Before I share this poem with y’all, I wanna share a little bit about my what is happening in Utah and the Mormon community and how it is affecting the LGBTQIA+ community.
Mormonism is a pretty intense religion. Think evangelical or Jehovah’s Witness intense. So when our prophet or the apostles say something to its members, it’s a pretty big deal. One of the apostles recently spoke at Brigham Young University. (Here’s a link to his talk word-for-word, so you can read it and make up your own opinion. This is on the Church’s official website. I’m not trying to cherry pick his words, but I am human, and this was my favorite apostle – even since leaving the Church, I loved Elder Holland… and well, I’m hurting because of his words. So yes, I will be paying more attention to the ones that have caused so much pain.)
Basically, Elder Holland – an apostle who has brought so much comfort as I struggled with my mental health – spoke to faculty and staff at BYU declaring that the school cannot condone homosexual behavior and that members should not confuse love with support. You know, the whole hate the sin but love the sinner argument? He even went so far as to call out a BYU graduate and former valedictorian who “came out” during his graduation speech – a speech that was approved well in advance. A speech that I am sure has helped countless LGBTQ+ students at this Mormon university. But none of seemed to matter, as Holland said this student was commandeering the school and its graduation ceremony. An apostle of God publicly shamed a student who had gone through the proper BYU and Church channels to get his speech approved.
It doesn’t stop there. Just a week or two after a lesbian couple was murdered on their honeymoon in Utah, this so-called apostle a God who is defined as “Love” encouraged members to take up (metaphorical) musketfire against the LGBTQ+ community. It feels so much like all of my heroes have become the villain. So many are grieving because of these painful words. And though I am sure he meant well, I am sure he didn’t want to cause harm, I am sure he believes this is the way to show love… that it’s how God would show love … sometimes there is nothing more harmful than a person who means well.
And while there has been such a huge outpouring of love, there has also been an increase in hate. My neighbors have pride signs proudly displaying from what I am sure is BYU-contracted housing. People created beautiful chalk art supporting LGBTQ+ students at the school, but then people like those in the video above did what they likely thought was that metaphorical musketfire Elder Holland mentioned.
Just the other day, as I was decked out in pride-themed makeup and clothing, I had two men in a car follow me, slowly, revving their engine while I was walking. This isn’t common behavior in Provo. I had several Lyft drivers look at me in disgust upon seeing my pride attire I’ve been adamant about wearing these days. Things are tense. People are hurting. My friends are hurting. I am hurting.
And with that, I leave you my poem:
I know what it is like
To be so in love with Jesus and being born again
His Spirit all around me as I sit on my friend’s front porch
Butterfly clips sparking in the sun like Christ’s pure love
I know what it is like
To feel the wrath of God crushing my heart
As I open the pages of forbidden scripture
My own Song of Solomon, a piece that didn’t belong
I know what it is like
To sit in a closet crying with a pink-covered book about kids with cancer
The doctors told my mom that I have a growth in my brain
And verily, verily I say unto me – God is punishing us for what we’ve done
I know what it is like
To have a crush on a girl that works at the local small town diner
She said my Hot Topic earrings were cute and I thought about her for weeks
But the religious books say its just a phrase, my hormones are confused, I am confused
I know what it is like
As my sweet friend Mary Jo tells me that she thinks shes gay, my heart stopping
And even though I thought I was gay too, I was so scared for her salvation
I prayed and said words I thought were inspired
“I love you no matter what, but I can’t hear about that.”
I know what it is like
To be bullied by the girls at youth group being called “gay, a dyke, a les”
Before I even acknowledged these pieces to myself
I was condemned and sent straight to a self-loathing hell
I know what it is like
The internalized homophobia turning me into the monsters I hated
“I’m not gay! I like dick!” As people continued to label me when I was confused
So much justifying and hatred in the name of love, because even when I said gay isn’t a sin
Even when I said I accept you, I know Christ would let you in – I refused to see myself
I know what it is like
To be on each and every side of this so-called argument that infringes upon human rights
But I never claimed to speak for God. I didn’t hold the power that this man does
Words. And the word is God. Word is God. God is Love.
