A Few Thoughts On Depression

Depression is a devious and cunning master. It sneaks up and overtakes you without warning. Having emotions is normal, usually caused by some normal occurrence of life. So when you feel sad one day, you start trying to figure out why you're sad. By the time you realize there is no reason, it's too late, depression already has you in a death grip.

It teaches you that of all people in the world, it is yourself you can trust the least. There is not a thought process nor an emotion depression does not sink its shadowy claws into. Nothing is sacred, nothing is exempt. You can depend on nothing your brain tells you.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live without depression. I find it impossible to imagine. I have lived with this for a decade. There have been brief periods of respite, true, but somehow I've always known it would return again.

I wonder if I would be a better mother if not for this depression. 'Tis why I wanted to wait...it is difficult enough trying to take care of myself. Taking care of my son forces me past my limits over and over. It drains me completely and gives me no time to recharge before the next round.

Depression is master and lord whether it currently has you in its dark depths or not. For you spend the days of freedom dreading the return of those chains of shadow. Or if not, you spend those too-brief days or hours trying to pick up the pieces of the things you let slip from your weakened grasp as the darkness tormented you. There is never enough time to feel free, to feel truly, unreservedly happy. Or perhaps that is merely what the depression wants you to think.

Depression is the father of lies. It will tell you that your life is over. It will convince you that you are a curse to your loved ones, not a blessing. It whispers that you are alone - unwanted and unloved. And you will believe it. No matter how forewarned you are, no matter how deeply you know the truth, some part of you still listens to and believe that maybe, just maybe, it is right. For depression does not make up outrageous claims to control your mind, no...it takes all your hidden fears and doubts and magnifies them so they become more believable than the truth. After all, you already half believed them, so what chance do you have against the darkness now?

Cherish, Accept

Cherish sunlight
Though it lasteth
But a little time

Accept darkness
Though thou fearest
That which it imparts

Cherish friendship
Give all your heart
Hold thou nothing back

Accept betrayal
Though it pain thee
Learn thou from thy grief

I Survive

I am a survivor.

A little over a year ago I stopped making a secret of that fact. I stopped adhering to the law of "we will never speak of this again" laid down by my parents a decade ago. I published my story, on Facebook, and on two of my blogs. It did not go well. Two of my brothers have just this month started talking to each other again. The one who abused me does his best to convince everyone that I over-exaggerated and that I was at the age of 9 essentially a slut...based on the fact that I'd been abused twice already. My parents still blame me for the fact that my eldest brother will no longer speak to them.

I have spent the last year blaming myself for the problems within my family. I have spent the last year feeling guilt that I ought not be feeling. Although I suppose realistically I spent the last decade doing those two things. I talked to my mother over this weekend; she reiterated for the millionth time that the fact that they did not know what to do and so I ought not blame them for how they treated me during that decade. I accepted that excuse for a while, but it no longer holds weight. You see, my parents know people. My dad was a Baptist pastor for many years; even now I cannot visit a Baptist church without running into a mutual acquaintance. There were many people they could have asked if they did not know what to do, but they refused to.

I am not responsible for the fact that my eldest brother took what I told his wife and twisted it into an offense against his family. I am not responsible for the the fact that he does not talk to my parents nor allow them to see their grandchildren. I am not responsible for the fact that he and another brother did not talk for a year. I am not responsible for being abused when I was four, or when I was seven, or when I was nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

Abuse is horrible in and of itself. It causes intense mental and emotional issues that, even if discovered and dealt with early can still take years to fully overcome. It does not especially matter how often the abuse occurred, or how long, or how "consensual" it was, or if it was violent or not. All of these things of course contribute to future problems in their own way, but abuse can be a one-time, five-minute, non-violent occurrence and still cause immense trouble in the life of its victim. I say this because the one who abused me the longest (four years) does not see himself as an abuser. He was never violent, he never forced me to do anything, indeed he even stopped (for a while) several times when I asked him to. We did not even "have sex," so far as the strictest definition (vaginal penetration) goes. Does that mean that I was not abused? Does it mean I ought not carry emotional or mental scars to this day? Does it mean that, as my parents and the counselor I "confessed" to believed, I bore equal guilt for something I never asked for or desired? No.

