Strong through Life: March 2012

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Laughter

I caught myself laughing today. It took me by surprise. What has my life become?

Somehow, the fact that I can laugh catching me by surprise is more depressing than not being able to laugh at all.

Have I really just turned a genuine moment of joy into a reason to be more depressed? What is wrong with me?

A smile, followed by a grimace. Too aware.

Beauty

The stars beckon, the skies call. Emerald grass and sapphire lakes, trees and mountains and valleys. A castle, dank and cold; a cottage, warm and close. A horse, a cat, a dog. Crimson roses and golden daffodils and lavender lilacs waft gently in the breeze. Sun shining, moon glowing, stars twinkling. Laughter and love and warmth. Chuckling brook, rushing river. Evergreen standing proudly upright, willow bending low. Fire and song and dance. Great halls, simple alcoves, sunny nurseries. The black earth, the white wheat, the plow. Planting and growing and reaping. Words gently etched, carved, written. Suns set and rise, darkness and dawn. Soft fur, tanned skin, rough rock, smooth wood.

Beauty.

I couldn't spell "Pharaoh" at all

I still have trouble. In fact I spelled it in the title by putting what I thought it was (Pharoah) and then reversing the "o" and "a" (Pharaoh). One of these Pharaohs is more accurate than the other... (hint: it's the one with the crook and the flail)

Friday, March 30, 2012

Pydredd

My name is Pydredd. That is not the name my mother gave me; indeed, I barely remember my mother. I remember my father, a harsh brute of a monster. I remember hearing him bellow and tensing for the beating that was sure to follow. But of my mother I recall very little beyond a faint suggestion of love and caring.

When the Lich King's control over me broke that fateful day at Light's Hope Chapel, I realized I had lost much more than just a breathing body; Arthas had so twisted my mind and memories that even without his whisperings I was a half-mad cow bent only on destruction. It was on that day that I took the name "Pydredd," meaning, in an old human tongue, "decay." For the Lich King's insidious work continues: my mind and my memories continue to falter, and even my body fights to return to its true state. But for now I live in defiance of all this, because for all the evil he wrought, Arthas gave me something much more valuable in return: Life.

Through the Trees

I drew this from a photo in one of my schoolbooks...I want to say a Lit book.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Crayon

See, here is why I never worked in the church nursery. Pictures like this resulted.

Week Gone By

In the interests of not repeating myself, I won't repost the links from my little "catching up" post, but keep in mind I did those this week too. So basically, I'm the awesomesauce.

Untwisting the Tangled Web

More Questions and Heartcries, Both Unanswered

I Play with Markers

Strong Through Life

In Chapel One Day (after they finally let me back, the bastards)
Dedicated to (A Friend)

Darkness Everpressing

Yeah, not posting links here. Refer to previous email. Also, if you happened to have liked Everpressing, or you used to be able to see it and now can't, feel free to curse whoever was dishonest or got hack-happy. Since I don't know for sure who that was, well, you all pay the price.

Threnody's WoW

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

How Dare You

Hypocrite
Failure
Shame

How dare you?
How dare you
Offer hope?
Have you found any
Yourself?

Hypocrite
Failure
Shame

How dare you
Think you have ought
To offer?
How dare you
Attempt to soothe
Another's pain?

Hypocrite
Failure
Shame

How dare you
Spew your empty
Words?
How dare you
Think yourself of
Any value?

You are a hypocrite, Threnody
You are a failure, Threnody
Shame

Dedicated to (A Friend)

A meeting of minds
A meeting of pains
And now what?

Did you come to me for hope?
I give you what I can
Can I ease your pain?
Tell me how

Do you need a shoulder to cry on?
Here's mine (sorry for the scars)
An ear to listen?
Mine are open wide

My friend
(can I call you such?)
I care for you
We are part of a family
A family of shared pain
We permit no judges here

Your creed or mine
It makes no difference here
Not when our souls
Share torment such as this

I have arms
To hold you
I have hands
To wipe away your tears

I can tell you
Everything will be okay
I don't know how
I don't know when
But it will

Life is all darkness now
Darkness and pain and blood
Whispers in the night
Strip us of hope

They lie.

Night is part of life
But so is day
Dawn is coming
The night won't last forever

Hang on, my friend
One day you won't need that blade
(I know you don't believe me)
One day you'll feel without pain

My friend
(for so you are)
Don't fear the dawn
It is coming
But until it does
We are family, bound by
Blood and pain...and hope

WordArts

I was obsessed with "drawing" words in high school. And it being high school most of them were really inane. These two go together quite well though, I think.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Samuel

Greetings, friend. I am Samuel, druid of the Bloodhoof tribe. I have no allegiances beyond my chief and my circle. When I was a wee calfling, I used to dream of growing up to be a warrior like my father. But then my father marched away one day for one of Hellscream's petty squabbles with the Alliance and never returned. One day I shall make him pay for his ceaseless warmongering...
It was in my sadness and grief that I first heard the grass whisper to me. Though it is hard for green life to understand the troubles of the flesh, they still knew grief and did their best to provide comfort. I clung to that comfort, and though I have spoken with many plants and even touched the heart of Azeroth herself, I still have a special fondness for the prairie grass of Mulgore.
Farewell, my friend. Walk with the Earthmother.

Ad Me Gloria

Since it was truly my own strength that curbed my cutting, I think a more proper term would be mea gloria solus.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Nothing Left to Give

I think part of what makes depression so overwhelmingly horrible is that it drains me. It sucks away all my physical and emotional energy until I have nothing left. Nothing for myself...nothing for my Love or my Son...nothing for my friends. Nothing. I sit and watch helplessly as my Love struggles with sickness or my son desires my attention and I can do...nothing. I have three most important duties in this world: to be a wife to my Love and a mother to my Son and a blessing to my friends. And depression strips me of the ability to do any of those.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Dragon Soul, Anyone?

