"I Am Twice Your Size:" Casual Physical Intimidation

 Trigger warning, obviously, for physical intimidation, implied threats, an adult terrorizing children, being "tickled" too hard (non-consensually) so that it hurts, not being listened to about very strong feelings, inappropriate (non-consensual) touching by other children, and general, all-around shittiness. It's also about an empowering experience, too, so it's not all dark, and it ends on a good note. If you wish to proceed, enjoy.

Christmas with the Christian side of the family, I anticipated, would be extremely unpleasant. The year before a couple of uncles had been delighted with Duck Dynasty's Phil Robertson and had eagerly expressed their glee to one another. "Even if you don't agree, you've got to admire him for standing up for his beliefs," one of them had smiled.
I had not said anything that year, being shocked at what they had said (since it was relatively old news even then), and not knowing what to say.
This time, for weeks beforehand, I had practiced saying that I actually don't admire the publicity stunts of reality stars, that I didn't think a loving god would tell someone that an act of love was an abomination, even that no one can judge another's salvation (because, once again, my grandfather was asking us to come to his church, even though he thinks that we are believers like him).
Surprisingly, though, it was not an unpleasant Christmas; my great stand was not about religion or politics at all, and I stood up to someone that I wasn't expecting to.
My cousin was asking an uncle about a gun he was thinking of buying.
"Why do you want it?" his older brother (whom I think of as Blue-Butt because of a Smurf rape joke that I got in trouble for years ago) asked.
"Because it has more firepower," answered my youngest cousin. (I will call him Red-Butt, because when he was very little, after his bath he used to run through the house naked. We older kids would grab towels and try to capture him and cover him up, everyone laughing all the while, and my mother would yell, "There goes the Red-Butted Boobie!" (not an actual bird))
"He wants to make a bigger hole," his dad commented.
Blue shook his head. "Poor child," he said sarcastically.
The words flew out of my mouth and I was pointing deliberately at him before I realized what was going on. "That's how I feel about you!" I retorted.
"I am twice your size," he said, contemptuously emphasizing every word.
"So?" I asked, spreading my hands and giving him a purposefully confused look. I was thankful that my mouth had responded so quickly.
He rolled his eyes, gave a little scoff and looked away, ignoring me. He had not answered my question, which made me think that I had won somehow.
After a few seconds, I mumbled, "I'm just teasing you, Blue. I'm just kidding... sort of," but I don't think he heard me, and my heart wasn't in it. It felt bad to say, and so I stopped saying it. 
I couldn't get this little exchange out of my mind for hours afterwards. I cannot imagine how physical size would have anything to do with being nice to people, or even with acting childish. Did he think physical size made him more adult than me? Or that he could subtly put people down because of his size? Or even that I couldn't feel a certain way about him? (Red is as big as he is, so he can't really put Red down as being child-sized compared to him.)
There are at least three things I believe happened here: 1) I probably have made an enemy, whether I was right or wrong to say it, 2) I told him that I was not intimidated by his physical size or strength, and, 3) I was more of a loudmouth than I ever remember. I told him what I thought of him, and I love that that happened.
I am surprised that he would resort to physical intimidation to shut me up, that that was apparently okay with him, and equally surprised at my response. I have always thought of myself as timid and scared, and I once told my mom that on some level I was physically afraid of all men. That is still true somewhat, but here I was, unafraid of him.
As a child I had been terrified of an uncle who physically bullied me (and my cousins), "tickling" us until it hurt, grabbing us against our wills and hanging us upside down in spite of our terrified screams (the other adults did not take our protests seriously, and did not want to make waves).
As an adult, I had bought a can of mace and decided that even in my family, there would also be legal repercussions if someone tried to physically intimidate me. "Get out of my face!" I would say, and if they persisted, I would mace them and later say, truthfully, that I was afraid for my physical safety. They would know not to mess with me, and that I did not take implied threats lightly. If they were to invade my physical space, after all, what's to stop them from hitting me? Perhaps I was being paranoid, but it made me feel a lot better.
That attitude, about an uncle, now applied to my cousin as well. Worst case scenario, if I ate my own teeth, didn't get a chance to mace him, and he beat the crap out of me, he would still be a felon. He would either be in prison or on the lam, and it would ruin his life. I didn't care how many people I pissed off, I would have gladly sent a bully to prison.
His threat was deflated; obviously, he would not have gone through with it. I was surrounded by my father, other male relatives, and my mother, who brawled quite a bit in high school, when other girls picked on her, and was strong enough to have had several very physical jobs. I also have taken two years of taekwondo, and apparently I was less cowed and intimidated by him than he expected (maybe even than I have been before). He was also sitting across the room from me; if he had been invading my personal space, looking down on me, I might have reacted differently; I really don't know.
I can either assume that he wouldn't have gone through with it, and thus was making idle threats (I don't know why else he would refer to physical size), or that he would have gone ahead and beaten up a person half his size for calling him childish.
He is three years younger than me, and this is not the first time that he made a point of boasting that he could take me on. When he was going through puberty and the subsequent growth spurts, he once told me, very arrogantly, "I'm stronger than you." (I forget the context of this situation; I was probably disagreeing with him.)
So what? I thought. You're still an asshole. I had not said it at the time, but I think I might if it happened now.
And I have punched him before. When I was twelve and he was nine, I often played male characters in our games, such as Woody and Robin. He started finding excuses to push me or touch me in the chest, all in the context of "play." It got to be such a problem, and bothered me so much, that (at my mother's suggestion, no less), I punched him when we were playing in my grandparents' pool one day with some of his friends. I thought that his touching me was in this case an accident, and I didn't feel very good about doing it in front of his friends, explaining what he did in front of them. But I was so desperate to have it stop that I did it anyway.
The blow had landed on his throat. I had thought that I would have a weak punch, but he was in tears, his voice hoarse. He was mad at me because he said it was an accident, and it abruptly put a stop to our game, but I was relieved. I had finally done it! I had finally physically hurt him, for using me as a sex object--not even taking my feelings into consideration when using my body to satisfy his sexual urges or curiosity. I hoped he would never do it again.
I was right; he never touched me again. He may have remembered it, and was looking for an opportunity to "put me in my place" or get back at me ever since.
Whatever the case, it doesn't look like he can or will make such threats anymore, and I don't have to let him put his brother down (as I saw it) in my presence.
It feels good to be mean.

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The Kitten, Part Two: He Wanted To Live

Pictured above is my little Marshmallow, about six months old now, with his adopted sister Callie (they are both sleeping, not dead, and I'm not sure why he has his tongue out in the second one). He is, in a way (a significant way) more special to me than my other cats, because I almost lost him, and this was right after my mother and I had found him.
Basically, his body was broken, his pelvis shattered, and the vet encouraged us to have him euthanized. He was presumably in a lot of pain, but we couldn't do it. The pain would be temporary, if he lived, and if he didn't, then we felt he at least deserved a fighting chance, a slightly longer life.
I still don't know to this day whether his swollen belly was FIP (a fatal feline disease), internal bleeding, or the air from a punctured lung, but we fed him full of herbs and supplements, and he lived. I get emotional daily over the simple fact that he lived!
I truly believe that he chose to live. He seemed determined, I was determined, and my mother was determined. He was going to live, if at all possible. We would not accept defeat until he was dead, cold and stiff. And now it appears that he won't be that way for a very long time yet.
This is, more or less, my mother's philosophy on living, and mine. "I just wonder, if people thought that there would be no afterlife, if they would fight harder," she said to me once.
She recalls often the time that she called a cousin of hers, offering to send supplements for her dying father. "These might help him and prolong his life," she reasoned.
"Oh, no, he said he just wants to go home," was the answer she got. "He's ready to go to heaven."
My mother does not call herself an atheist. I don't think she really calls herself anything, anymore. But she and I think the same way on a lot of matters, especially important ones like this. We both went through years of trying desperately to get close to God, shared our struggles with each other, tried very hard to be good Christians, to serve everyone around us.
And we both came to the conclusion that we just wanted to know the truth, even if it was painful. We don't want to believe anything that may not be true, and I believe that trusting the wrong people or ideologies is a good way to get hurt, be taken advantage of, or make the wrong choices.
My dad often teases us about our dedication to animal health. "He's going to be loved, dammit!" he laughed one day, when my mom wouldn't let Marshmallow out of the house because it was cold.
"That's right!" she agreed, animated.
"Good thing I'm not on my deathbed," he rolled his eyes, grinning. He turned to me. "Don't let her do that to me, Little One," he instructed.
"No, I will," she said, adamantly, "because guess what? When you're gone, you're gone!"
"Make them pull the plug," he informed me.
"Not me! You keep me alive as long as they'll let you!"
This fight was good-natured, but she was loud, passionate. I was happy to know that I would have my mother with me for as long as humanly possible.
I am very proud of her, and of my kitten.
We had determined to do everything we possibly could for him, that would not run the risk of hurting him. Though I could not truly bring myself to pray for his condition, at least not "properly," I remember holding him and trying to send "healing love vibes," from my heart, to him. I whispered things to him, like, "Let my love heal you." I tried to make my love give him strength. I sang the "I Love You Forever" song to him over and over again. I had the bluegrass song, "Carry Me Across The Mountain," about a mother who refuses to accept her sick child's death as inevitable, constantly in my head.
I believe that love can heal, and can strengthen. I have no idea whether the New Age, hippie-type stuff mentioned above actually works or not, but I would have tried anything, and I would do it all over again. I would try anything, and it at least is something to try. One benefit of these things, that I know to be true, is that it made me less negative and discouraged around him. Negativity was replaced with a grim, desperate determination.
I tell him often, "You'll get as much care as you need, Baby," though he hardly needs any care at all now, and I tell my other animals the same thing when they get sick or injured. I don't know how much animals understand, but I tell them anyway, just in case they do.
During Thanksgiving, I told Marshmallow's story to some relatives of mine. They seemed impressed.
"Yeah, but what kind of life does he have?" an uncle asked me.
If I had answered honestly, I would have told him, "The life of a little shit, that's what kind."
He climbs onto our roof with the other cats, in spite of our wishes. He occasionally jumps from heights much too high for a cat with a once-broken pelvis, as much as seven feet (again, in spite of our wishes), and doesn't seem hurt by the landing. He is an aggressive wrestler, attacking his siblings. He has caught (or probably stolen) several mice. When I have tried to rescue the mice (because life is precious), he grabs them and runs away to hide.
He was rebellious to the laws of nature, and now he is rebellious to us. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Still, what my uncle had said bothered me. I hoped it was not a cover for the sentiment that animals don't count. (There is nothing that makes me more murderous than hearing the phrase, "It's just an animal!" Imagine God or an alien life form saying that about us!)
I believe that life is precious, all life, except perhaps some humans. If some people don't care about their fellow creatures, or fellow humans, I would actually prefer that those people did not live. My one consolation is that I am not alone in my sentiments towards animals (and most of our species), and that at least the laws of nature don't apply at my house.