It is hard for parents to know what to do when one of their children is abused. I understand that. It is even harder when the abuser is within the same family and indeed only a few years older than the victim. But as I said already, they had resources. They had people they could have turned to for help, if they had so desired. They certainly had more opportunity to seek help than I did at the tender age of twelve. Instead, not knowing what to do, and not willing to sacrifice their precious testimony in order to seek help, they banned the subject altogether. They thought if nobody mentioned it, it would simply go away. Everything would be as if it never happened. Except for the fact that even in their minds it never went away. They could not refrain from mentioning it every time I did something wrong. "We know we can't trust you because of what you did before" was a phrase I heard more than once. For you see they blamed me. Even more, I think, than they blamed the one who abused me. I think it was because I was the one who told, who turned their lovely little Baptist home upside down. That is merely conjecture, of course; I do not know for certain. However, it is true that they believed I had sinned just as much as he had. Browsing through old emails the other day, I found one from my father counseling me that the problems with my thought life I'd been having (which are now easily explainable by the fact that I was 17 and horny, thank you very much) were a consequence of my sin. This attitude of my parents, that I was not a victim but equally complicit in my own abuse, had its own consequences. One of them was the fact that I believed them. I believed that I was dirty, broken, worthless. I believed that many of the problems in my family were my fault (for many of them started after I broke the silence the first time). I believed that as a young girl I had been guilty of sexual perversions that are not even talked about in polite society. It was not until nearly eight years had gone by that I realized, for the first time, that it wasn't my fault.

I realized then that I was a survivor, a survivor of sexual abuse. And I was angry. I still am, though the anger confines itself to moments like these when I feel I must say something. It is not constant. But for years I was abused, and then for more years I was taught that that abuse was sin that I was guilty for. As of this moment more than half the years of my life I spent believing those lies, lies many of those who ought to be closest to me still believe. But I have survived. Though I still feel the pain of those years, and still carry scars, emotional, physical, and mental...I still survive.

The Amazing Dancing Bear Conga Line

I think the title says it all there.

Just a Shadow Before the Sun

I'm Watching You...

The poor bird was terribly suspicious of the human-who-is-a-puppy-and-also-a-kitty's intentions. She probably should have cleaned the egg off her whiskers better.

Horses Need Advil Too

Hey look it's a human who is also a puppy and undead riding a foal. Poor foal. Undead smell terrible.

We Fear

We fear being known
So we hide ourselves in lies
We fear being unknown
So we reveal our deepest secrets

We fear being hurt (again)
So we kill our feelings one by one
We fear being numb
So we hurt ourselves to feel once more

We fear relationships
So we drive away those we love
We fear being alone
So we give our hearts away too quickly

Dance Baby Dance

The next few days (which means either until I get bored or forget about it) I shall be posting screenshots from around Azeroth. Here's the first.

Because hey, who wouldn't want to dance with adorable yet murderous baby naga?

Language

A trend I find disturbing and heart-wrenching is a habit of WoW players, and probably gamers in general, to use words outside of their normal usage. Does that sound nit-picky? It's not, just a little ill-defined. Allow me to clarify. I'm talking about using the word "gay" as a pejorative. And of course the usual gamut of curse words that find their way into the public channels and voice chat. Now to be fair, I have no problem with a 'wtf" or a "shit!" once in a while, but if you start going off and throwing names at people I draw a line.
Those aren't really what most disturb me, however. No, the word that most disturbs me is not a pejorative, nor is it used to tear someone down (at least not intentionally). It is usually used in a self-congratulatory or self-deprecatory manner. So, what do I have against it? And what is this mysterious and offensive word?
The word is "rape." Usually I hear it used in a context of "we totally raped that boss" or "man that boss just raped us." Using this word in this manner is not okay. Let me repeat that. It is NOT OKAY. I realize a lot of gamers are guys, and they don't know the feelings that word can provoke even in those women who have no first-hand experience with rape (although I realize not all women are affected this way, don't get me wrong). For those of us who have suffered from rape or even non-violent abuse, hearing the word is akin to dousing our psyche in gasoline and throwing a match on it. Since when is okay to trivialize trauma? Since when is the suffering of others become a joke?
I guess I've written this whole post to say this: stop. Think before you allow words to come pouring from your mouth. And if you don't, and someone else politely asks you to stop, don't turn your vitriol on them. Grow up, and make the world a better place.