Nothing like going 6/8 in one evening to put a smile on your face and a spring in your step. :)

In Chapel One Day

Ah, scars. Yes, I see your sideways glances. Why not just ask? I do not know whether or not you are judging, but you are Baptists, so it seems likely. Perhaps you are just confused, maybe you have no idea what self-injury is. Maybe you are simply disgusted by the evidence of my sin. That is perhaps the most Biblical response, but we as humans have a hard time separating disgust for the sinner from disgust for the sin. I do not hold you to a higher standard; I judge you by myself. I know that most of you are as I once was: having a form of godliness but denying the power of it (there I go, quoting Scripture again). They have an outward form of godliness and think that it is actually godliness. I do not pretend to be godly, save perhaps by my presence here at all. Inwardly and outwardly, I scream that I am different. One of the things that I hope my appearance does is force people to think, to throw away their preconceptions and see that appearance is not indicative of holiness. In a few years or perhaps only a few months, I will still look the same. I will still have scars. I will still dress in red and black. My hair will still be "funky." But at that time my inward parts will match what I truly am - a child of God. So don't judge me based on what I cannot now change. I chose to inflict these scars, and given a choice, I would probably keep them...but I am not given that choice. I cannot change my skin. What I have done is permanent. Your gossip and lying and backbiting leave no visible scars; my cutting does. My sin is no greater and no worse than yours in the eyes of God.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

A little catching up

I think I've made up for last week's lazy blogging in the last couple of days. So in case you've missed my productivity, here it be:

Untwisting the Tangled Web

I Play With Markers

Unfinished Work

Strong through Life

Darkness Everpressing

I no longer provide links to Darkness Everpressing. If you are an invited reader, follow the link from the email I sent you the other day.

What Shall I Do?

Shall I choose the blade again?
Cease this madness, let it end?
Break my Lover's heart once more?
Close and bolt the opened door?

Shall I face my fears unbound?
Falter as the first cries sound?
Replace blade with nothingness?
Founder with no chance of rest?

Shall I start again anew?
Can I wait a day or two?
Enjoy this while it lasts?
Let the memories flow past?

Shall I waste what I've begun?
Let the bloodflow trickle down?
Forge the chains (bind me again)
Wrought of blades, tempered in pain?

Shall I go forward or back?
Somehow find the strength I lack?
Or embrace what I've begun?
Choose to stay and not to run?

Friday, March 23, 2012

Once Upon a Time

It strikes me that I have new readers, and that those new readers might not have heard the fairy tale of my life. So I am reposting an old post from Hyanda Ar' Agar.

Once upon a time...well, I wish it was "once upon a time." But this is no fairy tale, this is reality. My reality. But just as fairy tales disguise deeper, darker meanings, I will use "once upon a time" for you, my friends. I will tell the truth in the form of a story. So let me start once more...

Once upon a time there was a girl. She was a fairly ordinary girl. She lived with her fairly ordinary parents and two of her four fairly ordinary brothers. But she had a secret. And it was no ordinary secret. It was certainly no ordinary secret for a twelve-year-old girl to have. She knew this. She knew, but for four long years she had kept this secret. It was time to let go. It was time to seek help. And so she did. And the aftermath of that telling was terrible nearly beyond words.

But what was this secret? What secret could a twelve-year-old girl have of such terrible proportions so as to rip her very soul to shreds? It had a name, but the girl didn't know it. She didn't call it by that name when she sought help, nor for nearly a decade afterward. Even now, she resists that name and the label it imposes on her. The word? Abuse. Sexual molestation. The girl had been touched. Not in a platonic way, no. He touched her in all those secret places. His mouth followed his fingers, and he invited her to do the same. She was confused. Was this some new sort of game? She did as he asked, though. After all, she was lonely, and prior to this point he'd never seemed much interested in her. Nobody had. So she loved the attention. And so the next time he came to her, and the next, and the next, for months, she did as he asked. They incorporated all the childhood games into their "play," from paper dolls to War to dress-up. For her it was just another game, a way to spend time with her now-favorite friend. For him, well, who knows what it was for him, though one can guess. But as the months passed into years, she began to realize that this wasn't all fun and games. There was something wrong here, something dirty. Perhaps the need for secrecy should have tipped her off sooner, but what eight-year-old doesn't love secrets? By then, too, they'd moved on to more than just touch. She'd grown breasts, an early bloomer. He was fascinated by those breasts. He couldn't get enough of them. She didn't like this. She desired it to stop. It was wrong, she would tell him. But you're so sexy, he'd reply. I can't help it. She knew he was right, it was her fault. Guilt and shame kept her silent.

It was then that he started forcing the girl. Not physically, no. No, he manipulated her. He preyed on her loneliness, he played on her shame. And so it continued for more years. And it wasn't just touching anymore. Now it was all but actual intercourse, including oral sex, at least on her part. And by now the girl blamed most of this on herself. Oh, some small part of her knew that he was responsible as well, but would any of this have happened if she wasn't so sexy? Of course not. So it must be her fault.

She reached her breaking point the summer she was twelve, and he, fifteen. This had gone on long enough, and guilty as she was, she had to tell someone. She wanted help. She was at camp, Christian camp. She told her counselor. She told, and turned her life into living hell. Because when she told her counselor, and then the camp director, and finally her parents, they believed her when she claimed the blame. Not that he escaped condemnation, no, but she still shouldered the a large share of responsibility.