Shouldn’t your words be love? Apostle, sir, can you tell me how metaphorical gunfire is love?
I know what it is like
To see my friends share stories with tear-filled eyes and stories of suicide
In less than 48 hours these words have indeed shot so many in the heart
But I will walk in rainbows and declare safety here because I am not ashamed of me
To the doctor who saw me at the ER last night, My breasts are not inherently sexual.
Examining the staph infection that has taken over 1/4 of my breasts – not to mention to all of sores the sores that keep getting worse and are not responding to antibiotics over – is not sexual.
But your religion taught you that my body as a female is sexual and dirty and wrong.
Because of this, you a freaking medical doctor working in an emergency room, refused to examine it my staph infection. Instead you asked me if I had a picture. Thankfully I did actually have a picture.I had taken one that I sent over to my friend and sister to show how bad it’s been getting. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t overreacting, since every single health issue I have has been diminished and neglected by the majority of the doctors I’ve seen. I didn’t want to waste my time going – but everyone said I should.
I’m used to going to do doctors while having seizures, numbness, drooping face, and a plethora of other symptoms. And I’m used to them brushing it off or telling me which specialist to go to next. I’m not used to being sexualized. By. A. Doctor.
You looked at the picture left the room without a word. I waited and waited, feeling ashamed and stupid for even bothering to come in. I would’ve gone to urgent care instead, but they don’t accept my insurance. I would’ve waited for the doctor, but it was the weekend and this was just getting worse. I almost got up and left.
While I dealt with my own crisis, debating whether to just give up and leave, I can only assume you were having a moralcrisis given the size of the infection whether you should look at my breast or not. I’m sure you saw the results of my biopsy from my last visit that this is indeed a staph infection and it’s not responding to treatment.
Finally, you came back and examined it. After squeezing when there is clearly no puss and pushing and pinching it in every which way, while I writhed in pain, you said
“It’s not that bad.”
I am aware that is not as bad as an infection can be. But the fact that its spreading, I was running a low-grade fever, and everything else going on with my body – I am trying to get someone to listen before it does get “that bad”.
I am positive if you had this size of a wound on your penis or testicles, you would be bed ridden, demanding treatment immediately. There have been so many studies done on how doctors (even female doctors) do not take female patients seriously. A man can go in with the same demeanor, presenting the same symptoms, and he will get tests, treatment, and referrals more often than women who have the same symptoms or diagnosis.
Maybe if this infection was on my arm, the doctor would have felt the need to treat it.
Maybe if my psych stays weren’t in my medical record.
Maybe if I fit the Mormon image and didn’t have tattoos and piercings and colored hair.
Maybe if I wasn’t obese – because fat people choose to be fat and they choose to be sick because all of their problems are related to their weight, right?
Maybe if I fit whatever your ideal is of a sick patient who deserves treatment… maybe this infection would already be gone.
PS. To you and all the other doctors who are quick to tell me I don’t have cancer and don’t need a mammogram because its all surface lesions, please kindly go back to medical school and study inflammatory breast cancer, skin cancer, and cancer in hormonal glands. While I am mostly positive that this is simply a Lupus/Scleroderma/MS flare and it’s causing all of my body’s issues – whatever the cause, I deserve proper treatment.
2020 was a horrific year for all of us. And 2021 has been kind of a mess, too! At the end of 2020 I was basically shipped off by the Church to go live with my family in California. My health got progressively worse and the doctors in that small desert town weren’t able to help. Not only that but being in said small town left me with very few options for work. In fact, it was impossible to even get an interview. By what can only be described as a miracle I made it back to Utah alive.
The trip back to Utah was frightening to say the least! Stay tuned for my vlog update in which I detail how a Mormon con-woman picked me up in Barstow, California and started smoking something that was DEFINITELY NOT weed or cigarettes on the way there. Oh, and we almost got hit a few times!
For now, I want to write about all the positive things that have happened.
I got to know my niece and nephew better! Peyton is such a beautiful almost-teenager and so fun to hang out with. Christian is your typical teenage boy, screaming at his video games and gamer friends. 😅 I also got to meet some pretty cool animals. Sassy, Midnight, and Vamperina – the cutest doggie and kitties ever!