Catching Up

I haven't written a wrap-up post in quite nearly forever, it seems. So here are all the posts I've written since the last time.

• Untwisting the Tangled Web
• The "Sanctity of Marriage" According to the Bible (one response to this was "Well people weren't meant to die so women weren't really supposed to be forced to marry their brother-in-law." The only problem with this argument is that Levitical law was written after the fall, so at that point, people were dying all the time. That was really one of the more ridiculous things I've ever read responding to me.)
• The Shame of Salvation
• Arrogance
• Humanity's Link
• Strong Through Life
• Allow Me to Vent My Frustration. I don't actually remember what I was so angry about. I think it had something to do with a Christian saying poor behavior due to mental illness was "sin."
• Comment Review
• A Ramble that Turned Into Love. By Lalaith's request, this one is also posted on Untwisting.
• Vigilance
• Memories

Memories

Last night memories were pushing at my mind and wouldn't let me rest until I had released them. Memories of course never end, but last night I seemed overwhelmed by them. And just as life is both good and bad, so too are these memories, some sorrowful, some joyful.

Voice raised in song, perfect harmony. United for one purpose, in praise of a God I served with all my shattered heart and soul. For one moment, perfect, complete.

A younger, unscarred me, running to and fro amidst the docile animals of a live nativity scene. Hot cocoa, raisin-filled Christmas cookies. Cold nose and fingers, bright heart. Laughter, carefree.

Terror at having told the secret. Shame I claimed for my own. Waiting as a camp director and my father spoke words I could not hear. Knowing my life was forever changed, knowing and fearing.

Stinging hands, the thrill of a perfect block, volleyball down, a point for the Warriors! The crowd's applause, but from my teammates, my Christian classmates, the same scorn as always.

Disconnect. Peers discussing boys and clothes whilst my mind replays yet again the memory of my shame. A night spent once again crying into my pillow, a day spent longing for the end of a life already too long at fifteen years.

Horses and cows. My hands holding the reins but Little Cinnamon knows what to do better than I, and together we start the steers back to the corral for the night. A roughened cowboy treating a grubby little girl like one of the hands.

Running away. Twenty-five miles on my bike, but that car is familiar and now the escape ends. Tears and promises, not from me, that things will change. Familiar words, familiarly broken. Nothing ever changes.

Another visit to the youth pastor. A later time I realize how much he avoided me, how much he shirked his duty. For now, as I climbed the stairs from basement to second floor, I only sought help for my problems. Problems, though I did not know it then, that stemmed from the shame I bore for so long.

Tears. The realization that eight years of shame was not my burden to bear. Finally knowing that I was not complicit in my own abuse. And anger, for I was not the only one who judged me for another's sin.

Blood running down freely, shed for those tears I could not. Scars, line upon line, leaf upon leaf. Freedom, however brief, from constant pain or constant numbness. Hiding them in shame or showing them in defiance, outcast from those who were supposed to love and accept above all others.

A friendship broken once, twice, thrice. Promises to love forever, broken. Once a life saved, then death desired. My soul, my innermost being, given freely. Love given and received, closer than all save my Beloved. But then coldness, demands, arrogance, ultimatums. Whispers in ears, other friends disappear one by one. Fair words to face, knife twisted in the back. Trust, only newly forged, in a shattered mess upon the floor. Words twisted, always sub par, always unequal.

A life of faith, wasted. Perfection, never. Sincerity, unparalleled. Desire, unmatched. A life spent waiting for the answer that never came. Waiting for the everlasting arms that never enfolded. Waiting for forgiveness never granted. Waiting for peace that never soothed. A faith shattered. Realization that life will never be the same. Freedom obtained.

A wave of love for the first time, for the son born nearly a year before. Nearly having thrown something so precious away. Love with shame.

Red rocks. Vedauwoo. Church picnic, before shame, before packing up and fleeing from old memories. Monkey-like, scampering up and down the leftovers of some forgotten upheaval. On the way home, the best kind of tired, singing along to Pensacola and Patch the Pirate.