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Left For A Loaf, Or Waiting For The "Next" Man

 When I was in third grade, the cutest boy in my class left my Christian school to start homeschooling. I had liked him, or so I thought, and now he was leaving, so I picked the second-cutest boy in my class to like. My reasoning was, "Well, Aidan is leaving, so I guess I'll like Billy now."
The thing is, Billy was not my first choice, or even should have been a choice at all. He teased my best friend, drawing pictures of her desk as a pigsty (she was not very organized, but I thought she was nice). He was full of himself, and claimed to have a popular toy line named after him. He made it obvious that he didn't like me back (or at least, it's obvious to me now).
But I saw this boy as filling a role in my life, the role of latest crush, one that I apparently thought needed to be filled at all times. I didn't really like him, I realize now; I didn't really like anybody. He was just what I saw as the most desirable pick from among the boys I knew, which I guess wasn't saying much. He wasn't Mr. Right; he was Mr. Right Now, as the cliche goes.
When the guy I liked most recently, Mark, acted as if he enjoyed my company, but failed to call me, it certainly affected my feelings for him, but something else bothered me about him. I couldn't place it at first, but then I realized what it was: Why was he the most "desirable" young man I knew? Why was there no one "better" than him (that I knew of, assuming I might have misjudged someone else)? 
What truly bothered me was the question of why there were such slim pickings.
I have read The Rules, the best-selling dating book of the '90s, and its suggestion for when a man does not call is to say, "Next!" and look for someone else. But what if there is no one else? What if you are too lazy, or too busy with your life, to sign up for online dating or go to singles mixers? If for some reason these aren't an option for you (for example, you're an introvert, don't have time, or you're eight), do you then "pick" the "second-best" guy in your social group? Or for that matter, do you just "pick" someone online, who doesn't quite measure up to your standards, just because he comes the closest?
Of course, I think that getting to know someone better, that you may not know that well or may have previously misjudged, is a very healthy thing. But in third grade, I wasn't "getting to know him better." I was "picking" him to like, no matter what he did, not deciding whether or not I liked him. And I have seen grown women who apparently have the same kind of attitude towards men.
A couple weeks after I gave Mark my phone number, another student was playing a video with guitar music on his phone, before class. Mark bragged that he had found a loaf of bread for sale in the cafeteria, explained how much he loved bread, then started happily doing the fox-trot with the half-eaten loaf of bread, to the tune of the guitar music.
Well, I thought, that's either very weird or very adorable. I was leaning towards the former.
He spun around in circles. "I feel very twirly today," he smiled.
Perhaps that was why he didn't call me, I thought smugly, because he's "twirly." I never had a chance with him anyway.
I have to admit, when I saw him dancing with a loaf of bread, I felt a little bit better about myself. Apparently I had dodged a very bizarre bullet. I wasn't unlikeable; he was the weird guy who dances with bread, instead of making a connection with another human being (a little cruel, perhaps, but sometimes I guess I just don't care). What a wonderful gift from the universe this was.
So now, I am not in third grade anymore. I don't have a slot to fill in my life (not a dirty joke). I had thought that a worthwhile man had presented himself, but apparently he proved a dud. And I don't think I'll look around for the "Next" one, either, or pick my second choice. I think I would rather focus more on loving myself.

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"You're Acting Like A Dillweed:" Shit Gay People Say, Part Two

 (Click here for Part One)

My first day of acting class, we were all told to introduce ourselves, then tell two truths and a lie about ourselves. My lie was that I was one of seven sisters. A young man whom I will call John informed me, "When you're making up a number of siblings, you don't say seven!"
Another guy, Harrison, said that he loved movies. Every single one of us fell for that lie, though for the most part the class was very good at spotting the lies. Here is the reason we fell for it, if others' reasoning is anything like mine:
Harrison spoke in a softer, higher-pitched voice than is normally typical for a man.
I reasoned that a straight man would probably speak in a lower-pitched voice, even if he had to artificially deepen his voice, because of the fear of being mistaken for a gay man, especially by the opposite sex.
Since Harrison was probably an openly gay man, in theater, it would make sense that he would love old movies, since so many are musicals, and theater people sometimes love musicals. Also, some plays are based on old movies, and vice-versa.
I really wasn't sure whether my reasoning was offensive or inaccurate stereotyping, or not, but I was taken by surprise when he shook his head, saying, "I actually don't really like movies."
He's a genius, I thought. Did he do that on purpose? He had played the entire room, based on stereotypes and the ability to keep a straight face. I wondered if he had had any other experience keeping a "straight" face to the world. (In the next class, he would manage to play one half of a straight married couple in a barely-rehearsed skit, and with a Russian accent.)

A few weeks later, one night after class, a girl named Debbi mentioned in passing that she was bisexual, in a conversation in which I confided that I was an atheist. The next day, we struck up a conversation before class about foreign languages and genealogy. Apparently she had had a great-uncle who refused to speak anything but German, unless talking to authorities. I had a great-grandfather who fled his home state and changed his name, the reason of which my family has no idea.
After the class, as I stood talking to some other students, I felt someone standing close behind me, whispering in a creepy voice. I thought I knew what the voice was saying, but wasn't precisely sure. About one second later, Debbi joined our little group, an overly innocent look on her face.
"I think I just heard a ghost," I said.
Debbi shrugged. "No, that was just me, whispering, 'I will eat you.'"
"Oh, no!" I melodramatically acted horrified, offering her food. I imitated my little brother, Cody's, wide-eyed, shocked facial expression, from the time that he was three and trying to convince me that he had cut his leg off with a pair of scissors ("Ow! I cut my weg off!").
I wondered then if she had thought I was talking to her expressively because she was bi. I had to admit that I was a relatively safe bet on her part, since she knew I was an atheist and unlikely to be morally opposed to a mutual lesbian feast.

Last week, as my mom was picking me up from class, I apologized for taking so long. "Sorry I'm late. Harrison and John were arguing over whether 'Why' or 'How' was a better question, philosophically."
"Oh, you think he likes John?" she grinned mischievously.
"He called him a dillweed," I answered. She started laughing as I imitated him. "Why are we having this discussion? Maybe it's because you're acting like a dillweed right now..."
"That John is good-looking," she said. "You should talk to him."
"He said he could manipulate conversations and make people smell walls," I pleaded.
"Walls?"
"Yes, walls. 'You smell that? That smells so weird. Sniff that...And they do!' he said. He does it just for fun!"
Later, as I recounted this bit of fascinating information to my father, Mom added, "But I don't think he said 'walls.'"
"He said 'balls?'" my dad grinned.
"I think it was 'balls!'" she declared.
I had to admit that John was looking at me at the time. I really had thought he had said "walls."
"He wants you to sniff his balls," she laughed.
If this is true, I thought, then maybe he really is a dillweed. 
For some reason, though, that didn't stop my mother from wanting me to go out with him...

