They try to salve their own consciences, they hold out empty hopes. "You can find someone else," they say. "This is a fresh start for you." No. He taught me to trust. He taught me to open my heart. And now they are reminding me why I never trusted, and what it feels like to be betrayed. Now they remind me why I had walls and masks and kept my heart tight shut. Do they think I will calmly go out and give my heart away now? Two years I've spent learning how to trust, and in a few weeks they've wasted it all.
Because I trusted him. I trusted him unreservedly. I gave him the most, the only precious thing I owned...my heart. My love. And perhaps it wasn't much, perhaps it was hardly anything but it was all I had. It was everything I had, everything I am, and I gave it to him. I held nothing back. But it wasn't enough. I am not enough. And now that they've convinced me of this, they expect me to just find someone else? It took me eight years to find someone to open the doors to my heart last time, and that was an entirely different hurt. The one person in all the world that I loved unconditionally, unreservedly, forever...took the heart that I placed into his safekeeping and threw it away. And then he stomped all over it, saying he still loved me, that I would find someone else, that this would be a fresh start for me. A fresh start for what? For me to realize that I can trust nobody? For me to build fresh new walls about my heart? For me to realize that love, like all else, ends? For me to realize that maybe it isn't better "to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all"? Perhaps they are right. Maybe it is a fresh start...just not the one they mean.

So listen to me, now. I've learned a lot the last few weeks. I've learned never to give my heart away. I've learned never to let love in to the innermost parts of my heart ever again, for if they are never warmed by its presence, neither will they be shattered by its departure. I've learned to trust neither love nor kindness. And if love is offered to me, I will never reject it, but it is unlikely that I will ever fully trust it either. This is what you have taught me, my Loves, Lovers, Beloveds...that I am only good enough to love when there is nobody else around. You both loved me once, until you had each other. And while a small, sad smile touches my lips at what a fine matchmaker I am, I realize I should have known better. i should have known that I am enough to love only when there is no one else to compare me to. Now I know. And given what you have taught me...how could I ever love again? I could not trust that I was actually loved, that I would not be cast aside the moment someone better came along. Relationships are not built without trust, and you have stolen that from me.
This is what you have done to me, O my Loves. You have made much of my faults, but tell me...what are my sins compared to yours?

Fettered Freedom

With each tear unshed
And each cry smothered
I place another brick in the wall
Around my heart

I am my own captor
And my own salvation
My walls my own prison
And my own fortification

Deep, Dark, Broken

Deep words, dark words,
Broken words, they drift
Hither and yon through
The corners of my heart

Deep corners, dark corners,
Broken corners, are filled
With the sighs of sorrow
The tears of my heart

Deep tears, dark tears,
Broken tears, they flood
The never-ending void
The silence of my heart

Deep silence, dark silence,
Broken silence, is lost
Amidst the cacophony
The musics of my heart

Deep musics, dark musics,
Broken musics, they sing
An empty, formless song
In memory of my heart

It feels like silence, like the end of all things. Yet there cannot be silence, for while I still breathe there will always be words. And yet again they are silent words, too rarely spoken aloud. They flow from my fingers, not my lips. Does anyone hear my silent words? Do their eyes listen for the anguish written there? I know they see them, but are they listening?
It is silence then, and perhaps then it is the end. It could be a beginning as well...but I dare not hope for that. The things I hope for have a habit of coming true...and disappearing. It is crueler, I think, than never coming true at all. My deepest hope, my dearest dream, my only wish, was to be loved. And so it came to pass that I loved and was loved. But now...the void, having once been filled, feels all the more desolate for being emptied once more.

I am Alive.