I also got to meet some pretty cool animals. Sassy, Midnight, and Vamperina – the cutest doggie and kitties ever!
I also started the journey of loving myself no matter what size I am. I learning my worth and never again will I say cruel things to myself. I have so much divine worth. (And so do you!) But more on that later!
I’ve been back for a few months now. In these few months, while my health struggles are still present, things have been looking up. I have a place to live, an absolutely amazing job, and I am slowly but surely getting set up with the specialists I need to treat my autoimmune diseases and epilepsy. This isn’t to exude toxic positivity because the hell I’ve suffered and at times continue to suffer through is still very real, valid, and it deserves to be acknowledged. And it has been – in conversations with my friends, co-workers, and Love (aka God/Jesus cause I’m going through a faith crisis 😅)
Soon I will post some insane story times – in the meantime be sure to give my TikTok account a follow @ weetziewishes, check out my YouTube channel, and be sure to support on Patreon for exclusive access to unpublished works, early access to books, shout outs, and more! All of which can be found here https://linktr.ee/janexrochester
In 12 days it will be two years since my mom passed away. It feels so much longer than that. In those two years, I have experienced an entire lifetime of heartbreak, trauma, change (both good and bad) – I am an entirely different person. So much so that I don’t quite know how to fit in with my friends and the city in which I live. The only constant since her passing has been the grief. I miss her my mom so much.
My mom had a difficult life and the older I get the more I realize how unfair the hand she had been dealt was. She always said she wanted to write a story about her life – and even suggested we write it together. We never got that chance. And so I am compiling all of the stories she has told me together to create her story – because her story deserves to be told.
It’s not easy, though. In ways it helps me feel closer to her but it also solidifies the fact that she is gone. I’ve started the process of connection with family and friends who might be able to help fill in parts I forgot or parts she never told me. I imagine this will be the most exhaustive and the most rewarding writing project I have tackled.
While it’s just in the beginning stages, I will be sharing snippets with my subscribers on Patreon. (I already posted the Prologue!) It’s only a $1 for the basic package and you get access to a lot of sneak peeks and Early Access content!
It’s been hard letting go something that was so central to my life. Yet at the same time it was something that caused a lot of trauma in my life. Be sure to subscribe to my YouTube for more content! I also have a Patreon with lots of exciting things being shared. Visit @ linktr.ee/janexrochester for more info!
Can you give me some comfort
Can you offer some peace?
I feel as though I’m forsaking God
Because it seems like He’s forsaken me
“The Church is perfect but the people are not”
How can you say that? Have you forgot –
The words from prophets they claimed were inspired
The lies, the abuse; I shrink away from the hand of God
I want to believe. I don’t want to walk away.
It’s just so painful to stay
Can you give me some comfort?
Can you offer some peace?
I’d ask my Heavenly Father
But it seems He doesn’t listen to me
“Doubt your doubts”, “Invite the spirit.”
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to feel it.
You invalidate my trauma, claiming it was inspired
A spiritual lesson learned; I shrink away from the hand of God
I want to ask for help. I want to pray.
It’s just so painful to stay.
Can you give me some comfort?
Can you offer some peace?
God knows my soul is wearing thin
Its too much to bear. I beg of you, of anyone, please hear me
“Choose the Right”, “Blessings come when we keep the commandments”
I guess I’ve failed and I’ve been abandoned
Everything is gonna be okay, so called blessings that are inspired
Unconditional love but conditional peace; I shrink away from the hand of God
I want to be loved. I want more than anything to stay.
We’re sitting together in my library. I’m on the brown chair that was part of a sectional my ex-husband bought, guitar on my lap. My friend Krystie Stuart sits across from me at my desk. It’s a small room, but it held three shelves full of books, my 2007 iMac, and a giant Breaking Dawn poster. She asks me to play something and despite my nerves, I agree. We had been toying around with the idea of playing a song together for our church. (Some of you may know that I am currently leaving the Mormon church. That is not the church I am referring to here. It was your run of the mill non denominational church.) I start strumming the chords to 3 Doors Down’s “Going Down in Flames”, a song that allowed me to cope with my struggles fitting into the Christian community.