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Crushing On A Christian...No Longer

I walked into class on the first day of school, and joined some people gathered around chatting, waiting for class to start.
"This book I'm reading, they have gladiatorial fights to the death, and they have holograms, only they're solid!" A young man with a big, bushy beard, whom I later learned was named John, said excitedly.
"How do you make a solid hologram?" a woman asked skeptically.
"Well, how do you make a lightsaber?" I asked, thinking that it must be the same theoretical principle.
A guy near me became visibly excited at the question. "Pure plasma within a magnetic field!" he answered promptly, holding one finger in the air triumphantly.
"Really?!" I was taken aback, surprised and delighted that I had gotten an answer so readily to a rhetorical question. I almost laughed at how his entire face lit up with happiness at the unexpected Star Wars trivia.
Until the teacher arrived, he spent the next few minutes explaining the history of the lightsaber to me, how the first of them required a huge backpack and worked more like heavy artillery (though I don't think this was in the canon universe).
I smiled all the while, not sure if I was laughing with him or at him, but amused to no end that he was so very excited to tell me.
Getting to know this guy, whom I'll call Mark, over the next few weeks made me rethink my feelings towards Ben, the ChrILF (Christian I'd Like to Forget) that I used to know. I have said in my previous posts that I was in love with him, and that "there was no one I wanted to fuck more."
But now...I wasn't in love with Mark, and I wasn't sure I could be said to be in love with Ben, if I could like someone else. I wasn't even sure I would choose Ben, anymore, if I could. I had liked what he was, or what I thought he was, but I didn't want someone trapped within purity and courting doctrines, or who had not "outgrown" the notion of hell (or who would think I was destined for hell, if he knew what I really was).
I felt rather foolish now, wondering if I had mistaken something else for love: physical longing, pity, wanting to "rescue" him from his strict parents and their doctrines. Or even trying to prove myself acceptable to his devout Christian family, and somehow win some kind of victory.
What am I in love with now? I wondered. I still sometimes felt a longing, that I couldn't describe, but it was more generalized now.
We could wear matching Halloween costumes and go to parties together, I thought, that is...if I actually like Mark. I don't know yet. Maybe if he's no good, I could do fun things with someone else...
Eventually I gave him my phone number, and though he sat next to me, seemed to seek my company, and sometimes looked at me in a way I found very interested and affectionate, he did not call. His radio silence started to affect my liking of him, at least in one way. Maybe he is just a friend, I thought. So now I was not in love with anyone. I was almost feeling a bit jaded.
It just so happens that a few weeks ago, in an acting class I was assigned to act out a scene as the character Julia, from Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona, who alternates between swooning over a letter from her lover, and hating herself for tearing it into pieces to prove a point to her maid, two behaviors that I have spent years actively trying to avoid. I also had to imagine what it was like to lust after someone, which a few years ago I would have considered a sin.
Great, I thought, now I have to fall in love with Proteus too? When I've been so unlucky in love? This should be interesting...
Though it was a shame, it became apparent that I wouldn't be thinking of Mark during my scene (I wondered vaguely if he wondered about that). And though I still occasionally have longings, I am at least free of my longing for Ben, and know more than I ever thought there was to know about lightsabers.

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Doubts About My Doubts: Am I A "True" Atheist?

I always try to keep an open mind about the possibility of a god existing, and I think often on Youtube personality Rob Dyke's admonition to "just talk to God," (I wrote a post about it a couple of months ago, What Is A Religion?) and how he seems to say that it's okay to cuss God out. Sometimes I even try to "talk" to God. Here is the first thing I usually think of:
"God, I'm still upset that you didn't show yourself to me when I asked you to, multiple times, years ago...or really, begged you to. Even a sense of peace eluded me. Why would you do such a thing? Why would you ignore me? And no, I'm not going to capitalize 'you,' I don't think you deserve it..."
I have seen very flimsy evidence that there is a god, seemingly always either an appeal to emotion or circular reasoning. From the evidence I have available, I don't think God is likely to be real.
But when I think about what I would say to God, if I were to have such a "conversation," the first thing I would say would be that I was upset with him. I've been told by some Christians online that I hate God. That I know he exists, but I'm mad at him, so I play a childish game of ignoring him, which also makes it easier for me to sin.
But I've also heard atheists argue that you cannot be mad at someone who doesn't exist. Yet when I "pretend" that he is real, in my own mind, I am bothered emotionally by his behavior, by his distance.
And I wonder if I'm just doing what I think God did to me: ignoring him entirely. I also wonder if I'm just programmed to think in terms of "hating God," as an atheist. But "hate" is a very strong word, and I don't want to waste my life hating anyone. I would rather be happy, whenever I can. "Hate" is not the right word to describe how I feel about God (when I pretend that he exists). It's more like the feeling I get when I'm upset with a loved one or family member, when I have to say something about what bothers me.
But with everyday people, when you say something, you know they've heard you, hopefully they'll respond, and you'll be able to have a conversation about it. With God, I feel like I'm speaking in an empty room. No closure.
Maybe I do believe in God, I think sometimes, if I have feelings about him...But why is my "belief" full of doubts? If I truly believed in God, would I really have doubts about his existence?
When I first started thinking that I was an atheist, I decided that I would not be "married" to the label like I was when I was a Christian. I was constantly trying to "prove" I was a Christian, doing mental gymnastics to justify my beliefs logically and morally, and dismissing opposing arguments that made sense with the almost pleading thought that it wasn't true, it couldn't be true, because it was contradictory to the bible, or to what most mainstream evangelical Christians believed.
(I now reject arguments sometimes because they contradict what I believe about the world or a loving god, which is a huge difference and feels so much better; for example, I believe a loving God can't be against homosexuality because it hurts people to believe that their desires for love and physical connection are evil. A theoretical God wouldn't want to put people through that.)
I occasionally hear Christian arguments that stump me, and wonder if I'm not as smart as other atheists who seem to have ready answers for everything. I'm also not sure I can change my entire view of God, science, morality or the bible based on one argument alone. Oftentimes I get confused, and don't know what I believe, though I seem to know what I find unbelievable or unacceptable. (My very first post, When You Don't Feel Like An Atheist, was about a similar subject: praying in my mind out of habit, and the ensuing confusion about what I was.)
When I was a Christian, I was afraid to admit that I had doubts, for fear that I would be looked down upon by fellow Christians or be a bad witness to nonbelievers. Now I wonder if other atheists will think I'm dumb, or if Christians will jump on the chance to say, "See! You know there's a god! That's why you're confused!"
But why, then, did I feel this way when I was a Christian too?
If a Christian came to me, struggling with doubts about their faith, I don't believe it would be right to try to deconvert them, or say, "See? I told you so!" I don't know why they're confused, so it would be incredibly arrogant for me to think I do.
"I'm sorry," I would say. "I have been there. It's not easy."
I would perhaps tell them that if God were real, he would know their sincerity, that they're really trying to please him. That they may not end up an atheist like me (which would probably be something they fear, "losing their salvation"), but even if they do, it will be all right. Above all, I would tell them that either way, we were still friends, and that I wouldn't have a preference for how I want them to be.
And I wouldn't assume that if they sought the truth long enough, they would become atheists.
There's a reason I called my blog Atheist Journeys. Since at one time I didn't think I would ever be an atheist, I can't say for certain that I won't also become something else one day (though I don't think I'll ever again be the kind of fearful Christian I once was). In a way, I do consider my atheism to be a phase, a phase I may be in for the rest of my life.
I imagine I will always have beliefs, and doubts, and even doubts about my doubts (though I wouldn't go so far as to call my double-doubts beliefs). Maybe someday I will even find a way to make sense of them all.

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Bleaching Jesus: Acting Like A Christian, Hobby Lobby, And Hitler's Penny