Today is an anniversary. It isn't really a happy or exciting anniversary. Although it is, in some ways. It just isn't one that people would ever really want to celebrate with me. It's a personal anniversary, a time when I usually engage in some pretty intense introspection.
You can look at it two different ways, if you like. The first way is the more depressing way, and honestly the way I usually look at it. Three years ago today I tried to kill myself. Every year I look back and wonder and analyze and try to figure out why, and if I really wanted to die, and if I should have done this or that differently. I understand why most people don't want to celebrate this day with me (not that I've ever really asked). "Hi, wanna help me celebrate the day I almost killed myself?" "No, no, not really so much, no."
But there is another way to look at it, and this is the way I am struggling to see it this year. Three years ago today I tried to kill myself...and I didn't die. Three years ago today...I lived. This...this is something to celebrate. I am alive! And given what my life has been, before and after that day, and especially right now, that is something exciting. That is something extraordinary. I am alive. But no one really seems that interested in celebrating this with me, either. In fact, most people seem to think that I should forget about this day altogether.
Speaking of people, there are two people that I always think about a lot on this anniversary. One carries the honor of being one of the few people I have ever hated, though I think I do not hate him anymore. Certainly I cannot hate him on this day. Bradley Menne saved my life by calling the police on me. I can imagine how hard it is to do that; I myself have been in a position of talking to a friend and wondering if they are truly suicidal...and if I should call the police on them, and live with them being saved and hating me if I was right...or hating me for the false alarm if I was wrong. In the end, I've always done nothing. So I can imagine a little of what he went through. The other person is Officer Mike Hoyt of the Watertown Police Department. Officer Hoyt saved my life by sending me to hell...I mean, by sending me to Mendota. I know it wasn't an easy decision for him, either. And I thank them both for doing what they did. I thank them both for my life.
And now, I am going to celebrate being alive. I will celebrate alone, but it will be a celebration nonetheless.

Happy anniversary, Life.

Today has just been one of those days. I've been getting steadily more depressed as the time goes by but today has just been a haze of sadness. And then I tend to get angry at the littlest things when I'm depressed, which makes me feel guilty, which makes me more depressed...it's a cycle that never stops spiraling down.

Hyanda Ar' Agar

It has been a long time since i blogged here. But right now no other place is the right home for my words. Now indeed i feel the darkness everpressing. Now indeed i find myself trapped again on a downward spiral with no way and increasingly no desire to escape.

Hyanda ar' agar, i once called this blog. Few cared what it meant. Fewer asked. But one does not stop having favorite things when one sinks into depression (though perhaps the enjoyment of those things dims), and when i sought a name for my writings, i chose one that said much about me, i thought: Tolkien's Elvish for the language, "Blade and Blood" for the words.

It is Blade and Blood that i long for once more. It is that release, that feeling, that fierce second of joy that i crave, that i need. And how or why should i deny myself?

Excuses, Excuses

I feel like I've dropped a big bomb shell on my blog readers and then walked away. Sorry about that. I've been busy. We're preparing to move shortly, and I've been busy packing and stuff. Or more honestly, I ought to have been busy doing that but I've really been busy getting distracted by various things. The result is that I haven't done much packing and I haven't done any blogging. Sorry.
I'll try to get something up soonish, because I know how much you all look forward to reading my posts. </sarcasm> Peace out.

Lies: The Biggest Mask

Before I take off this mask, I'd like to point out a few things. I grew up Baptist. Honestly that is probably all that is needed to emphasize what a huge deal removing this mask is. But there is more. I am married to a wonderful man that I am still madly, spectacularly in love with. We have an adorable son. I wouldn't give either of them up for the world.
And now you are wondering, what do those things have to do with a mask I am wearing? I was a Baptist forever (it seems), I've been married for over two years, and I've been a mother for nearly that long. What recent mask could have anything to do with that? Well, I will tell you. Slowly. And with backstory.
I didn't exactly have a normal adolescence. At the age when most girls were discovering that boys were kind of cute, I had already been having direct contact with male genitalia for years. Indeed, it was during that time of early adolescence that I vowed I would never date or get married. So when my peers were talking about boys or makeup or dating I had zero interest. Occasionally I would find my eyes caught by a naked woman or too-tight clothing, but I always marked it down as being over-sensitive to sexual things as a result of being abused (though I did not, then or for many years, call it abuse). Being Baptist, of course, tends to heighten that sensitivity - bare shoulders can be as risque as cleavage for a normal person or ankles for a Muslim.
Much later, in college, when I finally found a counselor I trusted, that assumption was reinforced. I struggled with porn (etc) because I had become "sexualized" at too young an age. Eventually my then-fiance and I got kicked out of Maranatha because we couldn't keep our hands off of each other. Between then and when we got married over a year later, we had sex nearly every time we were together. In fact, our son was born just over six months after our marriage. It was pretty obvious that we both greatly enjoyed sex.
Except that we didn't. Or to be more accurate, I didn't. I enjoyed the intimacy of it. I enjoyed making my beloved happy, hearing the catch of his breath when I did something especially pleasurable. I enjoyed being pleasured, sometimes. But as time passed I became less and less involved in the act of lovemaking, more and more passive, more and more just waiting for it to be over. At first I put it down to memories of abuse, and to be sure those memories did pop up and ruin many an intimate moment. But I put those memories behind me and still I did not enjoy sex with my husband. Then I thought that perhaps this was just the way things turned out; after all, it was pretty commonly taught growing up that girls just weren't that interested in sex. And of course a lot of guys tend to joke about how hard it is to get their wives to have sex with them. But I knew that wasn't really that accurate for me at least because I was still incredibly horny all the time. I still visited porn/erotica sites almost daily. It wasn't sex itself that I wasn't interested in, it was sex with my husband for some reason.
I began toying with the idea of bisexuality. I knew of course by then that being gay or straight wasn't a choice, although I thought maybe it was sometimes. I thought of having sex with a woman and the idea was not repulsive to me. On the contrary, I found the idea quite arousing. Not being one to hide things from my husband, I talked to him about it. (I also had a blog post up about it briefly. I took it down pending further thought.) A few days later he sent me an email that has changed our lives completely.
It wasn't a very  long email, just a few words and a link. The link was to an article by a truly sweet lady ( I emailed her a few days later) about her journey of sexual discovery. Her story was eerily similar to my own. She had married her husband several years ago, enjoying for a time a thriving sex life. They even had one child as we do, a boy. Eventually, after working through massive amounts of depressions (sound familiar) and other issues, she became less and less thrilled about sex with her husband. Long story short, she came to the realization that she was not bisexual, as she'd identified herself for years, but lesbian. I couldn't ignore the similarities in our stories, not after all the other thinking I'd been doing. They were too striking, from our opinions on penises (fun to play with on our husbands but overall pretty meh, could do without) to our thoughts on sperm (yucky yucky yucky bleh).
Perhaps I should have realized it sooner. But then, our minds have an impressive ability to lie to us, as we've discussed already. But here is the big moment. I'm about to take off this mask I've been wearing only a few months and yet my whole life...
I am gay.