Running across hot sand to the cool water of the Reservoir, not fast enough, burned soles. No sympathy. Blowing up the inner-tubes by mouth in the back of the station wagon on the way there. Holding our breath through the tunnels, pointing out Chimney rock to each other for the hundredth time.

Far, far back, perhaps the earliest of all. Neighbors with German Shepherds and a go-kart track. Two boys, older than me, persuading me to pull my swimsuit down. A blank spot in my memories, then pulling up my swimsuit from around my ankles and running for home. Telling no one. How old? Four, I think. Why a blank spot? I wish I knew.

Family visiting. Waking up in the middle of the night, heading to the bathroom, meeting much older cousin coming out. Cousin inviting me back in with him. Standing on top of toilet naked, while his hands and mouth visit places usually reserved for one's Beloved. Asked if I wanted to do the same to him, No. Shrug. My first experience with male genitalia, at the tender age of seven.

No cartoons for us, but we devoured old Westerns and black-and-white serial shows. Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Gene Autry, young John Wayne, many more. Dick Tracy, Zorro. Violence that never felt violent. Good versus evil, good always winning.

New Jersey beach. Swimming, cold waves. The boardwalk, two-seater bikes, salt-water taffy, Johnson's caramel corn. The houses we stayed in, a condo and the mysterious attic house. Watching Dukes of Hazard while parents try to extract a "splinter" nearly the size of a dime from the bottom of my foot. Later the hospital visit to finally get it out. A little keyboard I played "Twinkled Twinkle Little Star" on over and over. Ocean City sweatshirt printed with the logo I chose.

Mulberries. Handcuffed to the mulberry tree by a brother in toy handcuffs with no safety tab. Eating mulberries with cream. Raising caterpillars off the tree. Crying, when my mother paid my brother a quarter each to squish caterpillars and mine were the first to go. Catching jars full of fireflies among its branches.

Vigilance

The toy slips from my fingers
And caring not, I watch it fall
My son continues play, on and
Around me (though rarely with)
He feels not this sense of doom
Impending

I gather him in my arms
And hold his growing body tight
As he squirms and says
"Momma, no!" and grunts
His efforts to escape my arms
Restraining

He feels no sense of doom
No nameless dread or formless
Fear. He wishes only to be fed
And tickled and talked to
And (if I'm lucky) held
Adoringly

Perhaps he has it better than I
Perhaps there is nothing to fear
But after almost throwing this away once
And once having it nearly ripped
From my grasp, I remain
Vigilant

A Ramble that Turned into Love

Life used to be a lot simpler. I had constants: constant pain, constant darkness, constant fear. I constantly longed for escape.

My favorite kind of book to read growing up was...well, I don't know the correct name for it. I personally would have named it "escapist," for that was the common theme: a young protagonist is whisked away from his (or her, but let's just use generic male pronouns) dull, boring, or miserable life by something (whether war, or good fortune, or tragedy, or a misunderstanding) and into a new and exciting (or perhaps just different) life. You know the books of which I speak: Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, Narnia, books by Mercedes Lackey, Tamora Pierce, Garth Nix, Anne McCaffrey, Robin McKinley, Brandon Sanderson, Brian Jacques...it's a pretty common young adult fiction theme. I dreamed that one day I too would be whisked away.

And you know what? Those dreams I dreamed? They came true. I "escaped." I started a new and exciting (or maybe just different) life. And though I would not have, did not dare, dream who would rescue me, I could not be happier. Most girls dream of a white knight, there to rescue them and save the day and then live "happily ever after." I did not. After what had happened in my childhood, I did not deserve a white knight, or so I thought. But I got one anyway...my own "Prince Charming" swept me off my feet...and so far, "happily ever after" is as good a description as any. What sorrows my life still knows, what melancholy fits and black moods still come upon me, they are bearable because of this: I have found my own true love, and I am his and he is mine forever.

My life isn't very constant anymore. Although there is still pain and darkness and fear, they no longer persist constantly. I no longer desire to escape the life I have, for I am living the life I longed to escape to.