The next day was the first day of a new school year for me. I am in college, and was excited to be taking an acting class, though a little nervous.
I wanted my hair to be a lighter shade of blonde, so I asked my mom to help me dye it.
"Change into a shirt you don't mind ruining," she said.
So I dug around in my room, and found a hand-me-down from my mother's cousin, a shirt that read "Jesus, Lion of Judah."
My mom gasped in apparent shock. "It's blasphemy! You're trying to bleach Jesus!" she whispered, absolutely "horrified."
"Nuh-uh. We'll put a cloud here, so it'll be like heaven."
"Yeah, whatever, you heathen."
 Luckily for my soul, I didn't spill hair dye on the Savior. But in my defense, he is sometimes drawn as Caucasian, so I'm not the first one to bleach him.
"What are you going to wear tomorrow?" Mom asked me later. "You should wear these!" She held up my newest thrift-shop treasure, a pair of red-and-black striped pants with skulls on the back pockets. "Where's your Billy Idol shirt? Want to wear my leather jacket?" she asked.
I imagined the subject somehow coming up, and having to tell people I was an atheist while dressed like a punk-rock-goth princess. It wasn't exactly the "wholesome atheist" image I was going for, especially since I wished to start a secularist club on campus if I could.
"You're going to give me a bad reputation," I said.
"Girls with bad reputations have more fun," she answered. "You know what Joan Jett says."
"Yeah, I guess so." I did like to wear outrageous pants. Maybe it didn't matter so much what I wore, or what others thought.
"You'll do great in that class tomorrow," she said, seeing as I was a bit nervous. "Just go in there and have fun, and don't be self-conscious, and just enjoy yourself and throw yourself into it all semester. You'll do fine; after all, you acted like a Christian for a long time."
"I tried to be one. Really hard," I said.
"I know," she said. "I know."
 I didn't know what she wished to call herself, but I knew she was a very pragmatic person and had had (at least) almost as many doubts as me.
"Here," she said, digging in her purse and giving me a handful of change, "Look for wheat pennies, then put the rest in my change box."
As I sorted through the coins, I pushed aside a very filthy dime. Then I noticed how small and thin it was, and took a closer look. 1941? I thought. Is that what it says? This eagle--is it soviet or something? What the fuck--is that a--
Mom was on the phone to her credit card company when I screamed, "HOLY SHIT, IT'S THE THIRD REICH!"
I rushed to the computer, and found out that the Vile Farthing was worth exactly $3.25 in U.S. dollars.
Hitler's Penny had turned up on the very night that I had dyed my hair to look more blonde, more...Aryan? The very night that I had tried to bleach Jesus (a Jew!), and on a shirt that emphasized his very Jewishness.
My grandparents picked me up the next day and started talking about my mom's "new" van, which she was terribly excited about. "Her car's been nominated to go to Springfield," my grandmother said as we pulled away. She was talking about a town about two hours away from us.
"Oh, really?" I asked. "How come?" I thought it would be some kind of tournament, as my cousin is very involved in sports.
"'Cause we're going to Hobby Lobby!" she announced happily. "Your aunt says they're the best."
Knowing my aunt, I would have been surprised otherwise. I suspected she liked them for many reasons. (Other than my mother, my family does not yet know that I'm an atheist, and pro-birth-control, or at least...pro-choice.)
"What do they have there?" I asked. 
"Oh, all kinds of things. They're better than Michael's."
"I didn't know we had them this far west," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Do you know if they still have Ben Franklin's?"
"I don't know. We used to go there all the time..." she began, and to my relief, the subject of political issues never came up.
Hobby Lobby...I should have known, by Hitler's Penny...
I guess I can still act like a Christian, or at least someone who is ignorant of politics.
My mom later said that she didn't trust the twenty-year-old van on long trips. I guess that's good, because I'm not sure I trust myself at a Hobby Lobby. I might buy some beads and feel like an asshole, or feel like saying something, but know that the poor employees shouldn't be blamed for their bosses' behavior.
Later that day, in my class, I learned that my teacher is in love with The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams. I ended up playing Amanda Wingfield, probably the most interesting character in the play and...a Christian. Not only is she a Christian, but also a nagging, worrying mother who tries to control her grown children's lives, lest they make the wrong choices. In other words...a tyrant!
I should have known this would happen when I inherited some Nazi's pocket change. I guess I shouldn't have tried to bleach Jesus.

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"Coming Out" Atheist And Taking Things Personally, Or Shit Gay People Say

 (Here is part two.)

I am in college, and this is already turning out to be a very interesting school year. Just the other day, in fact, I heard a gay man say that LGBT people "take things too personally" when it comes to hate speech.
(Such a conversation came up seemingly out of nowhere. I was thrilled to be talking about something so important with people whom I had only known for three weeks. In this class, Beginning Acting, I find a very different dynamic from any other classes I have taken. Perhaps because the students are very involved in working with each other, or perhaps because my teacher loves her job, my class is one of the friendliest, most supportive places I have ever seen. Though all schools are unique, I would highly recommend an acting class to someone who is thinking about it, or wants more confidence in "real life.")
"I've heard that people hate me because I'm gay, but it hasn't really affected me all that much, them hating me just because I suck cock," this young man, whom I'll call Harrison, mentioned. "I mean, I've had stuff yelled at me, but it hasn't really made me feel bad about myself. I guess people take things too personally."
"Well, I'm bi," a girl I'll call Debbi answered, "and it's not really a problem for me, except that I live across the street from a militant Christian," she said tiredly.
"Oh," Harrison nodded knowingly.
"I think that a lot of people's problems comes from their families," I remarked. "For example, my family are conservative Christians, and I don't believe that God is likely to exist. I'm an atheist. But I don't tell them that because of how they'd react to it."
I tried to be light and casual about it, but at the same time I was telling them a secret, something my family didn't know. I shrugged as I said it, saying the word "atheist" with a fake grimace. I acted this way in the hope of trying to appear friendly and not confrontational or militant. But I thought that being gay and bi, they would be less likely to be shocked.
This struck me as a very important milestone. It was the first time I had told anyone other than my mother that I was an atheist and didn't believe. I considered it the first step on my way to being fully..."out." I was quite proud of myself.
"Well, I could picture gods," Debbi said thoughtfully. "But not the Christian god."
"Yeah, that's pretty extreme," I nodded.
"And the Christian religion we have today isn't even the same as what it originally was," Harrison added. "The bible, for example..."
Thus began a long discussion about mistranslations, omissions, and appropriation of pagan symbolism for holidays. Though I can't quite recall everything that was said, I learned that "Eve" meant "one who completes a person," but was mistranslated as the word "helper."
Debbi eventually drifted away, and another student, John, came in. John is fascinated by everything, and expounds on everything from crossbows, to burial practices, to genetically modified plants. I try to come early to school, to hear his "lectures" and watch his face light up in excitement.
Oh boy, I thought, as he started in on the Christian Apocrypha. We just made his day!
Later I was thinking of Harrison's and Debbi's reactions, wondering if I had been correct in my assumption that they wouldn't be shocked.
In an improvised skit last week, I had seen Harrison walk into a "KFC" and try to give his scene partner, the "cashier," a Christian pamphlet. "What is this? I will not worship your chicken-god!" he shouted indignantly. "Big Bird did not die for your sins!" Afterwards another student demanded to know if he had accepted Colonel Sanders as his lord and savior. He shook his head, smiling. I had wondered at the time if he had had experience with taking crap from Christians.
During our conversation he had not said anything about his own family, or mine. I wondered if his family was supportive of him, or if he had some painful memories too. I know for me that my family are the only ones I fear can hurt me, and not by becoming angry, but by my causing them pain.
I guessed that Debbi was a pagan or Universalist of some kind. I hadn't had the chance to tell her that I loved the Wiccan concept of the Earth Goddess, Mother Gaiea, I just didn't want to believe in something for the wrong reason, just because I wanted it to be true.
Harrison talked of the inaccuracies of the bible and the Christian religion. Was he agreeing with me, sharing an interesting fact...or perhaps trying to make me see that god himself wasn't so bad? Was he "witnessing" or trying to "plant a seed?"
My companions might have had some misconceptions about atheists or atheism, but I didn't think either of them was very shocked. I couldn't think of a way to "soften the blow" anymore than I did, either, so I concluded that my method of delivery was effective.
I thought a lot about what Harrison had said, though, about taking things too personally. I strive to be as emotionally strong as he seems to be, but I didn't think that that sentiment was very compassionate to those who were hurting. Was he basically telling them to "get over it?" Did I just need to "get over it" when something hurt me?
Wait a minute, I thought. Am I...taking this personally? 
Who was I to say that he was being too insensitive, presuming to know more about the gay community than he did? And yet I thought that I had experienced something at least a little similar to what some LGBT people went through. I had been made to feel bad before when I didn't agree with something a youth pastor or Christian school teacher had said. I knew something about being sensitive, about "taking things personally."
You cannot tell someone not to take something personally, or how to feel. Some people are still getting over indoctrination or brainwashing or dysfunctional family dynamics. Some people are not strong enough yet to not be hurt, at least on some level.
And some people need to recognize that they're hurting, and choose to love themselves anyway. You can't even tell yourself how to feel, so why not love yourself, every part of yourself...even the part of you that is hurting, that is causing you pain?
But there is a kernel of truth to what he had said: In a strange way, it isn't personal. No one can look into your soul and know everything about you. No one can know everything about your character. No one can judge you as a whole, only bits and pieces. Who you have sex with, or how you view god, is only one part of you.
When someone takes that part of you, and makes it all of you in their mind, yes, it hurts, because it's a form of objectification, and it especially hurts if it's someone you trust. But their views of you cannot be accurate, because one act, or one activity, or one part of you, does not make you or break you. To be human is to be a mixture of "good" and "bad" traits.
In other words, other people cannot accurately judge your "bad" traits, because they are not you.The people who judge you are not you, and your "bad" traits are not you either.
And the people who judge you cannot speak for god, because an omnipotent god could very easily find a way to speak to you directly, and not use fallible humans who would be insensitive and only hurt you, thereby making you less likely to receive the message.
So I guess I learned something useful (which I could keep in mind when my family finds out how I really believe), even from someone whom I at first thought was too "insensitive." And ironically, what I learned makes me feel a whole lot better, even if it's normally very hurtful to imply that someone needs to "just get over it."
If I could say anything to those who are hurting from someone else's words, it would be this: You will feel better in your own time, but know that the thing they are judging you for is only one part of you. They cannot judge accurately because they don't know your motivations, and they can't see the whole.

