Airport Parkinglots

As far as I can remember I have always been a spiritual person. I couldn't tell you whether it was because of my upbringing or that it was coded into my DNA. I never had a reason to question God, never had a problem with firmly rooting myself in the soil of the gospel. I was raised LDS. (Keep your judgements to yourself.) I am still LDS. Something has changed though.

I couldn't tell you what, but its different now. I can picture my 10 year old self in Sunday School, blurting out all the answers. It all came so easy to me. I just knew the stories, knew the lessons, knew what was asked of me. Like any child who doesn't feel challenged, I slacked off. I goofed off in classes, goofed off in primary, it was all easy. Almost too easy.

Fast forward to age 15. It got complicated. My father, sick from his cancer treatments that had happened over 20 years previous, was ill. Very ill. I watched him struggle. I watched him go in and out of the hospital for months and years. So many doctor visits, blood clots, late night emergencies, coming home from highschool to an empty house. My family never lost faith. My father never complained. I never doubted my religion. I never sluffed a seminary class. Never missed church as long as it was in my power. It was difficult, complicated, but nothing had changed.

At 18 and graduated from highschool I began to watch my best friends prepare for missions. I had always known this was sort of expected of me but I don't know if I ever had that deep burning desire to do it. 2 years felt like a long time. I never told anyone that though. With the encouragement of my parents, a certain girl whom I thought I was in love with, and the urges of my friends I too decided to embark on this adventure. Dreams of epic stories, successful, dangerous, heroic, they filled my head.

Little did I know.

2 1/2 months later I found myself flying home from the far off land of Iowa. I felt like a failure and yet, it had been the longest 2 1/2 months of my life. I just wanted to see my mother. To see my family. To lay in my bed. I held myself together as I walked through the SLC terminal. I kept it all together when I saw my mom standing there waiting. I made it to the parking lot and then, I saw the Maroon car. I lost it. I collapsed to the ground and cried. Just cried. Somewhere in those moments it all changed.

From the parking lot to now, 4 years later. I find myself so far away from everything I thought I would be at this age. I feel every fiber of my personality has been stretched, broken, and tied back together. 4 years later I am still trying to find all my confidence, my faith, my hope, myself. I dunno if I'll ever find it again.....and that scares me.

I've watched those same friends return home from missions and get married. I've watched my best non LDS friend get baptized and wasn't able to be apart of it. I've watched that girl I was in love with struggle and find her way back again. I've watched my father strongly fight and even recover from an illness I would have given up over long ago. I've watched my little sister blossum into one of the brightest and most wonderful women I know I'll ever meet.

Where am I though? I am here, in my room, the room I grew up in, hiding. It's the only Iplace I really feel safe. Like I have control.

I can't say I don't believe in God, I do. I can't say I doubt my religion, I still believe. I can't find my way back. I'm not sure if I want to either. Would I cripple under eternal expectations again? Would my hope give out and I abandon my faith in the fear of failure? Would I survive it?

I'm 23 and I feel ancient. I feel worn. I feel tired. I feel like something so stupid shouldn't be such a massive roadblock. I feel like this is all bullshit. This isn't how it was supposed to go. This isn't, this shouldn't, this can't, but this is...

My name is Jason and my life was lost in an airport parking lot.