Words. I love the power I have with words. I have the power to move you to tears or make you laugh, to disgust you or enthrall you, inspire or depress you. I have done all these things before, and I shall, hopefully, do them all again.
There are a lot of rules to making words. Do this, do that, transition, topic sentence, thesis, conclusion, etc etc etc. For the most part, however, I ignore those rules. Oh, there are a few I follow religiously (mostly spelling and grammar rules) and some I follow when I feel like it (like the rules for formal/informal writing). There are even a few rules I have made up for myself: whitespace between paragraphs, very few contractions, the most vivid words I can think of.
But for the most parts, my power with words is something instinctual, not contrived. I write the way I do because the words just flow. I run out of words much more quickly when I am trying to fit them to some preconceived pattern. The only exception to this is poetry. Oftentimes with that a couplet starts worming its way through my head, and along the way it picks up some rules. Sometimes it wants to rhyme. Sometimes it most emphatically does not. Sometimes it wants to express itself in two or three syllable lines. Sometimes it wants iambic pentameter (although in general I discover this is what I have written after the fact, not while I am actually writing).
Today, I spent some time reading back through the last year or so of my blog. I wept, I wanted to cut, I wanted to die, I laughed, I marveled, I rose high and fell further. All because of my words. Perhaps it was because they were my own words that they moved me so deeply, but even those who hate me have told me that my words move them.
When I was growing up, I wanted to be good at music. Music is the family tradition, after all. Everyone in my family is musical, except for perhaps my mother, and what she lacks in talent she makes up for in enthusiasm. We are somewhat alike in that way. And while I am competent at playing the piano and clarinet and recorder and singing, I am not talented like the rest of my family. I still haven't gotten over that completely, but somewhere along the way I discovered a talent of my own. Words. I am talented with words in a way nobody else in my family is (though they have their own literary talents, they are different from mine).
Words are my weapon, and I wield them, for good or ill, with power.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Something I Hate About Myself
The first and most obvious thought was depression. But depression is a tricky thing, it is part of me, and yet not part of me. But as I thought about it further, I found a better candidate for this post. It is weakness.
Weakness has caused so many problems in my life. I was too weak to stand up to myself for the principles I once believed in, and got kicked out of school. And then pregnant out of wedlock. And of course there was the cutting, which is as tricky as depression in its own way. On the one hand, you have incredible strength, the strength to make yourself bleed over and over and over again. But on the other hand, you have weakness, the inability and unwillingness to stop yourself from bleeding over and over again, the reluctance and refusal to face down the addiction and free yourself from it. And I have often wondered if being willing to face myself would have brought me to the knowledge of my own sexual orientation sooner. I suppose for that there is no way to tell.
Of course those are not the only problems I have faced because of weakness, especially when coupled with its shadow, laziness. All new mothers struggle, but I struggled far, far more than I needed to. I was too weak to face what needed to be done, and do it. Instead I looked for ways out, tried to run away rather than be strong enough to love. And there are many ways that weakness factored into the dissolving of my marriage and my partnership and the losing of my family and home, perhaps too many to count. I know two people you could ask if you wanted a list.
Weakness shies away from facing up to those things about yourself you do not like, and tells you that you are not strong enough to change those things anyway (or is that depression? Perhaps in this instance they are alike). It faces the challenges and hardships of life and runs away to hide behind razor blades, or words, or doodles, or games, or whatever is easiest. Weakness looks at "must" and says "I can't." Weakness says it is too hard to become strong. But it is strength that I need and become strong I must.
Weakness has caused so many problems in my life. I was too weak to stand up to myself for the principles I once believed in, and got kicked out of school. And then pregnant out of wedlock. And of course there was the cutting, which is as tricky as depression in its own way. On the one hand, you have incredible strength, the strength to make yourself bleed over and over and over again. But on the other hand, you have weakness, the inability and unwillingness to stop yourself from bleeding over and over again, the reluctance and refusal to face down the addiction and free yourself from it. And I have often wondered if being willing to face myself would have brought me to the knowledge of my own sexual orientation sooner. I suppose for that there is no way to tell.