Krystie smiled and told me that my voice was pretty, and then asked about the song. I told her what the song meant to me and then I started talking about the song “Playing God” by Paramore. The conversation quickly turns to mental health and the judgment among our peers at church. I expressed the pain I felt from the Sunday school teacher telling me hurtful things.
“You are allowing demons to influence you by taking medication for your depression.” “Your husband is a dark influence on you.” “You need to dress more modestly. You’re distracting the men.”
Krystie nodded knowingly and said she had been told similar things by this person. For a second, I was like oh good! Someone who gets me! She confessed she had been diagnosed with Bipolar, but that she also agrees with this woman that on some level its related to demons. Especially because during her episodes, she’d have visual hallucinations and see demons. She firmly believed those demons were real.
Krystie was one of the most spiritual and Christ-like people I’ve ever known. God was her life. And though we did not always agree on things and there were times she believed some questionable doctrine, she had such a beautiful and gentle heart. When I first met Krystie, it was at youth group and I was about 13 years old. She was older than me. I remember her holding hands with her boyfriend, and how they would talk about how they hadn’t even kissed yet, and wouldn’t kiss each other until they got married. When I stopped going to youth group, I didn’t encounter Krystie again until a few years later when I was volunteering at the library – and so was she! And then again, when my now ex-husband took me to “his” church. And we became friends.
In 2015, I divorced my then-husband and moved to Utah. I remember I didn’t talk to her as much after I moved. But I didn’t talk to much of anyone back in California. I have a lot of regrets about that…
When I found out Krystie was missing, I was in shock and fearing the worst. I felt so helpless. I was hundreds of miles away and relying upon the news, family and friends, and a kind woman who had reached out to Krystie’s family and helped hire a private investigator. I’ll go into details about what we know about the case in a later post, and eventually a video on my YouTube.
Krystie Stuart went missing on March 3rd, 2015 and part of her remains were found in February 2019. There is so much we don’t know. So many gaps. So many situations in which the case wasn’t handled appropriately at all.
I am hoping by sharing this story, I can bring awareness to this case and maybe someone who knows something will finally come forward. We need answers. And I may be helpless, but I still have a voice. And it’s time I use it.
It’s interesting how Mormon culture shames those who leave because the doubts, the lies, and the pain became too much. You are taught that God will love you unconditionally, but if you turn your back, if you deny the things you “know” are true, you will forsake the Celestial Kingdom. (And from my understanding, any other kingdom? I had been told on multiple occasions the only way to hell aka Perdition is by denying God after knowing all these wonderful truths.) It’s a similar train of thought in other Christian religions I’ve studied with – if you lose that mustard seed of faith, if you don’t have God anymore, your life is empty and meaningless. You might as well book a one-way ticket to Hell, unless you change your ways, of course. But God’s all-knowing, right? If that’s the case, wouldn’t he understand how hard it is to believe? To suffer the abuse from your so-called brothers and sisters in Christ? Wouldn’t he know that sometimes the religious trauma impacts your mental health so deeply, you just need to do what’s best for you to be safe…even if that means taking a break from it all?
I’ve struggled with religious OCD and anxiety symptoms since I was just a little girl. I’ve always feared death and doubted the existence of Heaven or an after-life. In fact, that’s my biggest fears, y’all. It’s not so much the dying, it’s the not being in control and potentially ceasing to exist that freaks me the fuck out. When I was 11 years old, I had just finished reading Mourning Song by Lurlene McDaniel. If you’ve read any of Lurlene’s books, you know they deal with death and dying a lot. This particular book is part of the One Last Wish series and the main character had a brain tumor. She was dying. I had just finished reading the book when my mother called me from my room to let me know that my MRI results had come back. I was having headaches and petit mal seizures (though I didn’t know that’s what they were at the time!). I had a growth in my brain, she said, tears in her eyes. I asked her if I had cancer and she said no, but we’ll find out more at the doctors. My first thought? “God is punishing me for masturbating.” Well, kind of, cause I didn’t know it was called masturbation. I thought only guys masturbated, but I knew what I was doing was related to sex and sex was bad and God hated me and this was his punishment. I just knew I was going to go blind like the girl in the book. And more importantly, I was going to die. I cried so hard, having what I now know is a panic attack, shaking and crying and praying fervently that God forgive me and I won’t ever do it again and please don’t let me die.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t die. I also didn’t stop masturbating, but each time I was filled with so much anxiety and fear of being punished.
