Until I met...we'll call him Ted. Ted, being a self-proclaimed homophobe, created a new dynamic to the situation that I hadn't anticipated. To be honest, in retrospect, I still wouldn't have expected the same series of events to unfold.

Let me first provide you with some perspective into my mind. I'm told that I'm smart. Really smart. Which, depending on the perceived definition, may or may not be true. However, with a lot of brain activity toward productive things comes a high amount of activity toward unproductive things, the particulars of which generate fairly unreasonable amounts of anxiety.

When I learned that Ted was a homophobe, my anxiety went up. Not because I was afraid physically--I could hold my own in that regard. More so due to the fact that he and I seemed to be on such good terms. My life is built largely around my relationships with those around me. This isn't to say that the entirety of my emotion hinged on my relationship with Ted, but his sudden and continued disapproval would have adverse effects on me, largely because we'd see each other nearly every day that summer.

The reason for our relative closeness was, simply put, common ground. Not too long after we met, I discovered that he had (extremely) similar anxiety problems. That provided not only terms of familiar territory, but a territory in which communication on the subject would have to occur on an emotional level. I'm an emotional person. I have no problem telling people exactly how I feel and doing my best to relate to them. And, in all truthfulness, I found that he is, too. Maybe less so now that he knows I like dudes, but more on that later.

About a month and a half of my time in California had passed and he and I were put in the same drive team. A drive team was typically composed of two pairs of knocking partners. A drive team would take one car out to their area and knock. We had dropped one person off to speak with someone who was interested, and the driver was speaking with another, but we weren't in our new area yet, so Ted and I were in the car alone. The conversation had very little ramp time before we were talking about anxiety, as was usual. After all, for me at least, it felt like there was almost no one who understood my anxiety. There are many types of anxiety. But Ted understood mine. And, seemingly, I his.

Then he asked, "So do you get uncomfortable around gay people, too?" "No," I replied honestly. Here I was presented with an incredibly unique opportunity: to have a conversation first-hand, one-on-one with a self-proclaimed homophobe about his discomfort with gay people, without him knowing that I'm gay. He continued, "I don't hate gay people. But I don't like 'em. And I don't like being around 'em." This intrigued me. He then voiced the idea that I was coming to about him: "Like, I know there's no reason to hate gay people, but for some reason, whenever they look at me weird, or anything like that, it just pisses me off."

I nodded. I understood. That was a revelation to me. The actual distinction between fear and hatred of homosexuality. He doesn't hate gay people. He didn't, and still doesn't, hate me. We're still friends. The perspective that I needed to understand was had in a conversation by someone who had no idea I'm gay. Hopefully I can help you to understand as well. And here's how:

Let me introduce you to panic disorder. Imagine sitting in your typical English class. Or any class. Preferably an average one. Your leg is falling asleep. The desk provides a comfortable cool underneath your arms. The bright morning light is dimmed through cheap windows and reaches across a white board that holds no weight in your mind at all, and the teacher sits at the back of the room pretending to be important. Suddenly, the entire world changes. The things in the world are all the same. The same walls, desks, floor, those stupid headbands that everyone's wearing now. But suddenly, the world's about to collapse on you. You are going to die. You don't know how or when. All you know is that you and everyone around you are going to die. You can't bring yourself to move, or even speak. Anything you do will upset the delicate balance of any remaining life and awaken the imminent doom.

Now. Back to reality. Perhaps not to that extent, but I'd imagine that the anxiety induced by gay people is similar for true homophobes. For me, certain songs, or even certain video games trigger vast amounts of anxiety. No, I don't have anything against those games. No, I don't think it's reasonable to hate those songs. No, I don't listen to other music because I think those songs are 'wrong'.

In closing, I want to point out that the biology of our brains is responsible for (true) homophobia. I texted Ted the day after I returned to Utah and told him everything, including an explanation of my reasoning. He was (and is) understanding, and we're still friends.

Also, I'd love any feedback. At all. I think this is a topic that hasn't been explored much, save for a few articles on OCD that I've read.

Re: "I'm Christian, unless you're gay."

In response to Dan's article:

Ya know, I've had four different people tell me on separate occasions that they'd have killed themselves if it wasn't for me. Simultaneously, I've had far more people than that tell me that I should kill myself. Because I'm gay. Not because I did anything, or because I offended them, or came onto them or whatever nonsense. Simply because I like men. I have lived in Utah Valley my whole life (aside from this summer, which was spent in California). Throughout my life I'd been taught to hate myself. I was taught that I wasn't worthy. Of anything. I was taught to pray, hope, wish, torture it out myself, but never to embrace it. Because doing so would be submitting to the devil. It got to the point where I'd cry myself to sleep, praying with everything I had that I would either wake up straight or not wake up at all.