True love isn't like the movies, you know. Happily ever doesn't just happen. It takes work, and tears, and misunderstandings, and all kinds of not very "happy" things. But in the end, you are left with something so much better than the movies could ever hope to portray, something better than I have words to express: not a perfect kiss in the moonlight (though moonlit kisses are amazing), not just knowing "he's the one" (though he may very well be), not a foot that pops or eyes that meet or hands that tingle when they touch: true love may include these, but it is so very much more, so very much better than all of them. Don't be afraid to work for it, to cry for it...or even to let it go if it comes to that.

Because sometimes true love involves letting go. Sometimes it recognizes that the greatest love it can show is letting the other person go on without it. And this too is unlike the movies, for if they portray such a thing, it is always in such a way that it is still a happy ending: misunderstandings put to rest, all differences set aside, "happily ever after." But it doesn't always end that way. Sometimes, when you let love go...it goes, and does not come back. That is the price of true love: it may lead to "happily ever after" and all you've always dreamed of (as it did for me)...or it may lead to sorrow and heartbreak. There is risk involved with love, but for those of us who have loved or been loved...it is worth it.

Before I stop this ramble, there is one more thing the movies get wrong: true love isn't limited. It may only be possible to love one person "with all your heart" at once (or perhaps not...maybe true love isn't exclusive, either), but that doesn't mean after you have loved and lost you are forever doomed to wait the rest of your life alone with your lost love. You can love, truly love, more than once per lifetime...because here's the biggest lie the movies tell you: "true love just happens." Or possibly "if it isn't love at first sight it isn't true love." That is utterly and completely a lie.True love is a choice...sure it may start with just a look, but that's puppy love - cute and endearing and emotional...and bound to be grown out of. At some time, consciously or not, you make a choice that you will love this person "no matter what"...and then you do. And if that love is not returned or one day walks away, it's okay to consciously stop making that choice. It doesn't mean your love was any less true while it lasted. It doesn't mean you were foolish to love at all...it just means that you are taking your heart back from where you had offered it and moving on. Someday, you will offer it again. Someday, your true love will love you truly too. And even if, for you, that never happens...if you never find your soulmate...don't give up. Don't be discouraged. As the poet said..."It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

You know those posts that you start and somehow they turn into something completely different from what you intended? Yeah, this is one of those posts. I'm aware that it is very rambling and might not make a lot of sense at first glance...but rather than coldly editing it I will let my heart speak for itself. Take it or leave it as you will.

Comment Review

I read this article today. Not that interesting, fairly unbiased. I know absolutely nothing about the website that published the article. What I would like to point out is the comments, which I shall be copying here. For your information, this is not an "anti-Christian" post, it's an "anti-idiot" post.

Must have killed him to quit voting “ present” on this issue.

He’s not a flip flopper. This has always been his real opinion. He merely lied about his position during the 2008 election when a clear majority of the public was still against same-sex marriage.

I agree with Chet. Obama is now withholding the fact that he is an international Marxist because a clear majority of Americans is still against Marxism/ Communism / Socialism !

 Maybe in your “Gay” world most people would like it to be legal, but at least 30 times that it has been on a ballot for “the people” it has been overwhelmingly voted down. What’s that , oh yeah we’re not supposed to let those nasty facts out. Wanna be gay and marry your partner…. move to a country that allows it. LEAVE MINE ALONE!!!! Just because 1/10th of a percent wants it, no matter how many times you repeat it, it’s just not right. You folks that want to compare this to the civil rights movement need to remember who was fighting against civil rights, even fillibustered it in senate. Why are blacks allowing the dems to keep them on the dem plantation. I guess now that their prez is pro-gay then i’m going to assume all blacks are pro-gay also…. he did get 98% of the black vote…right? Every interview with a black should now start with…”so since you support gay marriage……”

Panderer, liar, deceitful, evil, nonChristian. This is Obama.

Oh come now .. how can you tell he isn’t lying now? .. or was he lying then? .. you must be a die hard Obamavombie .. is you believe anything he says. Or know he is lying if his lips are moving.

You godless blasphemer. Jesus destroyed the sodomites of Sodom and Gomorrah. Marriage is a picture of God’s relationship to His church. I am now convinced this man is dedicated on the destruction of the U.S. as a super power. I will never recognize sodomite “marriage”! 