Of course those are not the only problems I have faced because of weakness, especially when coupled with its shadow, laziness. All new mothers struggle, but I struggled far, far more than I needed to. I was too weak to face what needed to be done, and do it. Instead I looked for ways out, tried to run away rather than be strong enough to love. And there are many ways that weakness factored into the dissolving of my marriage and my partnership and the losing of my family and home, perhaps too many to count. I know two people you could ask if you wanted a list.
Weakness shies away from facing up to those things about yourself you do not like, and tells you that you are not strong enough to change those things anyway (or is that depression? Perhaps in this instance they are alike). It faces the challenges and hardships of life and runs away to hide behind razor blades, or words, or doodles, or games, or whatever is easiest. Weakness looks at "must" and says "I can't." Weakness says it is too hard to become strong. But it is strength that I need and become strong I must.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Thirty Days of Truth
So, nearly a year ago, a friend of mine started a "thirty days of truth" challenge on his blog. I watched, sort of, and was mostly glad it wasn't me. Of course, it didn't help that someone I hated was doing the same thing on the same blog, so I couldn't read one without running into the other. The challenge fizzled partway through, and I'll admit I was immature enough to find some amusement in that. At that point in my life, I was keeping up with three or four different blogs. I never lacked something to write about, and I almost saw such a challenge as a crutch for those people not good enough to come up with something for themselves. Now my friend has started the challenge on his new blog, and rather than being dismissive, I am intrigued. And besides, if such a thing is a crutch, it is a crutch that I am in need of right now. So I will attempt to write thirty days of truth. I will, as I always have, put my heart and soul on these pages for you to crush, or ignore, or love, according to your various natures.
Day 01 : Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 : Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 : Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 : Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 : Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 : Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 : Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 : Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 : Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10: Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn't know.
Day 11 : Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 11 : Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 : Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 : A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 : A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 : Something or someone you could not live without, because you have tried living without it.
Day 16 : Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 : A book you have read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 : Your views on marriage.
Day 19 : What do you think of religion?
Day 20 : Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 : (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 : Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 : Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 : Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 : The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 : Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 : What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 : What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 : Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 : A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Merry Christmas
A year ago, one of my brothers expressed surprise that I still celebrated Christmas. Without Jesus, he thought, there would be no point, no reason, as it were, for the season. I just wanted to point out, to friends, families, and everybody else...I do have a reason to celebrate the Christmas season. And that reason is you. You are the ones that give me hope and comfort, you are the ones in whose love I find peace. So, thank you.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Marcus (unfinished)
Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred. She could not keep this up much longer. Already her legs were refusing to keep running, her feet starting to stumble. Fear and adrenaline had kept her on her feet this long, but she was fast coming to the end of their assistance.
She tripped, stumbled, and unable to catch herself, fell to her knees. This was the end. It had only been a few steps behind her, and now she could feet breath on the back of her neck. Then, darkness.
She tripped, stumbled, and unable to catch herself, fell to her knees. This was the end. It had only been a few steps behind her, and now she could feet breath on the back of her neck. Then, darkness.
...
Marcus caught the girl as she started to fall. He grunted as he swung her over his shoulder and started the trek back to his cave. His lair, the villagers called it, and he the beast the lurked within. Many times they had come, armed with pitchforks and torches, to drive him out. Their friends always found them the next day, unharmed, peacefully asleep in the sunshine. He was no master kelok, but he did know some small magics, more than enough to protect himself from a few angry villagers.
He shifted the girl to his other shoulder. How had she gotten free? It was hard enough figuring out what to do with these girls they kept staking out for him without being led on a merry chase through the forest for hours. His anger burned as the thought of the first girl they had chained to a stake in the little clearing outside the village. He had no use for girls, virgin or otherwise. He had left her there, assuming the villagers would come in the morning and be overjoyed at finding her alive.
They had come, certainly. But they reacted with anger instead of joy. They blamed the girl, saying she must not have been a virgin, that she had failed, that she had put their entire village in jeopardy. Then they... He shook his head vigorously. Suffice it to say that the girl died there and the villagers went back to the village bearing the brands of murderers and rapists. It had been one of the few times he had wished himself actually able to take human life. The brands he had set on them ensured them their punishment at the hands of their fellow men, at least. Such marks could only be set upon the guilty. But since then he had been careful to collect the virgin offerings left for him.
Marcus ducked through the opening to his cave, careful to avoid hitting both his head and the girl's on the ceiling or walls. It was small, and strewn with bones and other grisly trophies. It truly looked a beast's lair. Two strides took him across to the opposite wall, where he laid his hand on the wall and whispered "open."