But her parents' first reactions gave her hope. Her father admitted his shortcomings as a parent and promised to do a lot better. There were many tears. A lot of restrictions were placed on the girl. The girl was okay with that; she understood the need for consequences, and she certainly didn't want anything happening ever again. And when two nights later, her parents called her to their bedroom and informed her that this would never be mentioned again, she was relieved. She thought she was getting off easy. It wasn't until months later that she realized the truth. Not mentioning it meant not speaking of it directly. It didn't stop her parents from referring to it indirectly every time she did something wrong. It came to be a proof of her utter inability to do anything right, and unspoken testimony of her complete worthlessness. Not mentioning it gave her no chance to seek help, but that didn't matter that much since she didn't deserve any anyway. There was no trust left in her family. Her parents started fighting, and she knew it was her fault. Her mom, never the most trusting, started being suspicious of everyone and everything; the girl recognized and accepted the blame for this as well.

As the years passed, the girl learned the fine art of masking. She didn't call it that; she called it "being all things to all men," not for the purpose of evangelism, no; merely to survive. She lost track of the times she wiped away tears in the car and walked into school with a smile on her face. She lost track, too, of who she was. Everything from the times with him stabbed her over and over, leaving her heart open and bleeding. It was too much, and she buried it deeper and deeper. In so doing, she buried all of her other emotions, and was left floating on a sea of emptiness, drowning in nothingness. Those two, the pain and the nothing, were her whole life. She tried killing herself once, but stopped herself before she swallowed the pills. If she died, she would face God, and she hated God. He did nothing to help her, nothing to relieve the pain. Even though she was to blame, she was sorry, she wanted forgiveness. Eventually she reached the conclusion that what she had done was too bad for even God to forgive, and lost all hope. After all, she knew God was supposed to be the reason for living, but he had forsaken her, and life had no point.

She turned to other things for a while, looking for...something. She knew that what she had done with him had given her something, made her accepted. She turned to those things again. Her mind became a dirtier place than the average porn addict's. She fed it when she could, which was rarely. But she knew this was wrong. She sought help, this time from her youth pastor. He brushed her off, told her of a different counselor, a lady. Have your dad call her, he urged. She understood the awkwardness of gender differences, and asked her dad. She knew she was skirting the edge of "not mentioning it," but she didn't care. She was desperate. Her dad refused. You have to do it on your own, he said, no one else can help you. She believed him, but she knew she wasn't strong enough. So she decided to die. She was no longer afraid of God; she just didn't care anymore. Once more camp rescued her. Once more her parents ignored everything. Once more she sank back down into the pit of darkness. And so it continued.

The girl had no close friends, but she didn't deserve any. She had no thought of marriage, even though she wanted desperately for someone (anyone!) to love her; she knew that no one would ever want her if they knew what she had done. So she resigned herself to a lifetime of pain and tears, sorrow, anguish, regret.

College offered an opportunity for change, but she didn't expect much out of it. All her friends (she had a few, none that close) could talk about was boys and marriage. She hid her pain and gave them advice when they asked it; for some reason, they kept asking. She gave what help she could and caught a glimmer of hope: maybe she was good for something after all. But it wasn't enough to live for. Once more she intended to kill herself. Once more she was talked out of it. The pain grew yet more. Nothing would ease, nothing could relieve it.

Nothing, that is, until one desperate day she picked up a piece of sharp plastic and slashed it across her arm. It hurt, but then a strange thing happened. In the midst of the physical pain, all the emotional pain she had carried for so many years just faded away. For a few priceless hours, she tasted freedom. She bought a knife and did it again. Again she tasted that blessed relief. Freedom from the pain! All it took was the willingness to bleed, and she had that in abundance. She hated her body; seeing it bleed was no great hardship. Soon she was cutting not just for that overwhelming pain, but every normal pain and everyday stress. She worshiped the blade and the blood. It didn't take her long to realize that she had become a slave to the cutting, but she didn't mind. It gave her what she wanted from it, and she was content. She was happy. She knew the reckoning would come some day, but for now, she was free.

Her story doesn't end there. But the many things that come after, expulsion, firing, suicide attempt, mental hospital, marriage, baby, etc, are too new for a "once upon a time" story. Maybe someday that story will be told as well. Not today. Storytime is over for today, my friends.

This is my story. This is my reality. This is my life.

For

for the peace within my soul
for the fears within my heart
for the hurt that breaks me whole
for the end of every start

for the blood that flows so free
for the ink that lingers on
for the shame of what is me
for the birdling stripped of song

for the loss of wasted dreams
for the wasting of lost words
for eternity it seems
for the sharp yet broken swords

for the groans of sleepless nights
for the years of writing pain
for the strain of pointless fights
for the price of staying sane

for the darkness deep and strong
for the fear that no one cares
for the tears that linger long
for defiance of your stares

for the mask I take again
for the sunshine I once bore
for the lies, both now and then
for the chains that bind once more

for the lies I once believed
for the years of formless guilt
for once having been deceived
for the blood that once was spilt

for the hopelessness of hope
for the heavy dark to crack
for the only way to cope
for the pain of looking back

for lost friends and love and days
for forsaken promise made
for the price that friendship pays
for the pain to rest once laid

for all these I take the blade
for all these I seek release
for all these my choice was made
for all these I search for peace

And So It Begins

So it begins
So begins fear
doubt
pain
tears
lies

So begins hiding
torment
scars
blood

So begins the end
of freedom
of healing

So begins cutting
again

Unanswered Heartcries

I've been procrastinating for days now, trying to write an emotional post. So I think that instead of trying to put new words to old pain, I will let old words speak for me. So here they are, words from a life of Christianity...a life of unanswered heartcries.

2004

"HELP ME!"

"Why? WHY? WHY? Why me? Why am I the one who is always fighting? I hate it! There is no peace! That is all I want, the one thing I crave. Peace!"

"I need help. Someone, anyone, restore my faith in God! ...I want you, God, but I don't think that you want me."

"Help. I need help here. Someone, anyone, help me."