Fast forward, I’m 16 and this cute boy that worked at the market took me out on a date. Well, he said it was a date. He was in his 20s but I didn’t care, cause you know, I was a CHILD. Anyway, I was wearing a pink tinkerbell shirt and jeans. I was on my period and I had a pad on, because I didn’t even know how to use a tampon at that point. We drove to the middle of nowhere and he asked if I touched myself. I refused to answer. He proceeded to tell me to close my eyes and touched me, working his way down, and I flushed with embarrassment as he poked where my pad was, eyes flying open, and grabbing his hand to push it away. I was shaking. I was scared I was going to be raped. He reluctantly took me home. A few days later and I put on that same pink shirt and later had a spell of facial drooping and numbness. (We now think those are mini strokes, but that’s a story for another time!) As always, I tied the symptoms of my physical health to my disobedience to the Lord. I was being punished. I was going to die. And this fear slowly morphed into me not wearing certain clothes, things having to feel right if I did them or wore it, and basically just your average day in OCD. But I couldn’t even pray to God for help, because I was afraid the devil would intercept my prayers.
After some self-prescribed exposure therapy and a deeper understanding of a loving God, I started letting go of these fears. When I read Melody Carlson’s “The Other Side of Darkness”, I found such peace and comfort. The book dealt with a character who has a religious OCD and I felt so validated and I knew that those dark thoughts didn’t come from God.
And we as Christians always say that. I mean, except for the fear-preaching ones… But we say that God will not give us a spirit of fear when quoting the Bible. And we use this to distinguish what is from God and what is not. But this all just gets so blurred and all-consuming when you have an anxiety disorder. And all that hard work I put into recovering from my religious anxiety, it’s all slipping away. The experiences of being in the Church, of living through terrible trauma and being told it is God’s plan for me to suffer so I can learn and grow or whatever, having my grief compared to losing a pet by my bishop at the time, shamed for the clothes I wore, the tattoos I had, the color of my hair, my piercings, and oh yeah… back to the masturbating? I was never temple worthy because of that. No matter what Bishop I saw. I was never good enough to go to the temple. Eventually I gave up on that idea and just went back to drinking coffee and tea, cause what the hell, right?
And before anyone says “that’s just the Mormons”… it happens in other denominations all the time. Remember, I wasn’t Mormon all my life. Or even most of my life. I was Christian. I had attended Baptist, Pentecostal, Jehovah’s Witnesses, non-denominational, and many other denominations.
The point is… I need a break. From religion. From spirituality. If I practice meditation and manifesting good vibes or whatever, I start to panic that its of the devil. Or if I read about a non-Christian religion or spiritualist ideas, I get scared that I’m doing something wrong. If I don’t pray, I feel scared. If I do pray, I feel scared. And finally, after all of these events, my heart shattered when I was listening to my favorite worship and Christian songs and not only did I not feel the spirit. I just felt so anxious and sick and afraid. What if God doesn’t exist and I die and there’s nothing? Or what if God does exist and he’s done with me now?
And so I’m taking a break and I’m focusing on my safety and my peace. I do intend to continue meditating and manifesting, because it does bring me joy and helps me, and I personally see nothing wrong in it, but I’ve had so many voices from the past, or presently online, and whatnot condemning anything and everything and its too much. So for now: I choose Love. I choose what’s good. I choose to accept that I don’t know everything and that maybe I may take the wrong path and stumble and fall, but I also know that I choose to believe that whatever happens, this Love that I choose, is not going to condemn me for making a mistake or losing my way, when Love has been so patiently silent on the matter, and maybe that’s because Love is everywhere. There are so many ideas and beliefs about Love but because people are not Love and everyone connects to Love differently, I haven’t found my place yet. But I will. I know that much is true.