For Better Things
I wrote this several months ago. I did not publish it because she did not want people to know that she was dating us. So I will post it now, a record of things that were.
For life's freedom now to start
For the fear of starting new
For the love within my heart
For what I hid yet always knew
For the breaking of love's chains
For heart's opening once more
For its joys as well as pains
For the wealth no longer poor
For the recklessness of joy
For the doors no longer locked
For heart though not a toy
For the hours that run unclocked
For a love not one but two
For a strength that runs threefold
For caresses old and new
For more arms to rock and hold
For refusing to look back
For rejoicing in our song
For a trust that never lacks
For a love that is not wrong
For all these I hold love fast
For all these I look past pain
For all these I leave the past
For all these I live again
For life's freedom now to start
For the fear of starting new
For the love within my heart
For what I hid yet always knew
For the breaking of love's chains
For heart's opening once more
For its joys as well as pains
For the wealth no longer poor
For the recklessness of joy
For the doors no longer locked
For heart though not a toy
For the hours that run unclocked
For a love not one but two
For a strength that runs threefold
For caresses old and new
For more arms to rock and hold
For refusing to look back
For rejoicing in our song
For a trust that never lacks
For a love that is not wrong
For all these I hold love fast
For all these I look past pain
For all these I leave the past
For all these I live again
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Molithe: Sunstrider Isle
I awoke to unfamiliar surroundings, uncertain as to how I had gotten there. My pet dragonhawk, Dragon, nuzzled my face...and judging from the drool all over me, had been doing so for quite a while.
"Dragon! Stop that, boy!" I pushed him away as I sprung gracefully to my feet. I am a blood elf, after all. We do everything gracefully. I looked around more closely. This must be Sunstrider Isle! I had heard stories of the place of course, but I had never visited. Few did. A nearby Magister beckoned me closer.
"Molithe! Your training awaits you!" she stated firmly. "You see all those mana wyrms over there? They've broken free of our control and need to be dealt with. I need you to kill a few for me." Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the young priest next to me, tossing "For the glory of the Sin'dorei!" over her shoulder. "Death to our enemies," I replied absently, my eyes already on a mana wyrm nearby, and my mind on how to best perform what would be my first kill. I was a little nervous, but if ever I was to make something of myself in this world of warcraft, adventure, and danger, I had to start somewhere!
After killing six of the wyrms, I returned to the Magister, eager to claim my reward. She gave me a sweet new belt and told me to check the mailbox. After buckling my new belt on, I pulled a giant package out of the mailbox and opened it excitedly. Inside was a note signed "Good luck! Mom" and several pieces of high quality armor! This was even better than a new belt! This armor would last me forever if I took good care of it, just as it had lasted my mother and probably her mother before her. After buckling on this new armor as well, I looked around for something to do. Remembering the Magister had told me to visit the experienced Ranger Sallina inside, I ran inside eagerly. Sallina wanted me to gain more experience killing the different creatures around the Isle, then practice my skills on the training dummies she had set up outside. It seemed several different people now had tasks for me to perform...an older elf wanted me to gather some of his property he had left carelessly sitting all over, the Magister wanted me to kill some lynxes that had gone feral and reclaim their leather collars, and an arcanist wanted to teach me how to suck the magic out of the area immediately around me. That last one gave me the shivers. I suffered from magic addiction, as did all blood elves, but stealing it from a living creature, even one I was going to kill anyway, just made me sick. I resolved to use this ability sparingly.
I retrieved the older gentlemen's belongings while crying over killing the baby lynx cubs and their mothers all over the isle. Did we really have kill them, just because they were feral? It wasn't like they were hurting anybody. I did as I was asked, however, and gathered collars from all of them to return to the Magister. She praised me and sent me on to her apprentice a bit down the path. He too wanted me to kill things, which made me a bit sad. I'd gone quickly from being all excited about my first kill to being tired of killing, already. I suspected I would see quite a bit more before I was through, though! At least this guy wanted me to kill tenders, which are just animated sticks, basically. These tenders had slipped out of their makers' control and essentially started running in circles. They weren't really dangerous, but they were annoying. After killing several, I returned to the apprentice, who gave me my first really important job: executing a leader of the Wretched. I despised the Wretched with that burning hatred one only feels for that which they truly fear. I knew that if I didn't control my addiction to magic, I too would end up a slave to it. So I killed the guy. I almost felt like I was putting him out of his misery. What kind of life is it to be so totally controlled by something that you would kill even those dear to you for just a taste of mana? I brought his head back to the apprentice guy as proof that I had completed my task. Ugh. I tell you what, a few coppers are NOT enough for me to go carrying bloody heads around in my pack. At least the self-cleaning magic my mother put on the pack is holding up well. I hardly notice it is there, but come to think of it, that might be why random blood elves keep glancing at me hungrily. And here I thought it was my stunning good looks and stellar personality. Oh well, a girl can dream, right?