"God is omnipotent, he can do anything he wills to do. If this is the case, and I think it is, I hate God. I hate him for making me live in this place. I hate him because he won't change me, even when I want him to. I hate him for the little things in life he could change if he wanted to. I hate him because he let the One Thing* happen. The only reason I should love him is because he died for me, but at this point, I think he is stupid for loving us that much."
*The One Thing is how I chose to refer to the four years of sexual abuse I suffered. At this point (and indeed for many years after, helped on by [hopefully] well-meaning Christian counselors) I believed that abuse was my fault, that because I did not stop it (although I eventually did), because I did not fight, because I was not physically forced, that I deserved for it to happen.

2006
"And really, what is there to live for? ...it would all be empty and meaningless without God. Because I know that he is all that matters in life. He created life to be that way. ...Here's to you, God. I know I'll never be able to understand everything you do. And I'm okay with that. But there is at least one core issues that has to be dealt with. Why don't you care, God?"

"I want to believe that you love me and want the best for me, I really do. But I'm scared. I don't want to be hurt again. That's all I've ever experienced from those who say they love me."

"Hey, and who cares anyway? Maybe I like the way I am. Maybe I don't wanna change. Yeah, right. And maybe I'm not gonna kill myself the first chance I get, too. But I am. And there isn't anything anyone else can do about it. Absolutely nothing. It's the one thing I'm in absolute control of in my life. And I like it that way. So be it."

"Are you hearing all this, God? I hope you are hurting like I am hurting. Am I breaking your heart? I hope so. Why don't you just strike me dead or something? It would save me the trouble."

"God is so real to me now. And more than ever now I realize how much he loves me and how much I really do love him.

"The most important thing in life is you, Lord, and growing closer to you and learning to love you more. I'm not perfect, not yet, but I want to be sometime. I want to be like you. So be it."

"Oh, God, let my passion for you never burn out. And if, to grow in you, I must go through trials and tests, then I'm willing to endure those things. Only strengthen me; give me your endurance."

"I want to live for the glory of the Lord."

"O God, I need you. I know I've grown cold towards you, but I want to be warm and tender to you once again."

"I don't know why God would ever love me so much. I feel so guilty that I don't love him back as much as I should, but I don't know what to do. ...I'm sliding slowly but surely downhill and I don't know how to get my footing."

"I'm scared. No, terrified. No, just sad. Sad and scared."

"O God, help me! Break my heart. Help me to remember that I'm on your side. Make my heart tender again. Help me realize that you love me. I want to love you so badly. Please help me."

"On the inside, though, I'm as far away from God as if he were a stranger to me. It's not his fault; it's mine. For three years I have tried and failed and tried and failed. I might as well admit it: I'm a FAILURE!"

2007
"I didn't realize what I had until I lost it, or in my case, turned my back on it. I didn't realize how much I relied on you until I walked away. I didn't know how much it meant to me to be close to you until I left you. I was ignorant of how much you really love me. I was wrong. I turned my back on you. I sinned. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I took your forgiveness too much for granted. I knew that I could come back to you any time I wanted, and I abused that knowledge. But now I'm asking you, because I have that right as your daughter, to forgive me. I'm sorry."

2008

"God, I need you. I need your presence in my life...Help me to be faithful to you, God. I love you so much, and I want to serve you. Give me the Strength to overcome what I'm facing, God...I love you."

"God, give me this burning passion every day for the rest of my life. Wake me up in the morning with a desire to know and grow in you. I love you so much, God."

"Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according to the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin...Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation."

"Let me give you all that I have. Force me to surrender every last possession, attitude, and most of all desire to you, O God."

"God, forgive me, please! I know I don't deserve it; I chose to do what I did. I chose, God! And I'm so sorry! Please, please forgive me!"

"God, I need you more now than maybe any other time in my Christian life. Thank you for teaching me that I need you; now please become even more real in my life. Make me feel your presence at all times, Lord, waking and especially sleeping. I love you so much, God."

"God, I feel so guilty, right now. I feel utterly worthless. What right have I to you as a Father, God? I don't deserve anything except punishment from you, yet...you offer me love."

"'Chosen us in him'...why would you choose me, God? What have I ever done that would merit being chosen? You know the answer to that one, God - absolutely nothing! I know what I have earned, what I deserve, and it's punishment, not being chosen by you....God, I am so weak. But if I have been truly chosen by you, then help me, and give me the strength to walk holy and without blame."

"I love the words "But God." It's like it's saying hey, this is who you were. you are so guilty; you deserve punishment. But God. You had to sin, you didn't have a choice. And you liked it. But God. You had no control over your thought life or actions. But God. God, who is rich in mercy. My God."

"God, help me to remember that your compassions are new every morning. It doesn't matter what I do at night, God, you will still love me. And it doesn't matter if I don't do anything, you still love me."

I have so many more, but this is enough for a sampling. Perhaps I shall post more later.

The Crucifixion

Yet another thing from an old journal, written after a pastoral encounter (poor Pastor Loggans. I don't think he knew quite what to make of me).

Pastor Loggans expected me to be so overwhelmed by what Christ did "because he loved me" even though "he didn't have to." But for me, that's exactly the point: he didn't have to. Think about it. Who gave man the capacity to sin? God did. Who decided what was and wasn't sin? God did. Who decided that death was the penalty for sin? God did. Who decided that only his own son was enough to pay that penalty? God did. Who chose not to call ten legions of angels? God did. God didn't have to do any of those things, but according to the Bible, he did them anyway. The only thing overwhelming me about it is how much of an idiot that makes God. And all of that is reasoned from the premise that the Bible is true.

My Father

In the process of going through an old journal today, I'm finding quite a few things I would like to publish. This particular poem would seem to support Christianity, for it is the heart-cry of daughter to Father...but it doesn't, for it is a heart-cry that went unheeded, an anguished prayer that went unanswered. For these reasons (among others) I forsook this false Father.