This is the final part, Part Four, of the series "Lies."

Lies: My Lies

I have told a lot of lies. I have lied to strangers, loved ones, enemies, and myself. I am a very good liar. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? It is hard to say. I have survived when I might have died. But I have scars (in and out) that I did not need to gain.
For many years I told myself I was guilty of being abused. I told myself I had not been abused, that it had not been violent so it must have been consensual. These were lies, and I should have known better, but I was willing, for whatever reason, to believe that I was a horrible pervert. I believed that for some reason I deserved to be abused.
For many years I lied to everyone around me. I made a persona of a perfect little Baptist girl, one who participated in ministry extensively, who counseled her peers, who was strong and confident in her faith. My persona won Christian character awards, She was held up as a standard of Christian excellence. She never doubted, never struggled with her salvation, never spent the night in tears of agony. But she was a mask, nothing more. The real me was nearly her opposite. I was a Christian, to be sure, but I was by no means as confident or assured or good in that Christianity as outward Threnody let on. I struggled with depression. I had no real friends, no one I could even think of confiding in. By turns I hated and adored my God; by turns I served him and turned my back on him. Yet outwardly, my persona was a friendly, perfect, somewhat introverted Christian girl.
When I went to college I made a new mask, but I wore it just as well as the last one. College Threnody was no longer introverted; she had realized introverts are very lonely. So she became a bubbly person. She became the joker, the class clown, the prankster, always good for a laugh. And college Threnody gathered to herself friends. For the first time she was part of a group of friends, and that felt spectacular. Except...college Threnody was just as much a mask as high school Threnody, and the friends that college Threnody had gathered were friends with a lie, with someone who didn't exist. Meanwhile, I was still lonely, I still had no one to confide in. But who could I trust? And who would trust me? Confiding in someone was essentially the same as admitting I had been lying to everyone for a very long time. I tried counseling, but as I was unable or unwilling to ever completely drop the masks I wore, it didn't really go anywhere. I never lied to a counselor (save once) overtly, yet they did not see beyond the mask of passive lies I always wore. Sometime in there I began accumulating scars. College Threnody of course gave no sign of these; she could sit and joke and laugh and hold punching wars with her friends and never let on that I had been bleeding minutes before. If she wore boots and long sleeves long past what would have been normal, well, no one remarked on it or found it strange.
I talk much of masks, for that is how I have always referred to the myriad lies I told and acted. I am proud of my masks; they held up to the scrutiny of many people for many years. Of course that is not hard to do; people see what they wish to see. I need only set their minds on the track I wish them to take and their own preconceived ideas do most of the work. A few people saw through my masks, or at least parts of them. And yet, given a glimpse of the troubled, hurting soul inside, it was still easy to weave a new mask of their discovered truth and new lies. People do not know what to do with other people's pain, and so if given a chance, they are more than willing to ignore or discount that pain.
I fear I have drifted off track a little. I apologize. The point is that I am very familiar with lies and lying. Nowadays I try to do less of it, but sometimes I still must, both for my own sake and the sake of those I love. Even now I am wearing a mask. I have told very few people what is is. It is a fairly recent mask, in some ways. In others, it is as old as I am. Thankfully I will not be wearing it much longer. For all its brevity, it is probably the biggest mask I have ever worn. Deciding to take it off is perhaps the hardest thing I have ever done. That is saying something, as those of you who know even a little of my life should know. What is it? I will tell you soon.