Having delivered the head to what's-his-name the apprentice, he sent me to an outrunner at the edge of the Isle for further instructions. I don't even know what the guy is going to do with a head. Especially a Wretched head. If there's anything uglier than a wretched I don't know what it is! Maybe Forsaken. They look somewhat similar. Anyway, the outrunner sent me in search of a second outrunner that was supposed to be on her way to Falconwing Square with a package but never made it. I found her body a short ways down the road. Life is so short and easily snuffed out. I grabbed the package and ran back to the first outrunner, but she just gestured for me to continue down the road to Falconwing Square myself. Fair enough! I was happy to leave Sunstrider Isle. It was probably all the loose mana floating around, but the place made me feel very unsettled. I would be glad to get to Falconwing and take a nice nap in the inn.
"Dragon! Stop that, boy!" I pushed him away as I sprung gracefully to my feet. I am a blood elf, after all. We do everything gracefully. I looked around more closely. This must be Sunstrider Isle! I had heard stories of the place of course, but I had never visited. Few did. A nearby Magister beckoned me closer.
"Molithe! Your training awaits you!" she stated firmly. "You see all those mana wyrms over there? They've broken free of our control and need to be dealt with. I need you to kill a few for me." Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the young priest next to me, tossing "For the glory of the Sin'dorei!" over her shoulder. "Death to our enemies," I replied absently, my eyes already on a mana wyrm nearby, and my mind on how to best perform what would be my first kill. I was a little nervous, but if ever I was to make something of myself in this world of warcraft, adventure, and danger, I had to start somewhere!
After killing six of the wyrms, I returned to the Magister, eager to claim my reward. She gave me a sweet new belt and told me to check the mailbox. After buckling my new belt on, I pulled a giant package out of the mailbox and opened it excitedly. Inside was a note signed "Good luck! Mom" and several pieces of high quality armor! This was even better than a new belt! This armor would last me forever if I took good care of it, just as it had lasted my mother and probably her mother before her. After buckling on this new armor as well, I looked around for something to do. Remembering the Magister had told me to visit the experienced Ranger Sallina inside, I ran inside eagerly. Sallina wanted me to gain more experience killing the different creatures around the Isle, then practice my skills on the training dummies she had set up outside. It seemed several different people now had tasks for me to perform...an older elf wanted me to gather some of his property he had left carelessly sitting all over, the Magister wanted me to kill some lynxes that had gone feral and reclaim their leather collars, and an arcanist wanted to teach me how to suck the magic out of the area immediately around me. That last one gave me the shivers. I suffered from magic addiction, as did all blood elves, but stealing it from a living creature, even one I was going to kill anyway, just made me sick. I resolved to use this ability sparingly.
I retrieved the older gentlemen's belongings while crying over killing the baby lynx cubs and their mothers all over the isle. Did we really have kill them, just because they were feral? It wasn't like they were hurting anybody. I did as I was asked, however, and gathered collars from all of them to return to the Magister. She praised me and sent me on to her apprentice a bit down the path. He too wanted me to kill things, which made me a bit sad. I'd gone quickly from being all excited about my first kill to being tired of killing, already. I suspected I would see quite a bit more before I was through, though! At least this guy wanted me to kill tenders, which are just animated sticks, basically. These tenders had slipped out of their makers' control and essentially started running in circles. They weren't really dangerous, but they were annoying. After killing several, I returned to the apprentice, who gave me my first really important job: executing a leader of the Wretched. I despised the Wretched with that burning hatred one only feels for that which they truly fear. I knew that if I didn't control my addiction to magic, I too would end up a slave to it. So I killed the guy. I almost felt like I was putting him out of his misery. What kind of life is it to be so totally controlled by something that you would kill even those dear to you for just a taste of mana? I brought his head back to the apprentice guy as proof that I had completed my task. Ugh. I tell you what, a few coppers are NOT enough for me to go carrying bloody heads around in my pack. At least the self-cleaning magic my mother put on the pack is holding up well. I hardly notice it is there, but come to think of it, that might be why random blood elves keep glancing at me hungrily. And here I thought it was my stunning good looks and stellar personality. Oh well, a girl can dream, right?