My Father

I call you

My Abba

I call you

Savior God

Oh Father

Be with me

Be near me

Don't leave me

Don't hurt me

My Father

I'll trust you

You help me

I'll love you

You help me

Oh Father

Be my strength

Be my rock

Don't wound me

Don't betray me

My Father

You love me

I have sinned

You love me

I am weak

Oh Father

Be faithful

Be holy

Don't destroy me

Don't break me

My Father

I need you

You are mine

I fail you

You are mine

Oh Father

Be fearful

Be the Lord

Don't fail me

Don't hate me

My father

I'm broken

Forgive me

I'm sinful

Forgive me

Narrative Essay, 20 January 2006

This piece was the first time I attempted to use emotion in a school paper. In fact, I think it was the only time. It worked, I suppose, I got an A. Of course all my papers got A's back then. I suppose the better litmus test is that it made my mother cry when I read it to her. So there's that. What's interesting too is that I don't believe I had ever driven a car at this point, either. So why I chose this subject matter? Not entirely sure. Nor am I entirely sure that the events I portray could have logically happened. Arrest a 16 year old for that? Probably not going to happen.

It was supposed to be one of the best days of my life. I mean, I was finally driving alone! Instead, it turned into one of the worst days. I was just cruising along, enjoying both the bright, sunny day and my new-found "freedom." Twenty-five was the speed limit, and that's exactly how fast I was going, no faster or slower. I was watching the road, too. It would be just like me to have something horrible happen my first day of driving.

I saw the little girl that jumped out in front of my car. I heard her screams as they mingled with the screech of my brakes. I felt the thump as my car struck her tiny body and sent it hurtling into space. Somehow I remembered to put my car into park and turn on the flashers before I rushed out of the car. I almost flew to the side of that tiny, huddled body. I looked desperately for signs of life, but I could not find any. Where were the girl's parents? Why were they not watching her? I waited perhaps a minute, then I rushed to the nearest house. I rang the doorbell and pounded on the door.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" I yelled.

Finally a lady came to the door. "Can I help you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Please ma'am, can I use your phone?" I pleaded. "It's an emergency."

When I reached the phone I was struck with a moment of indecision. Who should I call first? I decided to call my dad.

"Please answer," I whispered. "Please, please, please."

"This is Galen," my dad answered.

"Daddy?" I said. "Daddy, I-I just hit somebody with the car. I think she's hurt really bad."

"Did you call 9-1-1 yet?" he asked.

"N-no."

"Well, you need to do that first. Tell me where you are and I'll come right away."

After giving him directions to where I was, I hung up the phone. My hands shook as I picked it up again and dialed 9-1-1.

"This is the 9-1-1 Center, Indianapolis. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"I-I hit someone with my car," I stuttered. "I think she's hurt really bad."

"What is your location?" I gave her the street name and what I thought the numbers around me were.

After I hung up the phone, I turned around, looking for the lady who had let me use her phone. I almost jumped, because she was standing right behind me, looking as if she had listened to every word I had said.

"Did you hear all that?" I asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "Who did you hit?"

"A little girl," I said, "It wasn't my fault. She ran out in front of my car. C-could you come with me and see if you know her?" She nodded wordlessly.

Take a time out for a second. This may seem like it took an eternity; it definitely seemed that way to me, but it did not. When the lady and I rushed back outside, the sun was still shining, my car was still sitting there, and that small, still form was still lying there where it had been thrown by my car.

The lady rushed to her. "Why, that's little Deanna from down the street!"

At that moment, screaming sirens and flashing lights announced the arrival of several police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance. Policemen piled from their cars while two EMTs rolled a stretcher over to Deanna's mangled body. "Oh, my--!" One EMT stifled an exclamation.

I am not sure what happened next. My memories are a haze of flashing lights, rough policemen, and the piercing voice of the girl's mother. From what my dad told me later, the police came close to arresting me for reckless endangerment and failure to call 9-1-1 immediately. Since they could not prove I was driving dangerously, and there were no witnesses, they let me go.

I had no idea at the start of that day what would happen before it closed. If I had known, would I have done things differently? Sure, I would have. I would have gone slower than the speed limit. I would have watched closer for movement between parked cars. I might even have taken a different street. Was the accident my fault? No, but I had to live with what I did. Could I have prevented it? I do not know, and I will never know. No matter if it was my fault or if I could have prevented it, the memories will haunt me the rest of my life. Sometimes I still see a small face, once bright with laughter, now covered in blood. That is why I urge you to stop, take a minute, and evaluate what you are doing. It may not be the life of someone else you snuff out; it could be your own. Are you prepared?

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Unfinished Work

In going through an old journal today, I found a few doodles and pieces of unfinished artwork I thought I'd share with you.

I doodled this in a training session. The "AND!" comes from a video we watched. The narrator had a way of speaking that went something like this: "Today I would like to teach you how to properly secure AND guard an establishment. You will also learn safety techniques AND CPR. You will be tested over every subject AND you are expected to answer at least X number of questions AND essays correctly AND not fall asleep." We were in no danger of falling asleep as we were all literally in tears by the end of the video.

Grace and trust...two things I so very desperately needed.

Optical illusions, anyone? There are no curved lines in the second doodle, they are all ruler-straight.

Circles and Circles O.o

How bored do you have to be to do this? Extremely.

Smorgasbord Easter egg...I think. I don't even remember why I sketched this.

Child of Night

This poem was written while I was, appropriately enough, in training for (yet another) night shift security job.

I am a child
A child of night
The darkness excites me
The moon is my light

The hours hold potential
They're empty, unfilled
Some worship sleep
But they're the weak-willed

The freedom intoxicates
The darkness of the night
Fill the emptiness
For darkness I will fight!

Just to clarify: although many times I use the word "darkness" synonymously with "depression," that isn't the case here. Here, "darkness" means just that.