(Here is a sequel to this post.)

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How My Faith Was "Broken"

I learned many painful lessons in my teens that I believe my parents learned at the same time. To this day, I look back on "our life."
When my parents and I moved to our new house in the country, we befriended the next-door neighbor, who often invited my mother on trips to the lumber store, to go get hay, or to horse shows. She helped us with our many building projects (horse shelters, etc) as we helped her with hers.This woman was very generous, and willing to help.
Her husband was away, and she often looked to my mom for companionship, and they were good friends. As I was home-schooled at the time (and my mother and I were both anxious if I was left home alone), I had to go along with them on their trips and help with their projects most of the time.
There was just one problem with all of this: The neighbor was loud and dramatic, and often did things to get attention ("performed," I guess). She had a screeching voice that scared me, and when laughing, would laugh at the top of her lungs, prompting our neighborhood flock of wild turkeys to answer her. I hated when she screeched at the sight of a snake or yelled at her dog. I was quiet, reserved, an introvert, and painfully shy at that age (about thirteen), so I would often cringe at the unpleasant loudness.
We saw her every day, and she often wanted to take my mom (and me, because I was an appendage) on trips that would last for hours or all day. My mother and I both got tired and longed for the comforts of home after a few hours in town or hauling hay.
But we (my mom) almost never said "no" to her. We had to always be good Christians and "help her out." Basically, this woman who tired us out with her unpredictable drama, who was very different from us, who wanted a life very different than the quiet one we wanted, was controlling our lives.
Complicating things was the fact that we loved her baby as our own, and were basically raising him (he being at our house about five days a week, normally), but had no legal claim on him whatsoever. If we said no to her often enough, or made her mad at us, we were afraid we wouldn't see him ever again. The only comment I will make on her parenting style is to say that he and his older brother were both very small, and that her now-ex-husband has custody of them ("Cody" is now eleven and is still very involved in our lives, happily).
When Cody was almost two, the worst thing that could happen, happened: His mother decided that we would never see him again.
A friend of hers had said that my mother had spoken badly about her behind her back. I could never imagine my mother doing this, but she believed her friend, and said that we would never see her or the baby again.
I prayed the hardest I had ever prayed in my life. I was constantly desperate, anxious, insecure about myself as a Christian, as a good daughter, good "witness" for Jesus, good person, etc. These were all tied up together, and they all pointed to me being bad or inadequate, or not loving God enough.
Months later, my family was involved in a custody battle over her divorce. We were scared, terrified, for so many reasons. The newspaper at that time was full of stories of small children being raped, sexually abused, or even killed by their mother's boyfriends. We had...seen things. We knew that she befriended...everyone. Not a comforting thought, to say the least.
I was hurting so very badly at that time. My family was going through financial difficulties, and I thought we would lose our house. My parents were fighting at the time, and my mother talked about the possibility of divorce.
I begged God for some kind of sign that things would be all right. I prayed so hard for peace. I heard a song at that time, "Sometimes He calms the storm, other times He calms His child." I wished it were true. I wondered if I was really his child.
After a while, I felt numb. I couldn't feel anymore. I couldn't pray. I couldn't read my bible. I couldn't go to church, and look around me at all the people who were twice, three, even four or more times my age, and know that most of them had never been through something as painful as this, or had forgotten. I couldn't say anything, knowing that "grownups," just because of my age, would give me platitudes that meant nothing to them, and that were useless to me. That they would use my youth to boost their egos and pass on their "wisdom."
My faith was broken.
"A bruised reed he will not break." But something did break me, break it. He had allowed it to happen. For years afterward I could not bear to hear any bible verse, any Christian song, anyone praying or talking about god. It was too emotional, for so many reasons. I got rid of everything that even remotely reminded me of god or Jesus or Christianity.
My faith was broken, and it's never been the same.
Once or twice over the years, I've had my "revivals." I've tried it again, "rededicated" my life to Christ, committed myself to praying and reading my bible. Once I even went over a year without masturbating, trying to dedicate my space and body to god and trying to remain "pure" and get rid of all of the "sin" in my life. I took it up again on purpose, after thinking things through and deciding that going my whole life without any kind of release was ridiculous.
But I had learned some things, even in my "revivals." I wasn't groveling anymore. I wasn't begging god to show me a sign of his presence, or even thinking that he ever would. I wasn't expecting that he would give me a sense of peace, that everything would work out.
I wasn't as naive as I was before.
And I've learned some things, through all of that:

1) I learned was that I needed a place where nobody knew my mother. I needed a place where I was not somebody's daughter, but me. I needed to be my own person, at least somewhere.
2) I learned that God will not give you peace, no matter how hard you beg for it. For whatever reason, he just doesn't do it.
3) I learned that you can "get saved" or "rededicate" as many times as you want to, but after a while, you get tired of it, and you know that this time won't be any "different."
4) I learned that people don't want to hear about your pain or doubts, especially Christians. They will try to "comfort" you, but really they're just trying to shut you up. They don't want to deal with your bothersome emotions, else they might have to deal with their own.
5) I learned that you HAVE to say "no" to people sometimes. Fuck being a "good Christian." You can't help everyone, and sometimes you shouldn't. You have to look out for yourself (and your own) and set boundaries. You cannot live in fear of people taking something away from you (a baby, for example) or live in fear of others. Look out for your own safety, but don't live in emotional blackmail, even to your own family.
6) Almost all Christians have NO CLUE! All people unintentionally hurt others, but Christians are some of the worst. They are emotionally invested in believing fanciful things (and in you believing them), they believe in thought crimes and are afraid of committing them, they put people into boxes of "saved" and "unsaved" (and often don't consult you about what box you're going in). They want to shut down your doubts, as swiftly as possible, often using whatever means necessary. They often simply try to tell you "the way it is." If they hear the word "atheist", or that you don't believe, they will often stop listening altogether (after all, how can they listen? They're too busy imagining you in hell!). In other words, religion can bring out the worst in people. There's a reason people say, "The Christian army shoots its wounded."
7) The ONLY acceptable thing you can say to someone who is hurting is, "I'm sorry." Don't try to tell them it will be all right, that this person lived a good life (if they've lost someone), that God has a plan, etc. If they're not ready to "look on the bright side," they will always remember how much you hurt them when they were down. The only thing that should be added is an offer to help.
8) I learned that I have a need to vent my frustrations (even with God), my doubts and anger and despair. If I have to hold it all in or not think about it, in order to keep myself in line, avoid hurting someone's feelings, or "be a good witness," I will die inside.
9) Divorce is never an "easy way out." Though it may be difficult to keep a marriage together, it can be even harder to break it up. Going through, of all things, the neighbor's divorce, was one of the most difficult things to ever happen to my family and me.

But through all of that, the most important thing I learned was this:

10) It will be all right. You will not die, you will not "lose" your salvation. No matter what happens, you will move on, even if you're not even trying to. It is okay to have doubts, and it is okay to be honest with yourself and others about those doubts. My atheism is just an extension of those doubts, of that same honesty. There is nothing wrong with you, or whatever you are. Everything is going to be all right.
I learned this about myself, and you might learn this about yourself too.
And I can say this from experience, that I will move on, and I can hurt alongside those who are hurting, without trying to talk them out of their hurt.
I know that, no matter what happens, there is life after it. I will move on, without even meaning to. My life will not end up as "God plans," or even as I planned (I never, ever planned to be an atheist), and not even as it's "meant to be," but I can carve out a little happiness, a tiny bit of peace, even in the most chaotic, uncertain or unhappy circumstances.
In a way, I was very lucky to have my faith broken. It worked out in the end. I am finally free.