This is Part Three of the series "Lies." Part Four, "The Biggest Mask," can be found here.

Lies: Big Lies

Everyone tells lies; we've established this. White lies, we call them, the little lies that we tell each other that make society run smoothly. But there are other, bigger lies. Some of them are good, some of them are bad. We tell them not to easy our way, but to manipulate the way the world around us operates.
Institutions like the Baptist college I went to tell lies to both their students and their supporters. They seek to present an appearance of holiness and conformity and will tolerate nothing that might tarnish that appearance, or "testimony" as they like to call it. This would be an example of a bad big lie, not necessarily because of the lie itself but because of the lengths they will go to in order to protect the lie.
Politicians lie. It has become so prevalent that we expect our government officials to lie to us. A "campaign promise" is nothing more than a lie. Yet not only do we expect these lies, we demand them. A politician who told only the truth would never be elected, because we demand to hear what we want to hear, even when we know we are only being placated. Of course we would prefer to hear the truth, or so we say...but we too are lying, if only to ourselves.
Speaking of lying to ourselves, we often tell huge lies to ourselves, damaging our own lives and selves much more than any external influence could. And it doesn't even make any sense, half the time. We tell ourselves we are fat or ugly or stupid or clumsy or untalented...or we tell ourselves that we are skinny or beautiful or brilliant or graceful or artistic. Of course these things are not always lies, but sometimes they are. Often, too, we are merely repeating the lies that we believed when someone else told them to us. But why do we continue to lie to ourselves? Why do we seek to convince ourselves that we are one thing when we are truly another? Why do we believes ourselves so inherently invaluable that we must be something other than what we are?
Religions lie. Whether you call yourself Christian or Buddhist or Hindu or Muslim or anything else, your religion has lied. Does that make your actual beliefs false? No, of course not. But religion, as an organized or semi-organized body of humans, is possibly one of the worst propagators of lies ever to exist. Religion's lies have been both good and bad. To some, they have granted peace and contentment in this life; others, they have sent forcibly out of this life altogether. Whichever, good or bad, I think we can all agree that religion's lies have had a tremendous impact on the lives of billions of people throughout history.
The point here is that lies, like all other words, have consequences. It is cause and effect, and you cannot always know exactly what the effect will be.

This is Part Two of the series "Lies." Part Three, "My Lies," can be found here.

Lies: Small Lies

We all lie. The reasons are many and varied, but we have all lied and continue to do so daily. I am not saying it is a bad thing, nor am I saying it is a good thing. But it is something we all do.
Now I would guess some of you don't believe me right now. Some of you probably think of yourselves as honest people. I dare say, however, that even you lie, and lie frequently. Have you ever said "I'm fine" when you weren't? I think that is the biggest and most frequent lie people tell. I know it is for me. Have you ever found yourself rushing around the house cleaning frantically before a guest arrives? I know that seems a little weird in this list but why do you do that? In general it is because you want your guest to think of you as a neat, clean person...even though in reality you're not. Have you ever given an insincere compliment? Have you ever told someone you're too busy to do something with or for them even when you have absolutely nothing planned? Online, have you ever said "afk" or "brb" when you aren't actually going anywhere or have no intention of coming back, you just don't feel like talking anymore? I am sure you have done one or more of these things, just as I have. We are all liars.
Are these bad things to say or do? I think it depends. Society or culture or maybe just human nature punishes us for telling the truth in many of those cases. Most people really couldn't care less how you're actually doing when they ask (a form of lying in itself), and telling them the truth only drives them away. Everyone knows that nobody keeps a clean house all the time, yet we make character judgments if we visit a messy house. Insincere compliments are in general your own fault, as you aren't punished for not giving them. However, you are sometimes rewarded if you do. The last two essentially go together. We would like to tell the truth sometimes in those cases...but we can't, not without causing pain or offense to the person we are interacting with (or trying not to interact with).
So essentially, you see, we are all liars. We all lie. Even without pressure from society in certain ways, we would still be liars, I think. It is part of our nature. We all want to be accepted by those around us, and we all do our best to fit in. Invariably that means telling at least a few lies.