Blast from the Past, Anyone?

I started blogging when I started going to college. Not coincidentally, this is when I also discovered the Internet isn't actually evil (gasp). So here, for your enjoyment and amusement, is my very first blog.

My Friend

Ironically, I wrote this poem about a friend of mine who was struggling with the thought of being a father, coupled with a depression that has always shadowed his life...a friend who now, though he still claims love, has done everything he could to make my life a living hell. If I held his opinion in as high a regard as I used to, he would have succeeded. Fortunately, I do not. But I came across it while going through an old journal of mine, and though I no longer say it about him, I will say it about any friend: I am here for you.

My friend
Is confused
I have no answers
My friend
Needs help
I have no strength
My friend
Wants freedom
I have no key
My friend
Is doubtful
I have no faith

But

My friend
Wants to talk
I have ears
My friend
Is in tears
I have a shoulder
My friend
Feels alone
I have arms
My friend
Has doubts
I can understand
My friend
Is discouraged
I can offer hope
My friend
Needs companionship
I am there
My friend
Feels darkness
I offer hope

I cannot give
All that he needs
But what I have
I give unreservedly

Sorry Excuse for a Week

So...here ya go

Untwisting the Tangled Web: Emotion

Aaaaaand that's it. That's all I blogged this week. I know, I know, I'm a slacker. But the truth is, that some really emotionally draining things have happened this week (good as well as bad), and honestly, I haven't done much of anything. I've started a few posts...they went the same way as anything else I started this week: get fired up, start, write two words (wash two dishes, complete two quests, pick up two items off the floor)...then crash and burn. Sigh. Maybe next week, y'all.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Emotion

I continue to reject Christianity based on the inherent lack of logic it possesses, because of how it tells us we must believe opposite and impossible things are true, just because it says so. Yet that is not why I first forsook the fold, and I have been remiss in ignoring that. The truth is (and while I'm aware I may be negating previous arguments in some people's eyes, I don't especially care) that not all of life answers to cold, hard logic. Why love someone? Logic says not to, for love, though it can be the cause for great joy, also leads to great pain just as often. Logic tells us we ought not take that chance. And yet, by the millions, mankind chooses to forsake that logic and give its collective hearts away. So too have I given my heart.
It isn't just love that defies logic...all emotion does. And emotions define humanity. Think of the plot of a good many sci-fi movies...a rogue AI takes over and nearly does something unspeakable...and perfectly logical. Why? Because it lacks emotion. A madman kills less than a handful of children at a school, or a warlord abuses and enslaves children instead of adults, and the world is outraged...yet dozens of adults are killed in a crowded shopping center and nary an eyebrow is raised. Why? Because children touch our emotions in a way that drives us to acts that logic deems insane.
And so, while logic certainly has its place and I will continue to bring it up in this journey of discovery, I think for a while I shall focus on emotions...both from when I left Christianity, and now, as I remain outside its clutches.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

False Friend

You betrayed me,
O false friend...
Me, who trusted you wholly,
My false friend.

You claimed rightness,
O false friend.
You claimed to follow the light,
My false friend.

I should have seen,
O false friend.
I was blinded by friendship,
My false friend.

You promised to love forever,
O false friend.
No matter how far or long I strayed,
My false friend.

You lied,
O false friend.
You betrayed your vows,
My false friend.

I tried to tell you,
O false friend,
I warned you of your pride,
My false friend.

Yet still I trusted you,
O false friend.
I should have known better,
My false friend.

I left your faith,
O false friend.
I thought you left me then,
My false friend.

But you had already lied,
O false friend.
You had already betrayed your vows,
My false friend.

You spread lies to my friends,
O false friend.
Tried even to turn my Beloved away,
My false friend.

You spoke fair words to my face
O false friend,
But spread poison behind my back,
My false friend.

And now you dare question,
O false friend?
You dare ask what you've done,
My false friend?

You still claim to follow the light,
O false friend?
You still claim rightness,
My false friend?

You lie,
O false friend.
You betray your vows,
My false friend.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Small Clarification

I was checking out some stuff today, and apparently Strong through Life has only existed since October, not for a couple years. The majority of its post were inherited from its parent blog, Hyanda Ar' Agar, which I had been using since January 2010. That's where the confusion came from.

The moral of the story is that I'm even more impressive than I thought. Go me.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The Week Past

I think this week I fulfilled my goal of writing in every single one of my blogs. Woot woot! Go me! And so here they are:

Darkness Everpressing (which is still locked, so if you aren't an invited reader, you won't be able to follow this link):

Dripping Tears

Untwisting the Tangled Web

Conversation with a Believer

I Play with Markers

Rebellious Unicorn (it looked better in person...colored pencil does not really scan well)
Paper is not the only canvas I use (yes I made that joke on purpose. Just in case you were wondering.)

Threnody's WoW

Matthew's Story (the first of many mini-biographies I intend to do)

Hyanda Ar' Agar

Hey There (I link this one only because it technically is a post, and I wrote it this week. Also it makes my list look more impressive. I wouldn't expect any more posts from it, though, since Darkness Everpressing is basically a clone of what Hyanda Ar' Agar used to be before I had to take it down so my inlaws would stop twisting what I wrote into death threats about them.)

I look forward to the several dozen pageviews I generally get on Thursdays now. It's really quite gratifying. Also, we hit 2k pageviews this week, which is pretty awesome. That's for all time, by the way. So in like two years I've gotten 2000 page views. That's 1000/year...83/month...20/week...3/day. Not too shabby for a blog which is promoted so rarely it might as well not be promoted at all.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Conversation With a Believer

So I had a conversation with my brother Matthew on Facebook last night that, I believe, perfectly illustrates the kind of illogic that seems to define Christianity. It started with a status that I posted about the Titanic...