But the part that hurt the MOST? That people would say it without thinking. It reminded me of a quote from a page I follow on Facebook: "Be careful of who you hate; it might be someone you love." I'd hear it from my own family. My friends at school. "Fag." (Just as an informative measure, this term was coined when it was decided that giving homosexuals a proper burial after their execution [for homosexuality] was too good, so they just burned them instead. Like a cigarette. Or, a fag.) "Homo." "Queer." "Fairy." I'd hear this all. From everyone. My parents. My friends. My leaders. And if my LEADERS couldn't accept me, how could I accept myself?

Then I got the ball rolling in December of 2007. I told my three closest...'friends'. Who promptly abandoned me, deleted me on Facebook and took all measures to ignore my texts and calls. They couldn't understand. They couldn't see the pain. I was desperate. Clawing for any piece of positive human attention. Things got gradually (I repeat, gradually) better over the next two months. Then, in March, I got a call from one of them. I was so excited. I'd been playing Guitar Hero II (I'm awesome, by the way) and I heard a ringtone I'd set for this friend a good four or five months previous. I thought, "No way." But I pulled out my phone and sure enough, it was Brandon. Did they actually want to hang out? Or might it even be...(dare I dream it?) a surprise party (My birthday is April 1st)? It couldn't be. It had to be too good to be true. Which it was. Turns out, they just needed help with their math homework. I had become a tool. A mental Swiss Army Knife, to be called upon when needed but never more. Sure, they even had the bollocks to ask for my help at school (talking to a gay kid in public, we're gettin' super Liberal here!). But none of them dared to call me their friend. I had NEVER felt so alone.

I'd see them at school, in classes, and on the bus. But rarely would they acknowledge my presence, much less make eye contact. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand them being so close without feeling desperate urges to draw their attention. At this point, negative or positive attention would do. I just didn't want to feel so worthless. The school year ended without having cleared anything up well. Meaning I got to spend it alone. In July, I finally told my parents. Sort of because I wanted them to know anyway, but mostly because I wanted SOME kind of attention. I needed empathy, compassion, understanding. They didn't provide it. They weren't INtolerant, but they certainly rushed through the conversation and made to ignore it as swiftly as possible.

My Junior year began. I met Troy. Troy was my best friend throughout that entire school year and the following summer. He's straight, but still supported me. Even when I told him that I was developing feelings for him. In all logical sense, that was a dumb move, but emotionally, if I didn't let him know, it'd have felt like I was taking advantage of our friendship. Which seemed quite low, considering all of the support he'd given me. He did alienate himself slightly more after that point, but he didn't ignore me. He wanted to help me. Even if the kind of help he was offering wasn't the type of help I wanted or needed, it felt incredible to have someone who cared. He and I are still friends to this day.

Senior year was when it all (finally) came together. My old friends came around. And though we really never did anything together again, I was still acknowledged and, ultimately, loved. Our life paths had simply diverged to the point where it would have been illogical to try to merge them. But we respect and accept our differences, and we are all stronger for it. Senior year is also when I started hanging out with some of my best friends more regularly. One of whom was in my German class in 9th grade and Astronomy in 11th. At first I was nervous to have him find out I'm gay (as I am with most of my friends--coming out isn't a one-time thing. Gay people come out over and over and over again throughout their lives, with every new person they meet.), but only to find out that the fear was unwarranted--his dad is gay. And another friend who's a straight ally. And when I say ally, I mean he's been to more Pride Festivals than I have, and I'm gayer than a handbag full of rainbows.

Senior year was also the year I had a class at American Fork High School, as opposed to Lone Peak. American Fork is decidedly more liberal, and it really showed. Perhaps it was the fact that it was a Japanese class and the students were inherently more accepting (the Anime fanbase is generally far more accepting than most conservatives around here), but I couldn't help but feel...safe.

The end of my senior year was a year and a half ago. I can still picture the hallways--I have a natural tendency to want to make eye contact with everyone, and walking down the hall was torture. There were people everywhere, and none of them would remotely acknowledge my existence, much less make eye contact.

All in all, with the help of some good friends, I found my way. But I wouldn't have gotten lost had it not been for the influences bearing down upon me earlier on in my life. Do I look upon those years with distaste? Certainly. Would I change anything about my past? Absolutely not. My past experiences have shaped me into who I am, and if I say so myself, I'm pretty awesome. I've learned and grown and embraced, and that's imbued me with what I'm told is wisdom beyond my years. Now I get to share that with everyone else.

On a side note, please talk to me. About anything. To vent. To scream. To cry. Life is beautiful. And Dan, thanks again for posting that article. It's about time the Holy slap in the face was dealt.

The Repeal of DADT

Don't Ask, Don't Tell. The staple for the military's views on homosexual soldiers and service men/women. It pretty much said, "Don't tell me if you're gay, because then you get a dishonorable discharge." Throughout the years we developed a tendency to ignore the existence of homosexuality in the military because of that. But now, as it has been brought to light, it has finally been deemed unconstitutional. Effective 9/20/2011, gay and lesbian soldiers will be admitted to the military and allowed to practice their sexuality openly. What does this mean?