This is Part One of the series "Lies." Part Two, "Big Lies," can be found here.

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.

*Cough Cough*

property of bizarro.com

Character Death

Some day I'm going to make a character on some game. And I'm going to name it "darkness" or "depression" or "shadows," something along those lines. And I'll tell myself, I'm only allowed to be depressed when I'm playing that toon. And then...I'll never touch it again.

One More For Old Time's Sake

Deanna Durbin

I hear people talking about the cartoons they grew up with...well, I wasn't allowed to watch those things. I got in trouble for Bananas in Pajamas. This is the kind of thing I grew up on...

Week Blah Blah Blah

• Untwisting
• You Would Have Me Believe
• Markers
• A little something
• Strong
• The Music of my Childhood
• You Think You Understand?
• WoW
• I Went Fire on my Mage
• I Want to KILL Things

Blah blah blah nobody reads this anymore anyway.

A little something

You Would Have Me Believe

You would have me believe that what I grew up believing was the truth, and that the truths I now believe are a lie. But what does that mean, exactly? It means that, if the Bible is true, I was never a Christian, no matter how much I thought I was. If some are to be believed, I am a goat among the sheep, doomed to stand at Christ's left hand and be cast into hellfire and brimstone forever. If I was not saved, all those years I earnestly sought God's face, it stands to reason I shall not become saved if I turn to seek his face once more. You would have me believe the truth of your religion, not to convert me, but to have me live the rest of my life knowing I am doomed to eternal punishment. You would have me believe that the only eternal life I can look forward to is one lived in a lake of fire and brimstone. You would have me believe that this is just, that a holy God demands that some be punished while some go free. I would have thought a holy God would demand that all be punished, or if a way to freedom was provided, that all his beloved creations go free. That is not the way of it, according to your Bible. It would have me believe that even though I willingly came to drink of the waters of eternal life, I am yet forever damned. Even though I called my God "Lord, Lord," he would still cast me out. Even though I came to him earnestly and sought him fervently, he would still say to me, "Depart from me into everlasting darkness. I never knew you." 
This is what you would have me believe. This is what you seek so earnestly to convince me of.

I Want to KILL Things

I punched Deathwing in the face the other night again. (Usually when I say this I just mean "I killed so-and-so," but if you've ever done Madness you know that "punching Deathwing in the face" is actually quite literal.) It was quite fun, as usual. Then I got done and pugged another raid. We only got as far as punching Ultraxion in the face, but I was okay with that because raiding is stressful and 12 bosses in one night is a lot. Howsoever, I also still wanted to finish because I quite enjoy killing things. I also enjoy other things about WoW, but mainly it's the killing things part that makes it fun. So right now, I'm kind of ticked that I don't have the endurance to pug five toons a week into Dragon Soul in addition to my main. Then again, at the rate people are asking me to join their raid teams I would really only have to pug three a week. Honestly though...we are only just now getting to where we can finish DS in one night. Now I'm supposed to start a raid group with a couple of friends on another server and faction, so it will probably be a couple months before we get to this point there. And a friend on my main server also wants one of my toons in HIS brand new raid group. I'm unsure on the sanity of trying to raid three nights a week with three different toons...but I kind of want to try. Because again...I want to kill things.

Life's Journey Revisited

 

I Went Fire On My Mage

I'm quite fond of Adele, despite having only discovered her recently. But I think it's possible I'm even more fond of this song.

The Music of my Childhood

I enjoy many different kinds of music, but the music of my childhood has a special place in my heart. Although I may not agree with the lyrics so much anymore, the music is still beautiful and tugs at your emotions. To be honest, the only thing I miss about leaving Christianity is singing...there truly is nothing like lifting your voice in glorious harmony with dozens or hundreds of other people, united for just a bit in one voice and one mind. So here is a version of a song from my childhood (that I would NOT have listened to then, given its less than ultra-conservative arrangement) that I would like to share for your enjoyment as well as my own.