Threnody: Just saw someone insinuating that God sunk the Titanic because they said he couldn't. While I wanted to slap that person, I must admit that would be perfectly in keeping with the God of the Bible, to kill thousands of innocent people for the hubris of a few ship builders. And is it any wonder I left that God? To clarify, I don't think that is what happened, cuz I don't think that God exists. I'm just saying that if he did, that is the sort of thing he would do.

Matthew: You seriously misunderstand the Bible.

Threnody: Hmm. Canaan. The Flood. Hell itself. No, I think I understand the Bible just fine. I just took off my "everything God does is good" blinders.

Matthew: God is long suffering toward sinners, but he does eventually judge them. This is just.

Threnody: Who created man, complete with the ability to "fall," and gave him free will? God. After the fall, man had a "sin nature," correct? That he must forever sin, he cannot help himself (without grace)? And who decided to condemn him for that? Oh right, God. So basically, you have someone who condemns every man for being what he was created to be, for acting as he does when (according to the Bible) he cannot help but act that way. And you call that just?

Matthew: No one ever sinned who didn't want to. No one was ever condemned to hell who didn't deserve it by rebelling against God. God eventually gives them exactly what they ask for, which is for him to leave them alone.

Threnody: I did not say we did not want to "sin". (Sin is, by the way, that which God has arbitrarily decided he doesn't like, for no other reason than that he doesn't like it.) I am saying that, according to the Bible, we have no choice but to sin. We cannot help ourselves. Rebelling? I wouldn't say that. Rebelling is choosing to go against the norm, to do that which is not accepted. The reality is, "sin" is the norm, it is all one CAN do (again, according to the Bible). We cannot do "good," even if we wanted to not "sin," the Bible specifically says that anything "good" we do? Yeah, it's also "sin." So, we deserve condemnation for doing only that which we can do, and failing to do that which we cannot do? Without my "everything God does is good" blinders, that is the epitome of unjust.

Matthew: But then God became part of this painful and sinful world, and subjected himself to suffering at the hands of his creation so that he could save them.
And yes, we do rebel. We say that the will of the one who created us is disagreeable to us, so we are going to follow our own will instead. This is deserving of eternal punishment.

Threnody: I have a problem with that. Why do Christians think creating something means that you have ultimate power over everything? Would I kill my son for disagreeing with me and doing what he wants? In the future, it is probably that man will create Artificial Intelligence; will it be acceptable for him to destroy what will be a sentient being when it disagrees with him, its creator? This is the main argument I come up against, that no matter what God is or isn't, the fact that he (supposedly) created us means that we must forever be slaves to his will. I don't think that reasoning holds water. Even the Bible says that God gave us the ability to choose our own path. That's like the stereotypical woman who tells her spouse "Oh, I don't care, you pick," but means "But you better pick what I want or you're sleeping on the couch tonight." That is wrong in that situation, and (if the Bible were true) it is wrong here.

Matthew: And there's the issue. "I have a problem with that." God doesn't behave the way we think he should behave, so we rebel. But his infinite wisdom is beyond our limited scope.

Threnody: How do you know that? Because the Bible says so? And how do you know the Bible is true? Because the Bible says so? That is the true issue here. I have been reasoning from the Bible because you believe the Bible. But the truth is that the Bible has nothing to support its claims of inerrant truth and infallible wisdom save the Bible itself. Saying "it's true because it says so" means it probably isn't true.

Matthew: The truth is that you know it's true, too. I hope you admit it before its too late.

Threnody: That is not the truth, Mott. It is the exact opposite of truth, because I know that it is false. And even if I were wrong, and I were sent screaming to hell, I would still not regret cursing the name of one who would condemn eternally for momentary (for what is a life in the scope of eternity?) "transgressions."

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Paper is not the only canvas I use

Rebellious Unicorn

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Dripping Tears

Dripping tears
Beset by fears
Hopeless.

Facing loss
Longing for blood
Frightened.

Writing still
Black words on page
Pointless.

Running fast
Can't afford falls
Sprinting.

Hear me now
Heed my fierce pain
Help me.

For Sanity's Sake

I shall be closing off my most personal blog to only invited readers for a while, at least. It was fine leaving it public when no one knew it existed, save those I linked to it. Now that people have got hold of it who would use it against me or twist it to spread hate, I feel that leaving it public is not a wise decision. So if you would like to be invited, feel free to shoot me an email with your request. Please include a decent reason, as well. (Hint: "I want to mock your constant darkness" is NOT a good reason. "Because I care" is excellent.) You can reach me at katisgt at gmail dot com. Thanks all for your understanding.

Friday, March 9, 2012

Matthew's Story

My name is Matthew. I am a Blood Knight. I'll admit I don't know much of what that entails as far as history or politics go. Suffice it to say, then, that I wield the Light, and it serves me.
I don't remember much of my childhood. I fear this has something to do with living in such close proximity to so much arcane magic for so long, but what can I do? I am sindorei...I could not part from arcane magic even if I so desired. My earliest memories start at a small place in northern Eversong Woods, where I first chose to use the Light. I was handed a sword and sent to fight mana wyrms, not a particularly formidable foe. But it served to stretch my muscles, and to confirm that I had chosen the right path: I would take the Light, and bend it until it served me, for I am sindorei, and I serve no master.
The journey has been a long one, but now as I stand upon the top of Grommash Hold and view this bustling Orgrimmar, I find I am truly proud of who I have become and what I have accomplished. I have saved this world many times over. I have destroyed the Destroyer himself. I am truly master of all I survey.
I am Matthew, Blood Knight.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Oh Snap? Indeed

Due to He-Who-Prays-for-my-Death being, well, a jerk, to put it bluntly, I am now initiating comment moderation on all my blogs. I know this results in comments being delayed because the email got lost or I was playing WoW or whatever, but since Blogger does not yet allow blocking of certain people, this is what I must do. Sorry for the inconvenience he is causing you!