BIGAL don’t insult my intelligence. The steady campaign by the homosexual lobby in our schools is responsible for the 50/50 national numbers on homosexual marriage. As soon as that campaign (with idiocies like “bullying”) is put to an end…then that little gambit is stopped. It begins with getting rid of Obama’s Czar of safe schools, Kevin Jennings. He’s the mind behind this “bullying” campaign in schools. He’s also the founder of GLSEN a group that advocates teaching extreme sex acts to school age children. Of course I’m not talking about ultra-liberal states like California or Oregon. They will always be lost. This “inevitablity” you cite hinges on how quickly our schools can be taken away from stleath pedophiles like Kevin Jennings and his ilk and how quickly liberalism can be shown to be the failure it is. It begins in November. 

It’s a Trojan horse that would give power to the radicals in LGBT movement to force, by Federal law, any and all institutions of faith, schools, private organization etc…..to marry gay couples, teach homosexuality in schools (as an acceptable lifestyle choice, gay rights activism or Gay History Month) whether you want you children to sit through it or not or admit gay members to a private club. This would effectively trample freedom of religion, our even your simple rights if you believe homosexuality to be improper on your own moral terms.

What I don’t understand is why the liberals and gays want marriage for gays in the first place. Why are they fighting so hard for something that for years they have been saying is antiquated, stifling, misogynistic, unnecessary, and so not cool? I thought couples didn’t HAVE to be married to be in loving, committed relationships. Isn‘t that what the feminists and other liberals have been bleating about since the 60’s? Why is it all of a sudden soooooooo vital for them to get married? Hmmm…….

I'm stopping now before I throw up or hurt somebody. I didn't get through the first page of comments, out of seventeen. While of course it isn't always true that you can judge a man based on his opponents, I think in this case that concept bears a lot of weight.

In case anyone was wondering my political views: I'm not Democrat. But I increasingly find myself rejecting every Republican ideal I once believed in. I suppose therefore I am independent, I vote for whoever I agree with the most. But honestly...shouldn't that be what we all do?

Allow Me to Vent My Frustration

Goddamn fracking know-it-all Christians! Yes, I said, "goddamn!" Even your own fracking god would rise up and fracking condemn you for the idiocy and ignorance you spew out every time you open your fracking mouth! Why don't you just shut the frack up and realize that you don't know everything and that your fracking religion doesn't have a fracking answer for everything? Hmm?

Now that I've released the vulgarity from my system, I feel much better. Thank you for listening.

P.S. I am nearly 100% certain that the particular Christians I'm spouting about will never ever see this. So if you think it's about you, it isn't. Unless of course you're feeling guilty.

the one weekly thing that i do

These are all from Untwisting this week. Lalaith has also written some awesome posts that you should read.

• Just Because I Can
• Causing Pain
• Ta-Dah

Writing this Week

Scroll down.

When the Prairie Sun Climbs Out of the Hay

Every childhood should include the Sons of the Pioneers. No exceptions.

Masochism, Anger, Feeling

Masochism (in part): purposefully reading something you know will make you angry. Even after you've promised not to.

Of course you can also add things like cutting to this list. That one is rather obvious. But why? Why did I, today, go to a blog, knowing that I would disagree with the author's very worldview, let alone any specific posts, knowing that I would be frustrated, knowing that likely I would get angry?

Because...I wanted to feel angry. Or perhaps more accurately and more simply: I wanted to feel. Anger is perhaps the most easily obtainable emotion. We all have things that make us upset. For most people, however, we shy away from those things. We don't want to get angry; we don't like the way it makes us feel guilty; it isn't socially acceptable. But when I'm trapped in a haze...when I feel empty, when I feel grey, when I feel nothing...then I want to feel anything, even anger.

And so I am angry. Angry at being misunderstood. Angry at being maligned. Angry at the chains that bind so many of my friends in slavery. Angry at a myth that has been propagated as ultimate truth for far too long. Angry at so many things in the world I cannot change. Perhaps...angry at life itself.

I will pay a price, for the anger. I start to pay it now, in guilt. What anger is not accompanied by guilt? We are living, thinking beings, we do not let these negative emotions drive us. I will perhaps pay more, who knows? But for a little while, the goal is accomplished:

I feel.