Life's Journey

From the pain of years gone by
To the sorrow of my heart
From the tears I now must cry
To the pointless praise of art

From the life spent much in vain
To the words that no one sees
From the soul that bears a stain
To false whispers on the breeze

From the pain that now returns
To the fear of lost control
From the truth tradition spurns
To the scars upon my soul

From regret and wasted light
To past hopes that now must fade
From the solitude of night
To the hate forgiveness made

From temptation fierce and strong
To tumultuous desire
From the stares that linger long
To the scars that burn like fire

From promises' betrayal
To the shadows that light sends
From poet's stark denial
To the knowledge this all ends

The Love of Pain

There are many types of pain, and there are therefore many types of self-injury. The most obvious one that springs to mind, of course, is cutting, but that is merely the most common outward one. For you can self-injure your heart and mind and soul just as effectively without a blade.
I think one of the questions we ask ourselves most is why? Why pick up a blade and leave our skin in shreds? Why purposefully imagine scenarios that bring you pain? Why bring up past hurts and memories and griefs in your mind and allow them to eat away at your soul? Why lash your soul again and again with the guilt of things that you've done? Why does some part of you enjoy these things? In another place I wrote a post about words and their strange compulsion in me, but that is only part of the reason I have until recently maintained a vast collection of words that bring me pain. For some small part of me delights in pain, it loves to wallow in the kind of heartbreak that has until very recently been a large part of my life. I stir up strife and drama (does that surprise you? I'm not actually that acerbic) and let the anger and hate I've provoked shred my soul in their sharp talons.
I haven't yet figured out why I'm a masochist. It isn't "fun" or "pleasant," even if it does feel "good." I've come up with a lot of explanations, but none really explain everything about it. Perhaps it is a mix of several things, or perhaps it is none of those things at all. I do know at least that it is not uncommon, that I am not alone. That helps...somewhat, but knowing that other people have the same problems doesn't really help me solve my own.
I hate to stop here, with tears running down my cheeks and a heart full of pain that I did not desire, but I've run out of words. That, at least, answers one of the questions: Why take up a blade? Because I have no words to express the pain.

You Think You Understand?

It bothers me when I hear statements like this: "I know what you feel like, I wanted to cut once." Why? Because you are claiming a false empathy. You have absolutely no idea what I feel like. You are trivializing an agonizing portion of my being. It is easy to think about cutting in the abstract, but if you've never done it you have no idea of that of which you speak so flippantly.
Have you ever felt the delicate kiss of a razor blade as it travels across your skin, and the sharp exquisite pain of its bite? Have you ever watched as the blood starts to well up, first in tiny droplets, then a steady flow down your arm? Have you ever felt your entire body go limp as a wave of endorphins washes away the pain that is always there and you tasted blessed freedom?
Have you ever laid awake at night, struggling to keep yourself from reaching for the blade once more? Have you ever carried on a normal conversation with a loved one while your mind and body clamor overwhelmingly with the desire to spill more of your own blood? Have you ever hated yourself for who you've become even as your grip tightens to make that first red line, only to revel once more in that rush of glorious freedom? Have you ever lived in absolute slavery to that which you both worship and despise?
How could you possibly think "wanting to cut once" empowers you to know how these things feel?

A Week of Art and Little Else

• I Play with Markers
• Stick Art 3
• Geometric Something
• Graph Paper
• Colored... Things...
• Compass Craziness
• My House
• Compass and Colored Pencil
• Strong through Life
• A Resolution of Words

Compass and Colored Pencil

My "House"

I intended to draw my house when I started this. And if you look at only the front door and the garage I did okay. The slight issue is that the main part of the house (including the second story) actually starts to the right of the front door. So...I was a little off. Another fun fact: I drew each brick individually. Because after all, when the point is to wasted time, time must therefore be wasted as much as possible.

Compass Craziness

A school compass, not a directional one. Just in case, you know, that wasn't clear.

Colored...Things...

Graph Paper

You know what this is? This is the epitome of "bored in class."

A Resolution of Words

I devour words.

Words have always been my passion. If I have a spare moment, and there are words, I will be reading them. It doesn't matter if they are significant words or not, really. For example, if I've used the bathroom in your house, I've probably read the back of all your shampoo bottles and other such products. If you give me a newspaper I will read it all, down to the ups and downs of the stock market and that one article about the junior high baseball team that took third in some unimportant regional tourney.

Books of course are not excluded. I have read most of the hundreds of books in my house, and what I haven't read, I plan to. This includes such diverse things as a study on I Corinthians (does that surprise you? It is words) to numerous fantasy novels to my husband's nursing textbooks. Books have shaped my mind over the years. Fantasy novels especially tend to present truth in such a way that you wonder, why exactly have you never thought about it that way before? And before you know it, your viewpoint is forever changed. If, like me, you can devour a thousand page tome in just a couple of sittings, the amount of knowledge you are inundated with can become almost overwhelming, and you start to realize how little it is that you actually know, and how much of the world you have yet to discover.