Weekly Update

Happy Thursday, y'all! Here's your weekly wrap-up!

I Play with Markers

Fear

Darkness Everpressing

The Certainty of Failure

Untwisting the Tangled Web

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Was I a Christian? Does it Matter?

As I work through this task I've set myself of making an electronic copy of all my old journals, I am more and more convinced that I was as much a Christian as anyone ever was. One day I may go through and post relevant and not too personal tidbits from the last eleven years (which is as far back as I go), but for now you'll have to take my word for it. Some people seem to think that I was trying to earn God's favor by my works; I think perhaps "Biography" is to blame for that misunderstanding. Believe me when I say I knew that was not possible; I had a low enough view of myself to know myself not worthy of God's love, even as his CHILD. Certainly I worked to please him; is that not what every Christian ought to strive for?

My journal is full of one thought, over and over: "God, give me love for you. God, I'm sorry I sinned. God, forgive me. God, give me trust that you know best." I spent so many tears, so much agony, so much sorrow, thinking of how I failed my God so much. I wanted him to be pleased with me, yet how could he be when I sinned against him so often? At times, I had a relationship with him. I felt his moving in my life and I responded. At times I even felt the strength to serve him I so often sought. But those times were brief, and rare.

Now I know why. I was deceived. Though others had given me the basis, I had built upon that foundation a cage of lies and locked myself in. I wanted it to be true; I believed my own lies. I tried to reach perfection again and again, because my God demanded it. And perfection being impossible, again and again I sought help from my deity. Sometimes I believed I had received it, but I was wrong. It was always my own strength, and it was also brief and coincided coincidentally with breaks in the depression that has clouded me for so long. The moving I felt was merely my conscience, pointing me in the direction my own deceptions told me was good.

I won't say that my cage of Christianity caused my depression; I will say that my cage and the cages of those around me exacerbated what had already sprung from a horrible tragedy.

In the end, it doesn't matter. As Christianity is itself a lie, whether or not those still locked in their cages judge my former cage strong enough is a pretty silly thing to get upset about (though I'll admit I did for just a little bit). I know they do it so that they can claim that having never been regenerated, I cannot understand the things of God. But if as an apologist, your main argument is "you wouldn't understand anyway," I think you've already lost whatever war you started. (For tips on how to be a good apologist, I'd recommend Ravi Zacharias. But that's besides the point.) As much as you may like to claim I am incapable of understanding Christianity if I'm not a Christian, the fact is that I do understand it, and base my rejection of it on that understanding. In fact, judging from the two blogs that have sprung to refute this one, I understand Christianity better than some Christians. Certainly I could do a better job arguing for Christianity as devil's advocate than those who are doing so sincerely. Sorry, guys. 'Tis just the way it is.

Anyway. I think I've been rambling a bit here. To sum up: I was a Christian as much as one can be. Given that Christianity is a false religion, I was therefore deceived. Also, though a few have tried, I have yet to see any support of Christianity that holds up to logic.

Isn't This Enough?

Isn't this enough? This wonderful, wacky world we live in? The sky, the trees, the people...what about this world is not good enough, that you must go searching for something bigger, something better?

Just a thought, inspired by Tim Minchin.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

The Certainty of Failure

I want to cut so badly now. Maybe it was foolish of me to write that last post, but I was merely writing what was on my mind. Now I can't get cutting out of my head. I'm not stupid. I know that I will end up cutting sooner or later. Perhaps it will only be once...or perhaps I will fall immediately back into slavery. I don't see this cycle ending, and I don't know if that's the darkness talking, or the truth. It is indisputable that I have struggled with depression for just about ten years now, nearly half my life. And when, four years ago, i took a piece of sharp plastic to my arm for the first time, I inextricably linked blood and darkness together. If there is darkness, blood will eventually follow.
So why not give in to the inevitable, eh? Why not just do it? Because every day I don't is one less scar to explain to my son one day. Every victory is one less time I cause my Beloved pain. Every time I stand strong is one more spark of hope, hope that just barely flickers. So even when I do eventually fall flat on my face, I can get back up and start all over. My first stretch without cutting lasted forty days. My second lasted twenty-one weeks. This most recent time has lasted nine months. So, yes, it is inevitable that I will again fall...just as it is inevitable that I will, sooner or later, get back up and continue my journey. At least...I hope so.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

In Honor of Ashley

In honor of SI Awareness Day, I'd like to talk about Ashley. I met Ashley late one night while browsing the TWLOHA facebook page in hopes that I might find someone who understood, someone to help. And I found Ashley. We were about the same age, though she lived in sunny Florida and I in snowy Wisconsin. We had similar backgrounds of abuse. So we hit it off, and started talking. Honestly I think Ashley and I kept each other alive for a few months. We talked about cutting, we talked about suicide, we talked about hope...I encouraged her to start a blog, publish some of her poetry. This is her blog.

I don't know what happened to Ashley. I only know that a few days after her last blog post, she stopped returning my texts. Her facebook profile disappeared. I never heard from her again. Every once in a while, even two years later, I will call up her phone, hoping for...something. I always get the "we're sorry, this number is no longer in service" message, though.

The thing about Ashley is that she felt alone. She had so many struggles, but until she met a random fellow cutter from Wisconsin on the Internet, she had no one to help her bear those struggles. It is sometimes true what they say, you know...pain share is pain halved; pain carried alone is pain doubled. I hope that Ashley is alive and well today, but the logical part of me says that is unlikely to be true. So in honor of Ashley and SI Awareness Day, I challenge you to find the Ashley in your own circle of friends. Find one who is struggling, and be their friend. Don't make them reach out to the freaking internet. Don't let them die from lack of love.