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Poultry, Prophylactics And Creepy Clothing

The last time I had been in the vet's office with my rescued kitten, Marshmallow, the receptionist had told me to turn in my resume with them, as she needed a part-time replacement. That was on a Friday. My dad helped me make one up over the weekend, and I was sure to include my stint as a volunteer at my little brother's preschool, where I "cleaned up vomit" if one of the children got sick, because "the teacher had a weak stomach." Fortunately the little girl in question had only been eating popcorn, but I had cleaned up much worse at home from my own cats, and figured that would be a useful skill in a vet's office.
For once, I was really excited about applying for a job. I liked the staff and doctor, and thought I could learn much about taking care of animals. So that Monday I drove for the first time by myself, as I had gotten my license about a week before.
My parents told me not to worry too much about looking professional, but the vet had on one of the earlier visits thought that I was eleven (a twelve-year difference, which is a personal record), so I figured I could not look too old or too competent. I wore black slacks, a red blouse, and put my hair in a bun. I noticed that the receptionist always had her hair done up in a fancy style, so I added a large metal butterfly clip in the back.
"The kitty's fine," I explained. "I'm just dropping off my resume."
I was surprised at how easy it was to do once I got there, but even more surprised at how normal it seemed to be driving by myself. I felt that I was constantly tempting fate, but somehow that was okay.
The last thing I wanted to do afterwards was to go home, and I decided I had errands to run. There was something I had wanted to do for a long time now.
I remembered the last time I had been in this particular store, only a few days after getting my license, hearing the song, "Jesus Take The Wheel."
I bought an ice cream bar, dark red lipstick (hoping I would look professional and competent wearing it) and, though I was somewhat nervous, condoms.
I had found them right next to the diapers, which in a funny way made perfect sense. It was like they were sending a deliberate message: "If this doesn't work, you're gonna need this."
I was surprised that I didn't have to show ID to get them, but I didn't question it.
On the way home I passed a church sign saying, "Worried about where your soul is going after you die? Call this number to find out." It was a local number, meaning some pastor or other resident decided to post his number in public, potentially exposing himself to prank calls or atheists looking for trouble. It was a bit tempting, though I didn't want to get a headache from aggravation or look like an asshole.
I was feeling judgmental. Those baby chicks should be in a pen, I thought, driving by the church. I don't care how good a mom that hen is, that's just irresponsible. I prefer to lock my baby animals up until they're fully grown, just to be safe.
I thought of stealing the whole family, PETA-style. After all, I have a coop, and I could be saving their lives. But I didn't think I could catch them all, or do it without being caught.
I fantasized about the note I would leave:

"Dear Bible-Thumpers,

Next time buy a fucking coop! No matter how great a mom she is, the babies could still get run over, or eaten by a cat or a hawk. Life is precious, as it's possibly the only thing we have, the only chance there is.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Atheist Chicken-Thief (Who Has A Goddamned Coop)

P.S. I'm going to bring those babies up right, and teach them that there is no god. Hope you like chickens to fry!"

Then I would go to their church the next Sunday and see if they condemned my love of animals as thievery or called animals their property. That is, if the chickens were even owned by the church and not by one of its neighbors. If only I wouldn't be caught...I sighed.
Pulling onto my road, I was thinking about my blog, and the "next step" in my atheist activism. I hoped I would get the chance to debate theists someday, though that would involve "coming out" to my family about my non-belief and my blog activity. I planned to join my college's debate club at the start of the term, and hoped I could get enough signatures to start an atheist/humanist/secularist/freethinkers club. Thirty student signatures were required, though some classes typically had less than ten students (I was even once in a class in which there was only one other student). If I could only get it going, in spite of whatever opposition we had, I was sure somebody from the bible study club would love to debate us.
My thoughts were stopped short when I noticed two forked-horn deer next to the road. Next to them were a mama and two babies, still with their spots. I stopped, staring at them in awe, wishing I had something to feed them. I stayed there for about ten minutes, watching them eat fallen apples from the neighbor's front yard, making the neighbors think I was creepy, I'm sure. But I didn't care. One of the bucks stared at me curiously, and I pretended to chew my cud, causing him to relax again. I watched them until they all leaped away.
How can God possible disapprove of my life? I thought. If He is real, and I was just thinking about what I would do next to promote atheism...or at least change people's minds about atheists...
I guess even as an atheist I still sometimes see God in the beauty of nature. I'm still not certain that that's real evidence, though, and I don't think a theist would like my interpretation of His messages.
The next day I got the condoms out from where I had hidden them in my backpack. I did something long denied to me as a home-schooler, and something I had always wanted to do: I rolled a condom onto a banana. I've finally joined the rest of the normal world, I thought. Is this really how big a penis is? Surely not as big as the banana? And how am I supposed to feel these "ribs" when they're so tiny? Oh well, I guess they're better than nothing.
And now I can be sexually active, I thought. I wonder if I'll meet someone I like?
I thought of Ben, the innocent Christian boy whom I haven't seen in a while, and whom I haven't gotten over. The phrase "I have condoms" would probably have scared him away. He was probably too "pure" as well to say yes. But there wasn't anyone I wanted to fuck more.
I put the remaining condoms away, sighing. I wondered if I would use them by their 2018 expiration date (which sounded a little dangerous to me, as I had heard condoms expired within six months). I wanted them to be more than water balloons, but only if I was in love.
That night my mother  ran into my room, excited. "Look what was in that box of clothes my cousin sent us!" she said. She held up a t-shirt promoting her cousin's high-school volleyball team. It looked like this:

 

I was flabbergasted.

I laughed uncomfortably, struck speechless. Even without believing in Him, "God" still occasionally creeps me the fuck out.

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Mommy-And-Me Sodomy

My mother and I had errands to run and goats to feed, so we climbed into our old truck for a day of pushing around awkward sixty-pound hay bales.
"We have to buy cat food first," she said. So that's just what we did.
I was idly perusing the chip aisle when I slowly became aware of the background music. There was something a little disconcerting about it...
Wait, I thought, This song sounds familiar. Could it be...?
Sure enough, there was the chorus: "Jesus Take The Wheel..."
This song has always made me laugh. My cousin used to sing it in a high-pitched falsetto whenever his dad drifted in the lane. (Even while getting the link for this article, I heard the verses for the first time: A woman hits a patch of ice, her baby in the back seat, and literally throws her hands off the steering wheel while screaming the chorus. This is the exact opposite of what you're actually supposed to do: steer into the skid, with your hands on the wheel, and chant "Hail Satan, Lord of Darkness" six times fast. There is also usually an "end" to the skid too, meaning Jesus didn't have to actually do anything to save her.)
But this time it was even funnier, because I was an atheist and I had just gotten my driver's license only a few days before, after years of not thinking myself capable of getting it.
This wasn't some Christian-charity-owned thrift shop, but a real store which I assume was playing a country music or easy listening station. Since realizing I was an atheist, seeing "God" in things seems much more frequent, and more amusing, than ever before. I think God is most likely not to exist, but occasionally I get a feeling like I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and I don't know if it's really there, or an illusion.
I cracked a smile and shook my head at thought of God nagging me. "You can't drive without Me!" I imagined him saying, "You can't drive."
"I can do a lot of things that I didn't know I could," I would lift my head and proudly say, "Things that are 'dangerous.' You have to go to your own 'death' sometimes to even live. You have to make foolish choices, do stuff you think will kill you, you have to risk terrible consequences. I'll run the risk of your hell, if it means my freedom, and I will drive wherever I please, even if I crash!"
"Foolish girl!" God thundered like a supervillain. "You will pay for your insolence! You will paaaaaaayyyyyyyy.....!"
As "God" was banished into the furthest recesses of my mind, I grinned and reached for a box of crackers.
Our next stop was getting the hay for our goats.
"Climb up there and push the bales down," my mom said, as we loaded it into the back of our truck. As I scrambled up, she gave me a push on the buttocks to help me up.
Afterwards, as we drove down the highway, she asked me to get her purse and find one of her supplements. "Can you find my 'thymus?'" she asked.
I leaned over and pointed to her sternum, where I have read all mammals have their thymuses. "It's right here," I said, helpfully and cheerfully.
"Hey! You touched my boob!" she feigned offense.
"I did not, and you touched my buttocks without even saying, 'Here's your anus,'" I tried to reason with her.
"Fine," she said, pointing to an invisible point in the air, "Here's your anus!"
"Don't sodomize me with your finger!" I shrieked. "Why do I have to say that to my own mom?"
We laughed hysterically and had the "you're sick--no, you're sick," argument that is sadly typical of our relationship.
"Want to stop at a couple of thrift shops?" she asked.
We parked the truck and walked down the street, arm in arm, enjoying each other's company.
"Do you think people think we're lesbians?" she asked contemplatively.
"I don't know." I recalled the time we actually had been mistaken for a lesbian couple. Walking out of a restaurant, holding hands, in a nearby city known to be quite liberal, a teenage boy in the parking lot had shouted, "I spy, with my little eye, someone gay! I spy, with my little eye, someone gay!"
At first I had thought he was playing some weird little game with his own boyfriend. It took us both a minute to realize that he was talking about us. My dad was even with us, though walking a few feet ahead, and he hadn't figured it out.
At that moment, years later, we were both thinking the same thing, and said it in unison:"I spy, with my little eye, someone gay!" We shared a laugh at the fond memory.
"I'll be a lesbian with you," she said affectionately.
"Okay," I agreed. We already had everything but the incest.