If the words are significant to me, however, this strange quirk becomes an obsession. If you mention me, or respond to the words I've written, or are simply a friend or an acquaintance, I will read your words. Then I will refresh your blog and read them again. I have folders of hundreds of emails and chats that I cannot bear to delete because they contain your words. I cannot help myself. I have read things that caused me great pain, and saved them, and read them again; not because I like that kind of pain, but because I quite literally cannot resist the temptation to open that email or follow that link.

I devour words. I will not allow them to control me.

And so I am making a stand here. I am choosing to defy this portion of me. I am choosing to ignore some words, words that have caused me frustration, have brought me pain, and have driven the darkness deeper into my soul. I will not visit Freedom in Christ nor Seriosome.org. I will not see what new arrogance has been posted on En Taro Adun or Denudantis Iudicia in Stratis Veritas. I go now to delete many emails and chats, never to see them again. I will not allow words to bind me in chains of blood.

I devour words. I will not allow them to control me. I am the master here.

Geometric Something

Stick Art 3

Last one...for now.

The Week, It has Passed

Much thought has been had! Much debating over stupid things has been done! Time for a new beginning it is!

• I Play with Markers (last week, this week, and next week I have scheduled posts of one piece of "art" a day that I drew when I was in high school. They aren't in any particular order.)
• Crayon
• Through the Trees
• I Couldn't Spell "Pharaoh" At All (I still can't)
• Stick Art 1
• All Hands Lost
• When the Last Leaf Falls
• Stick Figure 2
• Untwisting the Tangled Web (just so you know, I don't link Lalaith's posts here, simply because they're Lalaith's posts, and this wrap-up is of my posts. So be sure to check out her work after you follow the links to mine.)
• I am a Sinner?
• Memory Verses
• Threnody's WoW
• Pydredd
• Strong Through Life (just in case, you know, you're too lazy to scroll down)
• Beauty

Join us again next week for more poetry, prose, art, snark, and intellectual discussions!

Memory Verses

I used to be the queen of verse memorization. Well, memorizing anything really, and as a young Baptist, that meant verses. Because, you know, having memorized every verse in the Bible on prayer, for instance, shows that I am a great Prayer Warrior, right? Heh heh. So anyway, having come across a nostalgic 1.5 inch or so stack of 3x5 cards inscribed with these verses, I'm sharing them with you. With commentary. And possibly snark. Because, after all, I'm the queen of snark, too.Warning: in case you hadn't yet figured it out, I'm not applying logic, emotion, or anything else to these verses. I'm making fun of them. Scoffing, if you will. So before you reply, if you happen to be a Christian, think about Proverbs 9:7. Also, if you feel like calling me foolish (and don't deny that you do), consider Proverbs 26:4-5. Ignore any lack of inherent logic in that passage, because of course, it's the Bible, and therefore it is true even if it states two opposite things right after each other.

"And herein do I exercise myself, to have always a conscience void of offence toward God, and toward men." Acts 24:16. Wow, I thought that was impossible, to have a conscience void of offence toward God, since God is, you know, the pinnacle of holiness and the fact that we have a sin nature is an offense to that holiness. You know, despite that fact that we can't help having a sin nature. And that he tells us to be holy anyway. Despite that.

"They that forsake the law praise the wicked: but such as keep the law contend with them." Proverbs 28:4. Oh, I guess you SHOULD argue with me, then. No wait, answer me not. No wait, answer me. Or you could just wallow in confusion, that'd probably be best. No, no, hush, don't talk, you're confuzzled.

"By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God, and keep his commandments. For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous." I John 5:2-3. Oh, so we don't love God if we don't keep his commandments. Let's see, here's an easy one: don't commit adultery. Okay, got it, that one is easy. Oh wait "he that looks on a woman with lust has committed adultery with her in his heart." So basically, anyone who has ever been a teenage male (or female) is screwed. Although not literally, just in his heart. The heart that is, you know, deceitful above all things and desperately wicked and therefore not really capable of keeping ANY of God's commandments. So in reality, nobody has ever loved God. And it is of course in no way a grievous thing to deny your body what its built in hormone system (excuse me, God-given hormone system) demands. Nope, not at all. Easiest thing in the world, really.