For the military, it means that social barriers will be going up and down in a frenzy. I'm certain that we'll see a series of small explosions resulting from the more (irreversibly) ignorant soldiers finding out that a long-time bunk mate or best friend has liked dudes the entire time. One of the more common (and dumber, really) questions is, "Will this infringe on my right to practice my own religion?" No. Idiot. Just as Mormons can serve in the military with people who drink, smoke, curse and tattoo all over their bodies, you can still practice your religion if I join up, even if I like penis. I promise I won't lock you in my sex dungeon and keep you from going to Sunday mass.

The only really practical concern is that of the relationships between the soldiers. The underlying problem being not of homosexuals joining and coming out, but rather the homophobes letting their own insecurity, anxiety or hatred stop them from performing and living in a manner that has become expected of them. I can imagine that it might be an uncomfortable situation, but at the same time I also see America moving toward a new era of love and acceptance.

At this point in time we're being 'tolerated'. Put up with. We're a chore. But things are getting better. Gay marriage is legal in six states, and last Wednesday a hearing was held regarding the negative effects DOMA (The Defense of Marriage Act) on married same-sex couples. The world will continue to improve, and even if I don't live to see the changes, I'll die happy knowing that they're on their way.

-Manchild

Osama Bin Laden

On May 1st, 2011, we as Americans celebrate the death of Osama Bin Laden. Hundreds upon hundreds of citizens gather at Ground Zero to celebrate. But celebrations aren't all that's happening.

The crowd formed as a party, a celebration. But within minutes, the cheers and screams organized themselves into chants and songs. 'God Bless America' and 'The Star Spangled Banner' were audible among the crowd, drawing forth the unity that hasn't been seen in America since the 9/11 bombing itself. Tears streamed down the faces of partygoers and spectators alike, including myself, watching the report from my house in Pleasant Grove.

It amazes me that we as people divide ourselves with so many fine boundaries: race, religion, ethnic background, past events. It also amazes me that such an occurrence as this occurs and those lines vanish. Such little things don't matter anymore. We are all humans, and beyond that, we are all Americans. And though we fight and bicker and argue, our larger goals are identical. And THAT is our common ground. THAT is what unites us.

GOD BLESS AMERICA!

Love can Change Facebook, why not the World?

Love can change the world. It’s an incredible thing. Just last night, a message went out on Facebook to ‘like’ a page entitled ‘I hate gay people’, so that we could educate them. When I joined, there were roughly eighty members. Most of which were LGBT. Not twelve hours later, there were over 500 members, and very few of them were non-LGBT. There were posts every minute or so, each expressing their love for their boyfriend, girlfriend, or people in general. It was uncommon to see any hurtful messages. Everybody on that page was showing such love and understanding as human beings. It made me think.

How different would the world be if everybody had a voice? If everybody was proactive in their opinions? By the looks of it, there are far more people who are gay-friendly than not. It’s an incredible thing, really. So many people with such philosophical and deep ideals and truths should not keep it to themselves. At first it’s because they’re shy, but at a certain point it becomes plain selfish to withhold that insight from other people who could benefit greatly to it. Though it’s very few people who will ever see this, I want to encourage you to look inward. Find what’s there. And once you’ve found it, share it with the world. The world can always use your beauty.

That being said, I also want to encourage people to be themselves. It’s come (greatly) to my attention that people tend to do things not because they genuinely want to, but because they believe that it will please somebody else. Please, think about this carefully. Be you. If you’re you, then the people who enter and exit your lives will do so with good reason. “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” –Dr. Seuss. Those around you who truly love you will appreciate and be glad that you’re being yourself. Don’t limit yourself because you’re afraid of being judged or condemned. It ends badly on both ends. So here is my challenge: Don’t change ANYTHING about yourself for one day. Be honest with everybody, and let your true personality come forth. Let your mood come out, too. If you’re pissed, let those around you know that you’re pissed. If you’re happy, shoot rainbows and smiles and hugs at everybody. Let your mood manifest in however you would have it manifest. Because you are you, and you are unique.

The Beauty of the World

You are beautiful. You've heard it in songs, in books, in magazines, maybe even in other blogs. Maybe you've read it in texts, or been told so personally, be it by peers, partners, parents, or other words that begin with the letter 'P' so as to continue this beautiful alliteration. Postmen? Uhh...let's avoid that one. Anyway. My point is that too many people tend to disregard this statement, because it has lost its meaning. People hear it when the teller has no sincerity, or maybe they just hear it so much that it just doesn't mean what it should.

People hear the word 'beautiful' and think of a blond-haired, blue-eyed anorexic bitch (Utah County, anyone?). But beauty goes so far beyond physical appearance. And when we think of it as mental or emotional, we think, "Be a good person." Though that does mean a lot in certain circumstances, that isn't ALL it has to mean. Be an individual, be caring, responsive, helpful, supportive, loving, compassionate, empathetic, logical. Be YOU. Because there are beautiful things about you, inside and out. Whether you can see them or not, other people do. Though at times it's tough to find people who appreciate the beauty in you, it's a lot more fun to do than trying to be something you're not so that you can live up to what people have come to call beauty.