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The Ragged Dick, Struggling Upward: A Sexual Horatio Alger Story

 (For those unfamiliar with Horatio Alger, he was a nineteenth-century novelist, who wrote about poor boys finding success through hard work and perseverance; and a suspected pedophile. Here are links to the stories I'm referencing. They're also available for free download here and here.)
 This is the story of a good Christian boy I knew who managed to break free of his super-strict upbringing, with an interesting (sexual) twist at the end. I'll call him Peter. My parents went to church with and were friends with his parents since he was a fetus. When he was born, I've heard, his dad asked the doctor to "make her tight again," which caused difficulties in subsequent pregnancies. That probably should have been a sign as to what kind of man was raising him.
I was basically brought up with Peter for a few years. I am told that I once refused to share my can of peas with him, shaking my head emphatically and saying, "Uh-uh! Uh-uh!"
We watched Power Rangers at his house, played with his castle and soldiers, and once I ran out of his bedroom shouting, "Mommy, I'm peeing my pants!"
"I tried to warn her, but she wouldn't go!" Peter said, following me. I really hope he doesn't remember this incident, though every time I meet one of his friends, I imagine him secretly telling them, when I'm gone, "She peed all over my bedroom."
He is about a month older than me, and my mom has a picture of me kissing him on the lips when we were three. I've heard that our moms bathed us together, which surprises me now, considering the way his parents were many years later.
When I was about five, his parents started going to a new church, and pressuring my parents to go. When my parents stayed at their current church, they stopped being friends with my parents.
Years later, my mother and I ran into his mother and him in town. His mom kept using the term, "my husband," rather than her husband's name, even though we knew him quite well. I also noticed that every time I saw her, she was wearing a skirt.
Sarah (not her real name) mentioned that they had a teenage girl living with them who had a bad home situation and needed them. She and "my husband" had sat her and their son down and told them that "we trust you, but something could happen, so you two aren't allowed to be alone together." I'm not sure how that worked, given that they lived in the same house.
They lived in the country and had goats, like us. My mom mentioned that she had some leftover fencing, and invited her to our house to come and get it. About a week later, she showed up with her three boys (who were home-schooled, like me, and so went with her everywhere).
I invited Peter to a swing-dancing class I was taking, but his mom said, "Sorry, he's not allowed to touch girls."
Touch girls? I was taken aback. She had somehow managed to make dancing from the fifties into a creepy juvenile feel-fest. She apparently had a very dirty mind.
There didn't seem to be a problem if I went somewhere alone with him at my house that day. Somehow we managed not to rape each other, and they went home. A few days later, my mom said that she had tried to call Sarah to get together again, but she wasn't answering her phone. "I feel like she just wanted the fencing, and now she doesn't want anything to do with me," she said.
We chanced to see his parents again during this time. "Our boys aren't allowed to date anyone until after college," Sarah bragged, obviously proud of herself.
"But you have to trust your kids until they prove untrustworthy," my mom reasoned.
"I would trust her," M.H. said, meaning me, "but not the boy. There's nothing preventing them from finding somewhere to park." He said "park" like he was saying the word "fuck."
"But I'm sure some boys aren't like that," I said, trying to be respectful to my elders but frustrated at his ridiculousness. "There are nice boys..."
"Listen! If any boy, including my son, takes you on a date alone, he's only after one thing," he replied, intensely.
I was too shocked to say anything. That he would not trust his own kid...I hadn't heard that the kid had done anything, and I thought what M.H. had said was the saddest thing I had ever heard.
A few years later, my mom called Sarah to catch up. She talked to both his parents, and they seemed glad to hear from her, less judgmental. "So how's Peter? I heard he got married," my mom said casually.
"Oh," Sarah said in a strange voice. "Peter left the family. We haven't heard from him in years."
"Sarah, I'm so sorry," she said. Then later, to me: "How can someone 'leave the family?' That's impossible! I'll bet they disowned him." She had always told me that I was her kid no matter what.
A few days ago we saw Peter and his wife in the grocery store. They mentioned that they had been married almost three years now, and were thinking about having kids. He looked very happy, happier than I'd ever seen him.
The next day my mom got curious and typed his name into Google. "You've got to see this!" she said. He was on a dating website, looking for a "third person" for his marriage, a girl who "wants to be loved by two people, not just one." He listed his religion as Wiccan.
"Hey," Mom suggested, "why don't you do it?"
I had thought about it for a second, but I didn't find either of them sexually attractive. Wicca is my favorite religion, though, with the earth goddess, and being one with nature, and casting spells for peace and prosperity. Too bad I don't believe in it.
I am really surprised that he reached escape velocity from his religion and sexual hangups. I guess this story goes to show that, even if you have the shittiest parents or family imaginable, you can still end up with a wonderful life, full of love and happiness and magical three-ways.


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Driving: A Tale Of Fear

My greatest fear, my biggest dread, for many years was taking the test for my driver's license.
I was afraid of being embarrassed. I found it embarrassing to be in there, when I wasn't sixteen and I wasn't sixty-five. I was "old" and potentially a bad driver (I'm twenty-three). I worried that people would find out, and judge me. Driving was such a basic life skill, and I was failing at it.
I was afraid that, if anyone were to find out, they would lord it over me, that they had their licenses and I didn't, or that it took me so many times and so many years, and it was probably easier for them. I have known people who have had weird relationships with driving. One man I knew always had to drive when traveling with someone, but was once asked by his small nephew, "Why are all the jerks on the road when you drive?"
I thought of how I would feel when I finally got my license. I will finally be able to breathe, I thought. Though I knew it was an unhealthy attitude, I wanted nothing more than to "stop being a failure."
I found some measure of relief when I realized that my biggest fear was being embarrassed by failing the test. I was still afraid of embarrassment, I still felt completely unprepared, but I did not feel the same degree of panic that I had felt before. I didn't fear the physical danger of being in a wreck. I only feared the humiliation of having to be told not to turn, scaring the tester, seeing her scribbling on her clipboard, or crying when being told I had once again not passed.
Can I control my emotions? Am I going to panic? I wondered. When I've failed so many times, and hated myself for it...? I knew that my real victory would be concurring the unhealthy thought patterns of my insecure past.
The answer for me was not being "tougher" or "stronger," not being more positive, not fighting in vain to control the chaotic storm inside me. The answer was not making myself bigger, but making the problem smaller.

I have taken my driving test seven times. Twice I almost didn't "left turn yield to oncoming traffic," once the lady told me that I needed more practice to become more confident, the first time I was inexperienced and had a cocky, sarcastic tester who thought he was funny ("You can ask where we're going all you want to, but I'm not going to tell you, ha ha ha!").
Once I had another lady who made me nervous, mixed up the route she had to take me on, asked me if I had the chance to get a lot of practice, then got worked up after the test talking about all of my mistakes, including not letting someone across a crosswalk (the pedestrian was on the side of the road and was not in danger). I sat there and said, "Yes, ma'am" a lot, feeling weak and swallowing bile. She wrote the word, "Fail" with a flourish, as if in a self-righteous huff.
Another time, the lady said, "Okay, unfortunately, you didn't pass this time..." This one was nice, but I don't remember much after that.

The seventh time I took my test, last Thursday, I finally passed. I had felt totally unprepared and at a loss for what to do until about halfway through the test. Fortunately the lady didn't take off points for going below the speed limit, as the angry woman who had mixed up the route had.
After the test I wanted to keep it a secret. I wanted to lure people into underestimating me, then whip it out and shout, "Be proud of me, motherfuckers!" (though maybe not the last part, as most of my family doesn't think profanity is funny like my mom and I do). I have a perverse love of shocking people with my accomplishments, but my mother was so excited she made me call my dad, then my grandparents.
"We should have a party!" my grandmother said.
"Say, 'Are you going to buy me a car?'" my mom whispered in my ear. "Say it! Say it!"
"Are you going to buy me a car?" I asked.
"Uh...I don't think I can right now," she answered.
"You can buy me a Matchbox car," I said.
"Yeah, I can do that. What do you want, a sports car?"
"I don't care. Surprise me."
My grandfather's reaction took a more spiritual turn. "I was praying you would, Baby. I guess God answered my prayers!"
"Well, I did a little of the work too, Papa," I couldn't help but softly saying. I was a little irked, that I had almost died of fright, and God got all the credit. My family doesn't know I'm an atheist, but I try to be honest about my feelings and beliefs in a way that doesn't cause them grief.
"Yeah, you did, and I'm proud for ya," he said.
That night I got calls from an aunt and an uncle, asking what exciting news I had to tell them (my grandmother's doing). So much for stealth accomplishments.

I hadn't realized how much my worries had weighed on me. I have been more relaxed than I have in years. I had thought it would take months or years to get my license, and now, barring crashes or head injury, I may never have to take the test again. Everything seems easier to do, decisions don't seem overwhelming anymore, I feel like a whole new person. Friday I lay in the sun and took a catnap, for the first time in years. If I was in a rut before, I feel like I'm on top of a mountain now. The one thing that kept "defeating" me is now defeated.
I have learned that nothing weighs on a person more than something you want to do, feel you have to do, but makes you afraid of the consequences. Sometimes you have to go to your own death, so to speak, in order to make your life better.
I'm not sure what could have cured me of my anxieties and stress before this point, or if I will have to go through it all again for the next major goal that scares me. I have a feeling that there are lessons in all of this that I am missing, but I'm not sure if I am ready to learn them right now. I hope at least that someone out there will take something useful from my story.
 