Having delivered the head to what's-his-name the apprentice, he sent me to an outrunner at the edge of the Isle for further instructions. I don't even know what the guy is going to do with a head. Especially a Wretched head. If there's anything uglier than a wretched I don't know what it is! Maybe Forsaken. They look somewhat similar. Anyway, the outrunner sent me in search of a second outrunner that was supposed to be on her way to Falconwing Square with a package but never made it. I found her body a short ways down the road. Life is so short and easily snuffed out. I grabbed the package and ran back to the first outrunner, but she just gestured for me to continue down the road to Falconwing Square myself. Fair enough! I was happy to leave Sunstrider Isle. It was probably all the loose mana floating around, but the place made me feel very unsettled. I would be glad to get to Falconwing and take a nice nap in the inn.
The Story of Molithe
Molithe is a word I recently came up with and became enamored with very quickly. I'm not really sure why, but for some reason the word appeals to me, especially as a name. So my current goal for this blog is to write out the story of Molithe the Hunter as if she were actually there, experiencing it for the first time. I plan to use minimal add-ons and avoid group content as much as possible. My goal for Molithe is to make her feel as if her story is one of the epic adventurer who grew in power until she saves the world, some day. So I've just started her story tonight, and I'm hoping to write a new chapter every few levels. Wish me luck and perseverance!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Molithe
Molithe. The name both terrified and attracted her. Molithe. Slayer of a thousand dreams. Yet she had seen a glimpse of something else in those shadowed eyes, something more than death or dreams.
She was probably just lying to herself. After all, people tried to get close to Molithe all the time. She had seen one such person at the market just last week, babbling by turns of death and demons and angels and light. Nobody was quite sure what to do with these broken-minded wretches. Once a vengeance-crazed mother had found one wandering in an open field beside her house. The mere whisper of Molithe was enough to send her into a frenzy and she bashed his head in with her household god. She awoke the next morning to find her village in flames and her neighbors slaughtered. They fished her body out of the river a week later. After that, Molithe's cast-off lovers were treated with care, if not respect.
Yet still they came, once or twice a month, from every corner of the world. With Molithe's name on their lips and dreams in their eyes, they trudged straight up the temple steps. The great golden gates would swing open to receive them, and them alone. Some had mates or children trying to drag them back, yet still they strode forward.
Molithe. She shivered. What was it that brought men and women of every race to the Temple of Dreams? What could draw them so strongly? And why were they always found mindless, weeks or months or even years later?
Nobody knew what went on in the presence of Molithe. Those who went willingly, not drawn by dreams, found the gates closed to them. If they managed to climb the wall, they were found later missing both eyes and tongue.
Except her. She had seen Molithe. She had waylaid a dreamer and convinced him to smuggle her through the gates in his pack. She was small and he had been a large barbarian from the North. It had been easy to convince him, but then, dreamers would agree to anything so long as it didn't keep them from Molithe.
So far as she knew she was the first mortal to see Molithe and still retain all her sense. She wondered if she would start going slowly mad, or perhaps if this growing obsession with Molithe was how it started for dreamers. She almost thought it would be worth losing her mind to see Molithe just once more, this time without the hood and veils, face to face with the Keeper of Dreams.
So it was that she found herself striding up the long staircase to the great golden gates of the Temple of Dreams. The people gathered to watch her go by, muttering the same words of condolence and regret they always bestowed on a dreamer. "I'm not a dreamer!" she wanted to yell at them. "I just want to see Molithe!" But she held her peace. To her surprise and slight dismay, the gates swung open at her approach. She hesitated, then strode boldly through them before falling to her knees in front of Molithe. As her eyes met the eyes of the Keeper of Dreams, she felt a sense of peace. This was where she was meant to be. This is what she had been dreaming of all her life.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
For Slappy And Haz
The sound of sage advice I hear
Wisdom of friends both far and near
"Forget the past, move on," they say
"Love you will find again someday."
