I remember being envious of the other boys who seemed so free in their bodies, so free with their bodies. I remember being envious of their slenderness, and later on, their muscles. I remember lying in bed wishing so hard that I could wake up and be miraculously thin. I remember knowing that I shouldn't hate my body but having no idea how to stop.

College held the hope for a fresh start. Home meant the weight of my double-life: the pain of lying about porn and "everything is okay" all the time; the great friendships that never felt deep or authentic enough for my broken self.

Henry and I had a great, heartfelt talk. But a realization hit me as we were talking: I don't want to share this conversation with anyone else. What we talked about that day was personal. Vulnerable.

We finished the day by taking silhouette pictures with the blazing orange-and-pink sky as our backdrop. My siblings lovingly kissed their spouses and lifted them up in the air as some of the most romantic and precious images I'd ever witnessed. I stayed to watch for a little while, knowing that no one would ask me if I wanted any pictures by myself. That would have been absurd, right? It didn't take long for me to reach the end of what I could handle with my family. So, I ran away.

I was single with no children, free from almost all responsibility, and I realized I could move anywhere in the country and totally start over if I wanted it. The idea appealed to me the more I thought about it.

I felt sick to my stomach that one complicated situation made me lash against someone who was very dear to my best friend's heart. I felt the whole situation was my fault, and I couldn't do anything to make it better.

It's no secret that I have written extensively on the joys and blessings of SSA, gay, or Side B friendships. Indeed, these particular friendships have been incredible and moving experiences that I would not trade for anything in the world. But at the same time, let me be clear: maintaining Side B friendships with other guys can be HARD.

When I was a kid, my dream was to grow up and get a wife and kids. A lot of kids. My family and church taught me to pray for my future spouse. So, I did. Everyday for years. I prayed for the girl I'd one day marry, that God would protect her and care for her, whoever she was.

This is the continuing story of my midlife crisis which started when a deep sense of dissatisfaction drove me to make big changes and start a new life. Waking up from a dream, I intuitively knew that I should devote as much time and energy as possible to pointing the younger generation to Jesus Christ!

I hated being the awkward, quiet introvert; I wanted to be like the energetic, chatty, extroverted kids. They always seemed to make a bajillion friends and were always the life of the party who people laughed at and enjoyed. I hated myself for not having charisma or speaking when it mattered. I thought something was wrong with me.

Call it a "new direction" or a clearer translation of what YOB has been from the start: a community desperate for Jesus. My 31-year Jesus journey leads me here. Wherever "here" is. Broken on the floor. Echoes of the past ringing in my ears. Doubts for the future always shadowing my vision no matter how many tears I blink away.

How does a middle-aged, single, Christian guy dealing with same-sex attraction (SSA) embark upon and survive a midlife crisis? It was clear that I was selfishly living an easy life that didn't help anyone else and did little or no eternal good.

Eryk had no spouse, no children, no parents, and only a distant half-sister. Eryk became dangerously depressed, and no one was close enough to effectively do anything about it. I can certainly put myself in Eryk's place and understand how he could become depressed. But I didn't take the time and effort to notice and take action.

When we give our hearts to people we are changed, even if they never give us their hearts in return. These effects aren't scars — they don't begin as wounds — and I wouldn't call them baggage. They're like paint splashes on our canvas hearts or imprints on our soft, clay souls.

The slog of waking up to my drab mundane life takes a sharp turn for the better, and I am suddenly filled with hope and optimism. The world is not so scary anymore. How on earth did I live without this hope before? I attended this year's YOBBERS retreat, and my mind is spinning over what I just saw and experienced.

My biggest fear was that my best friend was going to force our friendship to end all because of this girl, pushing me away from his life. It was the fear that whatever friendship we'd built in the past he was willing to tear down, trample to the ground, and pretend that I never existed at all.

The LGBT community depended upon each other when they had no one else. And now they stick together closely, fighting alongside each other. The LGBT community isn't perfect. However, the LGBT community still finds a way to come together for a common purpose. And, honestly, this is attractive to me.

After the funeral, I felt almost paralyzed. I just couldn't force myself to lead at the house. James needed me to lead and be a help to him, so he confronted me on being too passive. I admitted he was right, but I felt unable to get beyond my emotions and lead others. Things degenerated until James and I barely talked.

His profile definitely made him seem like the modern, ideal, "manly man." He was a jock type with many photos of himself playing baseball. He also stated drawing as one of his hobbies, just like me. A straight masculine dude who plays sports, likes drawing, and calls himself a Christian? Perfect!