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What Is A Religion?

Youtube vlogger Rob Dyke is most well-known for his hilarious Why Would You Put That On The Internet? videos, his creepy series Seriously Strange, and skits in which he plays a talking garbage can. But I recently came across an older, more serious video, 5 Things Christians Forgot, which I found quite thought-provoking, even as an atheist.

Amusing highlights of the video were where he compared witnessing Christians to creepy children in horror movies saying "You're going to die," and in the middle where he seems to imply that it's okay to cuss God out. If that is true, I may have a "relationship" with God yet (though I'll admit that it probably wouldn't be a nice one).
I found it interesting that he encourages fellow Christians not to judge others, but a drinking game can be made out of how many times he uses the word "slut" or "skank" in his WWYPTOTI series. I have never seen him condemn anyone to hell, though, which is at least something.
In this video, he also mentions that he hates religion, in spite of the fact that he's a Christian himself.  
But that is religion! I thought the first time I saw it. Christianity is a religion.
But then I remembered that atheists didn't like it when Christians said that atheism was a religion. While, depending on your definition of religion, the belief in any god could be called a religion, I don't think Christians will respect our wishes not to be labeled as religious if we do not respect theirs.
So if we can't speak the same language, how are we to communicate? If Christians insist that what they believe/have is a "relationship with God/Jesus," and we don't believe that these figures exist, there is a problem. What are we both to call Christianity? Or for that matter, atheism? Where is the common denominator?
To communicate with believers, we have to speak their language. But speaking their language often implies that their beliefs are true, a sentiment which we obviously do not agree with. There is the problem.
Would they object to us referring to their "relationship" as a "belief system," or perhaps simply a "belief?" I don't think the term "bronze age mythology" would be well received, and "imaginary friend" would probably go over about as well as "hatred of God" does for us.
I believe that atheism should not be defined by believers; those who use the title should get to define what it is or at least what it means to them. I suppose it would only be fair to afford the same consideration to believers, within reason. While I would not wish to acknowledge a "relationship" with someone whom I do not believe exists, I can only imagine how believers must feel when we refer to our atheism as "reason" or "logic," or even call ourselves "freethinkers." All of this implies something not-so-desirable about their beliefs, and while some Christians, by their actions, deserve to be mocked, I believe some of them deserve more consideration.
If there is one thing I have learned from this video, it is this: No one likes the word "religion." Some Christians even try to say that atheists have more faith than them (as if faith was believing in something false or ridiculous). I think it's a good sign for atheists that words once associated with Christianity and belief in God are going out of fashion. If this trend keeps up, hopefully more Christians will become dissatisfied with their religions and their churches, have a friendlier attitude towards atheists and atheism, and not believe in preaching hell at us, much like the attitudes expressed in this video.


Here is a link to Rob Dyke's Youtube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/user/TheRobDyke/featured
Here is a link to the video, if you want to watch it on Youtube:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-aSOTQZFGps
And here is a link to an article on the blog Atheist Revolution, dealing with a similar idea:
http://www.atheistrev.com/2013/03/keep-faith-lose-religion.html

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A Common Bullying Tactic (And The Magic Words To Counter It)

There was a commentary by Christian writer Ben S. Carson, regarding the removal and return of bibles to U.S. Navy Lodge rooms, published about a week ago in The Washington Times, which I believe beautifully illustrates one of the most common bullying tactics I have seen. Though I don't know that he was trying to shut down arguments using this tactic, I have seen this same strategy often used in such a way, in verbal arguments especially.
The very common bullying tactic was this: He simply stated as fact what should rightfully be called an opinion, implying that to disagree was to be wrong.
The author of this article flat-out asserts that atheism is a religion (in spite of the fact that I have never seen an atheist say this), that it is the belief there is no god, and that it requires strong convictions. He then compares bibles to something as innocuous and non-controversial as bottled water, and even says that removing bibles would impose atheists' "religion" on everyone else. He calls atheists "whiners" and says that they need to be given "big-boy pants" (because apparently all atheists are male; I know I was issued a penis when I stopped believing).
My main problem with this article is that, without asking atheists about their own "religion," Carson states his opinions as facts, as if to disagree with him is to deny reality. That is not what I, and many others, believe. And while I think that he was not trying to bully anyone, merely trying to please his Christian readers, the addition of two simple words, "I believe..." would have made him look far less arrogant, less confrontational, and would have made it much easier for me to respectfully consider his points. Arrogant certainty is potentially hurtful to those who disagree, and therefore makes enemies.
This article made me feel rather emotional, as I have been on the receiving end of tactics like his, used to put me back in line or bully me into agreeing, before. I have even occasionally used this strategy myself, though I now know how wrong and futile it is and try not to do so. In any kind of argument, whether atheists are talking about Christians, or the other way around, or if either side is talking about God or even a different topic entirely, it is much more respectful to others to preface at least your first statement with the words, "I believe..." or "I think..." or "in my experience..." etc.

Here is an example of what it looks like if both sides refuse to do this:

Believer: "Atheism is a religion."
Unbeliever: "No, atheism is a lack of religion."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
Believer: "Atheists hate Christians."
Unbeliever: "No they don't."
"Yes, they do. The bible says the world will hate us."
"The bible's wrong."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."

This creates a stalemate or shouting match. Neither will be convinced by the other, and they are probably too emotional by this point to agree to disagree (after all, they both probably have hurt feelings from being flat-out told they were wrong).
Some people actually enjoy this process, and will do it all day long. I do not, and I believe it is destructive to relationships. If there are people in my life who are angry enough to enjoy a good shouting match, and I want to maintain peace with them without pretending to agree, I will have to "go around" their anger rather than confront it head-on.

What You Can Say:

"I don't believe that."

They may claim to know all the facts, but they would sound ridiculous trying to tell you what you believe. This can go one of two ways:

Something like this:

"I don't believe that."
"Yes you do!"
"Well, I don't think I do!"
 "You know it deep down."
"Well, I guess I'm not in touch with my 'deep down.' I may be wrong, but I always try to find the truth."
"You're lying. You just want to sin." (Or "You just don't want to accept reality.")
"I certainly hope not."

Or maybe it goes something like this:

"I don't believe that."
"Well, it's the truth."
"Well, maybe I'm wrong, but I always try to find the truth, and I don't believe this is it."
"It is."
"Okay. I know you believe that. That's okay with me."

These are just snatches of imaginary conversations, and I don't hope to represent real people or real arguments here, just possibilities.  I think that these tactics are much more likely to diffuse an emotional situation without someone having to capitulate or "lose." Both parties can walk away feeling like they have won something, if nothing more than peace or respect.
The real challenge is to remember to shift into this mode when you're in the midst of using confrontational tactics, returning them, or having them used on you. A quick explanation often works as well as an apology in helping to cool down a battle (and doesn't give the impression that you're apologizing for "being wrong"). "This is just what I believe," you can explain, "I know it's not your beliefs." Even acknowledging that they have different beliefs than you goes a long way towards being accepted by and making clear that you accept the other person, or at least towards a grudging truce.
It is especially hard to control one's emotions when someone close to you is making accusations about your character, but this tactic can also be used in that situation. I have far fewer fights with those I love now that I know not to speculate upon their character or motives, but I think that one will eventually forget and that some of that is inevitable. Stating what you think or believe can be used effectively if they are questioning your character.

For example:

"You only care about yourself!"
"I don't think that that's true. I try not to be selfish."

This will hopefully lead to them explaining why they believe you are acting selfishly, disrespectfully, etc. If not, you can repeat this mantra, that you try not to be whatever horrible thing, and ask them to explain why they think you are being that way.They will probably think that you are not in touch with reality, but they will not have an excuse to think badly of your character. If they do, that is no longer your problem; you've tried to make yourself clear.

It also works for unwanted psychological evaluations:

"You always do this! You always sabotage yourself!"
"I'm not trying to do it. If I am, I don't know it."
Or, "You're depressed."
(If you don't feel that way) "I don't think that I am. Why do you think so?"

This will turn the conversation onto the reasons for their diagnoses or solutions to the problem, rather than labels.
Of course sometimes this bullying tactic, stating an opinion as a fact, is not used maliciously or intentionally, as those who employ it do not realize that they are doing anything wrong. It may still be hurtful, but it becomes bullying only when it is used aggressively or intentionally to shut down and intimidate the opposition.
By using this one phrase, "I don't believe that," or "That's not what I believe," in a respectful manner, the conversation turns back onto beliefs, not "facts," which is actually where it was all along, though now both parties agree that this is so. While you cannot turn every bully into a friend, and you should by all means avoid physically dangerous situations (in which case this tactic may not be effective, and you shouldn't risk it), this will help to diffuse an emotional situation and calm things down a bit. By being sincere but firm, you will ensure that the worst that they can rightfully conclude about you or accuse you of is that you are well-intentioned but stupid, and I would take that label any day; after all, God can't throw me in hell if I'm just stupid.

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