Their words ring loud and true, yet still
My heart declines to follow my will
A hope misplaced still longs to gain
The love of those who caused me pain
Yet I cannot live within the past
Slave to love which did not last
I cannot stay in bondage to
A love that proved itself untrue
And if for this my heart a stone
Becomes, to continue on its own
Then so it must be, unstained
By love or hate or joy or pain
But one sweet day true love will make
The heart-stone crack, and finally break
And arms will hold, and lips will say
"Your love is here, and here will stay."
And though I never will forget
And love's first pain may pain me yet
What is past is forever gone
And love will paint a bright new dawn
Wisdom of friends both far and near
"Forget the past, move on," they say
"Love you will find again someday."
Their words ring loud and true, yet still
My heart declines to follow my will
A hope misplaced still longs to gain
The love of those who caused me pain
Yet I cannot live within the past
Slave to love which did not last
I cannot stay in bondage to
A love that proved itself untrue
And if for this my heart a stone
Becomes, to continue on its own
Then so it must be, unstained
By love or hate or joy or pain
But one sweet day true love will make
The heart-stone crack, and finally break
And arms will hold, and lips will say
"Your love is here, and here will stay."
And though I never will forget
And love's first pain may pain me yet
What is past is forever gone
And love will paint a bright new dawn
Why Do I Not Bleed?
I think maybe I've figured out at least part of why, despite all desire and expectation, I have not started cutting again. Because I just thought about doing it, and immediately two thoughts came to mind. One, that cutting is too much work, and two, that I don't want to be that alone. The two are related in some ways. By "too much work" I don't mean that I'm too lazy to walk across the room and pick up a razor blade. That's the easy part of cutting. It's what comes afterward that is so difficult and so isolating. Because you have to monitor everything. It's pretty warm in this state, so I have to carefully consider placement, and then wardrobe, and if I inadvertently pick the wrong clothes, I spend the day worrying that people might see. And cutting makes for sudden mood swings as you go from depression to euphoria, so you want to make sure this isn't this obvious sequence of depression - closed door - happiness, which doesn't happen as much for me because I'm usually hiding the depression part anyway. And then there's the choices of who to tell (if anyone), who can you trust, who must you hide from. And if you do decide to tell someone, then you have to stop and weigh your motives. Are you telling them because you want sympathy? Attention? Help? And those you decide to hide from, you try to hide just the cutting...but then you have to hide the depression, too...and eventually you just start avoiding them altogether, which just makes you feel isolated. Especially since in general the friends you might be honest with are a very tiny number of people. Of course feeling isolated makes you want to cut more, which adds to the whole mess, which makes it more stressful, which makes you want to cut more, which isolates you more...get the idea?
But that's really only part of the reasons, I would say. I hardly know myself well enough to know them all. Another one is that I do have friends that I can talk to to ease the pain before I take that last bloody step. And for the most part, I do. Although I fear relying on them too much. I have this tendency to go from distrust to deep friendship rather quickly sometimes (although I'm picky about who with) and I think it overwhelms people. Being my friend is not easy. I know that. I'm trying to make it easier, but it is still difficult. I want to be loved, and in opening my heart to give and receive that love I think I tend to give out more of myself than people are prepared to handle. Anyway. Bit of a rabbit trail there.
I did try cutting recently. The stress was just too much for me to handle alone. And, you know, it was just as good as I remember. Better even. It gave me such a high that I had to stop much sooner than I expected. And for some bizarre reason it did not hurt at all, not even while it was healing. But I realized when I did it that this is not who I am anymore. Sure, I still want to cut, almost all the time. But I've come too far to return to being the cutter I once was.
And I don't want to be alone. I don't want to tense when someone gives me a hug for fear they might bump unhealed cuts. I don't want to be unable to be active or do things because a sleeve or shorts leg might ride up. Cutting saved my life once, or many times, but now I have outgrown it. Now it would hinder my life, not help it.
Life is too short to add fear on top of pain.