"A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself; but the simple pass on, and are punished." Proverbs 27:12. There isn't actually anything to argue with here, I don't think. Keep your eyes open and your head up, idiots. Man I love proverbs.

"For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I." Romans 7:15.
"Now then it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me." Romans 7:17.
"For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not. For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do." Romans 7:18-19.
"I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me." Romans 7:21. Welcome to Romans 7, the Schizophrenia passage. Prisoner at the bar: "No, no, your honor, I didn't do that, that was my 'sin nature.' I can't help it, really I can't, your honor." Judge: "I know you can't, but too bad! You're condemned to death anyway!" Prisoner at the bar: "But I'm actually a good person, your honor, I have God living inside me, I can't be condemned even if I sin because I don't really want to sin, your honor. I just do it anyway." Judge: "Wait, so you're telling me that you've got both God and sin living inside you? How does that make sense?" Prisoner at the bar: "Well it doesn't really, your honor, but God says it is true, so it must be." I'm sorry, in what universe besides the Bible would that actually make sense? Oh, right, it wouldn't.

"What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's." You know, it's no wonder that God didn't have a problem with slavery (well, he did, if the slave was Jewish, you had to set it free eventually. Otherwise, it was yours to keep). After all, we are all slaves to him, he owns us, body and soul, according to him. Unless you look at other verses, of course. Then you get things like "if the Son shall make you free, you shall be free indeed." Because being owned body and soul means you're free, of course. 

"You have a choice. You have been given the ability and free will to choose who and what will be the king in your life. You choose who and what will be in control. You choose who and what you will obey. You choose to whom and to what you will yield. You choose who and what will dominate your life. You choose to please God or please self." Rand Hummel, Lest You Fall. I'm sorry, Rand, but have you read the Schizophrenia Passage lately? Because I just did and I'm positive it says that in fact, we don't get to choose, we're going to sin whether we like it or not. And if we don't like it, really we don't get to please God OR self, which seems kind of unfair to me. If I'm going to sin, SOMEBODY might as well enjoy it, right?

"Give unto the Lord the glory due his name: bring an offering, and come before him: worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness." I Chronicles 16:29. Yep, holiness. You heard him. What do you mean you can't be holy? God told you to be holy, therefore you had better be holy, bro. God doesn't care if you have a sin nature that you were born with, you had better be holy or he's gonna take you out. For his glory, of course.

"For the grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men*, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world." Titus 2:11-12.  You're really starting to contradict yourself here, Paul my buddy. Is it possible to deny ungodliness/our sin nature, or isn't it? And how, really, does a human being live godly? Because the last time I checked, I didn't know everything and I certainly wasn't all-powerful or outside time itself. Let me check again. ... Nope, still not godly. Or were you talking about the "inward man"? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not perfect or loving or kind or any of that, at least not on a godlike scale. So, you're just calling us to do something that's impossible. Jerk.
*the elect. Duh. Obviously God hasn't given his grace to "all men," that would be like, so totally stupid. Why would God want EVERYONE to be saved when he could send SOME of them to hell without even a chance at grace? That would be, like, so totally unholy of him.

"But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition." I Timothy 6:9.Remember, children, money is evil. Give it to the church, they won't be corrupted by such things, let them handle the evil money for you.

"That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts." Ephesians 4:22. Um, Paul, buddy, pal, friend. You just got done telling our good friends the Romans all about how you (the man who is, according to yourself, like, the best Christian ever) can't even do this. Or maybe the church at Ephesus had some special "freeing themselves from their sin nature" super power that neither you nor the Romans had? If so, I'm jealous and why didn't they share? No fair, man, no fair.

"Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof." Romans 6:12. Jlkjasdfhoiqwrbmmn. Let's have a contest! It's called "See how many times Paul can contradict himself in the New Testament." Ready? Go!!

"He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?" Romans 8:32. So, I've been informed by reputable and trustworthy sources* that this is NOT, in fact, human sacrifice, because Christ was actually God. But he was still human. Is there a special word for sacrificing some that is both God and human? Goman sacrifice? Humod sacrifice? The point here is that somehow killing something innocent makes up for murder, you know, YOU killing something innocent.
*the Internet. Also preachers and other various and assorted Christians.

Stick Figure 2

Another awesome "stick figure!" Yay!

When the Last Leaf Falls

...something will happen.

All Hands Lost

...because I was a morbid little teenager?

Stick Art 1

Yes, I know it isn't technically a stick figure. But if I tell you it is, you'll be like "Wow, that's pretty awesome for a stick figure!" instead of "Wow, that person sucks!"