(….In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen? 😅 )
For more stories like this, I’ll be sharing more soon on my Patreon! Be sure to subscribe!
The holidays have never come easy for me. In fact, I often find myself hospitalized during this time of year due to suicidal ideations. The holidays are a reminder of what I do not have – I don’t have a husband, kids, or a close-knit family. This year I knew would be even more difficult, because it is the “year of firsts”. On August 10, 2019, my mother passed away due to a brain aneurysm. Despite the grief, I’ve decided to find joy in the holidays. My therapist suggested I create traditions – things to look forward to – this winter and the upcoming holidays. I also wanted to challenge myself to be grateful, even if it feels as if I’ve lost everything.
I’m not saying I’m grieving “well” by any means. I sleep most of the day still. I have to take a pill called Prazosin for my nightmares and PTSD episodes as a result of witnessing my mother’s death. As I write this, tears of begging to be set free. I am still very much a mess. But I’m trying, and I hope that maybe this perspective will help others who struggle during this time of year.
Creating New Traditions
I thought my therapist was off his rocker when he suggested I create traditions – things I can do alone to enjoy the season. Why would I even want to enjoy the season? How could I? It felt like a betrayal to my mother, but I know she wouldn’t want me miserable. In fact, she’d hate how much pain I am in. She would want me to find those happy moments.
I’ve found little things to enjoy. Marvel movie marathons – I’m trying to watch all the movies in chronological order! I’ll be reading Tisha this December, the perfect winter book. I’ll make myself duck for Christmas, and I’ll be doing a Christmas photoshoot with my bearded dragon. Some of the things sound silly, but they bring me joy and they give me something to look forward to. There were other things I wanted to do – make my mom’s stuffing, knitting, and other crafts, but depression robs me of my time far more than I’d like to admit.
Finding Gratitude for the Small Things
I was invited to a friend’s for Thanksgiving dinner, and I almost canceled. Why be surrounded by a happy family when I don’t have that? I forced myself to go, though, and decided instead of looking at it in a negative light to be grateful – grateful that I have friends that care enough to make sure I’m not alone during the holidays. I’m grateful for candles, this beautiful soap from Bath & Body, my blankets, the comfort of my bed, Sodalicious, and any small thing that brings me even a sliver of peace, comfort, or happiness.
I once worked a job that during training we each had to list 3 things we were grateful for that day. We started off listing big things, but as time went on and we didn’t want to repeat ourselves, we listed smaller things – caffeine, specific songs, and leggings.
Being Gentle with Myself
I can’t tell you how many doctors and therapists have told me to be gentle with myself these last few months. It’s to the point where I’d probably scream if I heard it again, but as annoying as it may be, it’s true. Being gentle with yourself, whether with trauma, mental illness, grief, or any other struggle you may have … it makes everything so much easier. There are days where I struggle to work, clean, get out of bed. The more I’ve been gentle with myself over these things, the easier it is to get out of bed and put in a day’s work. I have very little expectations for myself at this time, and because of that, I’ve been able to accomplish more than I would have if I set even realistic expectations for myself. Because after all – what’s realistic with grief? Depression? Nothing.
This may sound absolutely stupid and it may not help anyone, but I urge you to find what helps you.
I’ll be making a video next week where I discuss C.S. Lewis’s A Grief Observed and my raw, honest experience with this, how grief and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) affect me, and my struggles with faith.
Guys, guys, guys! I have a published book – just the first of many to come. This is a novella that was featured in BelleMuse Press’ limited anthology, Forest of the Fearless. It follows the story of Morrie & Patches (a cat!) as they journey into the land of the Fae.
Guys, guys, guys! I have a published book – just the first of many to come. This is a novella that was featured in BelleMuse Press’ limited anthology, Forest of the Fearless. It follows the story of Morrie & Patches (a cat!) as they journey into the land of the Fae.
Serendipity Minds 