But that's really only part of the reasons, I would say. I hardly know myself well enough to know them all. Another one is that I do have friends that I can talk to to ease the pain before I take that last bloody step. And for the most part, I do. Although I fear relying on them too much. I have this tendency to go from distrust to deep friendship rather quickly sometimes (although I'm picky about who with) and I think it overwhelms people. Being my friend is not easy. I know that. I'm trying to make it easier, but it is still difficult. I want to be loved, and in opening my heart to give and receive that love I think I tend to give out more of myself than people are prepared to handle. Anyway. Bit of a rabbit trail there.
I did try cutting recently. The stress was just too much for me to handle alone. And, you know, it was just as good as I remember. Better even. It gave me such a high that I had to stop much sooner than I expected. And for some bizarre reason it did not hurt at all, not even while it was healing. But I realized when I did it that this is not who I am anymore. Sure, I still want to cut, almost all the time. But I've come too far to return to being the cutter I once was.
And I don't want to be alone. I don't want to tense when someone gives me a hug for fear they might bump unhealed cuts. I don't want to be unable to be active or do things because a sleeve or shorts leg might ride up. Cutting saved my life once, or many times, but now I have outgrown it. Now it would hinder my life, not help it.
Life is too short to add fear on top of pain.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Thoughts From Church
An omnipotent God who refuses to act is in all practicality no better than an impotent God who cannot act.
If God had not created hell nobody would ever go there.
Non Christians find fulfilment in those very things that Christians say they found unsatisfying. Perhaps it is not a fundamental of human nature that cannot find fulfilment in everyday life, but a fundamental of those natures that are drawn to the idea of a supernatural.
I hear so many people applauded in these churches because they left promising careers in the world to devote their time and energy to the small circle of people that is American fundamentalism. But if they truly wished to minister to people, an opera singer at the New York Metropolitan Opera can reach far, far more people than a traveling pair of Christian singers or even a pair of voice teachers at a Christian college. They did what made them happy, and threw God's will on it to make them look spiritual.
I think perhaps the one thing that Christians simply cannot understand about me is that it is the supposed sovereignty of God that forever drives me from following him. If God existed and was sovereign, he would be no God I would want to serve.
It is one of Christianity's biggest sins that it keeps its followers content in this life with promises of the next that it has never and cannot ever prove that it can deliver.
Visiting my home church is like watching the blind following the blind and shouting "hallelujah" and "amen" as they fall into the ditch.
I used to get really caught up in the whole Covenant/dispensationalism argument. Now it just makes me shake my head and chuckle.
If God had not created hell nobody would ever go there.
Non Christians find fulfilment in those very things that Christians say they found unsatisfying. Perhaps it is not a fundamental of human nature that cannot find fulfilment in everyday life, but a fundamental of those natures that are drawn to the idea of a supernatural.
I hear so many people applauded in these churches because they left promising careers in the world to devote their time and energy to the small circle of people that is American fundamentalism. But if they truly wished to minister to people, an opera singer at the New York Metropolitan Opera can reach far, far more people than a traveling pair of Christian singers or even a pair of voice teachers at a Christian college. They did what made them happy, and threw God's will on it to make them look spiritual.
I think perhaps the one thing that Christians simply cannot understand about me is that it is the supposed sovereignty of God that forever drives me from following him. If God existed and was sovereign, he would be no God I would want to serve.
It is one of Christianity's biggest sins that it keeps its followers content in this life with promises of the next that it has never and cannot ever prove that it can deliver.
Visiting my home church is like watching the blind following the blind and shouting "hallelujah" and "amen" as they fall into the ditch.
I used to get really caught up in the whole Covenant/dispensationalism argument. Now it just makes me shake my head and chuckle.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Music
I know the words to that song
Though the harmony's wrong
And the instruments all play out of key
Come to think of it too
The melody's not true
And the dance not what it used to be
One of those times when a few phrases start banging at your head demanding you make them into something.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Choices
The last time I stayed in this room was shortly after I made an offer that would change my life. I knew that then, of course, thought if I had been aware of exactly how my life would change I would have been more hesitant to make such an offer. But I did. That was, if I had to put a number on it, the first choice I made that contributed to this tragedy. Others made their own choices of course, but I do not bear responsibility for theirs, only mine. My next choice was to allow myself to fall in love. I do not regret this because I fell in love with a wonderful person - smart, beautiful, trustworthy, dependable, a person who loved me in spite of all my flaws, for I had not hidden them from her. And my husband and I both saw these things, and together we invited her into our hearts and our home. That was the third choice, and though it was shared it was my own choice. In many ways I do not regret it, even now. It was an unwise choice, yes. But I risked much in hopes of gaining much, and I thought, and still do think, that what we all stood to gain was more than worth the risk.
The fourth choice was less conscious than the first three, born of pain and confusion. In the wake of unexpected and unintended betrayal I allowed myself to withdraw. Without intending to I pushed my two Loves away from me. It was this choice, I think, that most of the tragedy rests with, this choice and the next. Because the next choice was the stupidest of all, the most idiotic choice I have ever made. Ignoring all I knew of myself and of them, I chose to leave ("but wait," you say, "you said you were kicked out!" Patience. I'm getting there). I talked of finding a lover who loved all of me. I never spoke of breaking up with my Loves because I did not intend to. But I spoke of moving out. I searched for apartments. I almost managed to get one. But then I stopped, and remembered who I am, and who I loved, and what was really important in life, and I realized the stupidity of what I had nearly done. And I chose again, this time to stay, and to rebuild whatever damage I had caused because of the last two choices.
There is much I could say at this point. I will sum it up this way: there was pain and anger and sorrow had by all, and it was too late. And so I made the final choice. I did not want to make it. I made it slowly, begrudgingly, against my will. I made it kicking and screaming and throwing things. I could have stayed where I was unwanted and unloved, where I had been asked to leave and told my presence caused only pain. My name was on the lease, I had just as much right to remain there in my home as they did. I could have stayed there, yes, causing people I did and still do love misery until they left or found a way to truly force me to leave. So in a sense you could say I was not kicked out, and that would be true. But though I left, I did not want to, and would still have been willing to work things out, so in a sense the opposite is true as well. Foolishly I would still be willing to work things out, because in spite of everything I still love them. But in the end, rather than perpetuating a situation that made all our lives nearly unbearable, I made the unwilling choice to leave.
These are my choices. I bear the joys and regrets, the pride and shame of them myself, for I made them all. In the same way, I do not and refuse to bear the shame or regret of your choices. You made them, not I, and you must bear their weight yourself.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Reality
I live in a reality where being honest is manipulation, where if I acknowledge I need change I am lying, if I change I am not sincere, and if I am content with being who I am I am selfish. Nothing I say is interpreted in a positive light, no matter what it is.
And you know what? I'm starting not to care. I should never have cared. I should have stopped caring at the very first inkling that love might be conditional. It doesn't matter your side of the story, it doesn't matter if you feel a victim, it matters not to me in the least. Because it is your choice to remove me from your life, and therefore your opinions ought have not one bit of power over me.
So if you think me selfish, go ahead. If you think sharing my heart with you and trusting you for years is manipulation, go ahead. If you think me not sincere or a liar, go ahead. I hope it makes you feel better.
I have been holding off on saying this because of the love I still held for you, but that love is fast becoming buried by reality. So I will say this: I hope your life is everything it ought to be, and I hope you live the life you have given me. But whatever life you do live, I am not responsible, I am not to blame. When you move past your honeymoon phase and discover each others' true selves I hope you still love each other, though I would not guarantee it. As you continue to feel overwhelmed by parenthood I hope you remember how you judged me for being the same. I hope you learn the truth about yourselves, and I hope that when you do, you will believe it.
And you know what? I'm starting not to care. I should never have cared. I should have stopped caring at the very first inkling that love might be conditional. It doesn't matter your side of the story, it doesn't matter if you feel a victim, it matters not to me in the least. Because it is your choice to remove me from your life, and therefore your opinions ought have not one bit of power over me.
So if you think me selfish, go ahead. If you think sharing my heart with you and trusting you for years is manipulation, go ahead. If you think me not sincere or a liar, go ahead. I hope it makes you feel better.
I have been holding off on saying this because of the love I still held for you, but that love is fast becoming buried by reality. So I will say this: I hope your life is everything it ought to be, and I hope you live the life you have given me. But whatever life you do live, I am not responsible, I am not to blame. When you move past your honeymoon phase and discover each others' true selves I hope you still love each other, though I would not guarantee it. As you continue to feel overwhelmed by parenthood I hope you remember how you judged me for being the same. I hope you learn the truth about yourselves, and I hope that when you do, you will believe it.
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