I went to Umpqua Community College last year at the time of the shooting. For the first few days and weeks afterwards, I obsessively went through my room, getting rid of things. I cleaned everything in my room that I could. And I spent time with my two new kittens, which my mom bought for herself and me the day of the shooting.
And now this thing has happened in Orlando, which brings up all of the bad memories for me again. Now I'm focusing on cooking all of the food in my freezer and again, cleaning my bedroom. Among many other little, seemingly insignificant things. They have become very significant, all of a sudden.
Cleaning is very good for one's self-esteem, I believe, though I'll share my complete thoughts on that another time. But cleaning enables one to feel good about themselves, regardless of mental or physical disabilities (when they clean as much as they are able to), career or job prospects, money issues, other issues, etc. It gives a certain piece of mind, even when you're only able to clean a little bit, or only a small space such as a counter top. As long as the space is your own, and you do it for yourself and not for others, it is very rewarding, when your life is in chaos, to have or make some order.
I sometimes think that is why I'm near-sighted, if psychology has anything to do with eyesight, as some people think. My world becomes smaller, so I don't have to look at what upsets me.
If I did look at how I felt, I would think, "Okay, I'm upset, worried, angry, grieving, and scared by this--now what do I do with that?" I wouldn't break down; I don't break down. I would just feel unhappy and miserable, and that's it. It's not cathartic, at all; so why be unhappy, if it doesn't lead to any kind of closure or feeling better?
Sometimes I feel sad--grieved--for seemingly no reason. And I think it's because of having to deal with two shootings in one year, and the year is far from over now. A friend on Facebook remarked that she didn't even have time to get over one shooting, when she had to deal with another. That is exactly how I have felt, for what seems like years. I always seem to have multiple great losses stacked on top of each other. And I wonder how many of them I'll have to deal with in my lifetime, and whether I can ever have just a few years of peace. For once, being young does not seem like a benefit.
The world is getting better and worse at the same time. If this keeps up, almost all of the population will soon be wearing rainbows for equality--on our everyday wear, or what we currently know as bulletproof vests. I understand now why movies set in a dystopian or apocalyptic future are so popular; they are much like our own world. It's the same old shit, served up in a different way so that we don't get bored or burnt out on it.
So I focus on the little things. I get rid of some hats that I no longer like. I try to use up all of my beads. I watch more TV as an escape. And when I feel sad, I talk with my mom or allow myself to cry on the inside, even if I can't on the outside. I just focus on the little things, things I can control, and that's what keeps me going. Sometimes that is all I can do. So I focus on these things, and that makes life a little more bearable, at least for a time. And sometimes you really must take it one day at a time.
Monday, June 20, 2016
The Creepiest Bridal Shower Ever
When I was about eight or nine, I went to a bridal shower with my mother. I remember this party vividly, because there was something about it that confused me, and still confuses me to this day.
The guests at the party played a game where they guessed trivia about the groom. The groom wasn't even there. I didn't like this game; this party was supposed to be about the bride, not the groom. The man had his bachelor party, and even then, I could never see a bunch of men answering questions about a woman. Why all this attention, when the party was about women, and one woman in particular, and her man wasn't even there?
( I'm really proud of my little baby feminist self; can you tell?)
The answers were baffling to me. And boring, when they weren't creepy. It didn't help that the groom had the same first name as my dad, and so I imagined my own dad giving these strange answers as his favorite things (though I knew it was a different person)
Favorite car? I thought it should be the Batmobile, naturally! I can't remember what the groom's favorite car was (probably some sports car), but that wasn't it. I was extremely disappointed; what a boring answer. Typical grownup.
Favorite song? Apparently, it was "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Brittany Spears. I remember thinking it was incredibly off-putting, that he liked a "girl's song," and one loved by young girls like me.
That party was creepy and un-feminist on so many disturbing levels. In my admittedly limited knowledge, I've never heard of another party like that one, before or since.
But when I was there, I did what I always did when I got bored, which was make up Buzz and Woody stories in my mind. (I still do that, after a few years of giving it up because I loved it too much and thought that God would surely think it was an idol. I now have permission to be my childhood self.)
In this particular fantasy, I imagined Jessie and Buzz were getting married, and Bo threw her a bridal shower. The women there answered trivia questions about Buzz's favorite things, and Woody happened to be walking through the room at the moment. He started easily answering all of the questions, that the bride herself didn't even know, because he knew Buzz best. He stole the show and made everyone angry, and proved that he was closest to Buzz, and not her.
And looking back on the things I came up with, I can see a whole lot of homoerotic subtext there. Woody was obviously Buzz's true soulmate all along, even if convention said that Buzz should marry a woman. I now laugh and symbolically pat my inner child on the back. Even before knowing much about gay people at all, she sure knew how to ship them! She may have even known something about my bisexuality, too, before I discovered it only a few years ago.
The guests at the party played a game where they guessed trivia about the groom. The groom wasn't even there. I didn't like this game; this party was supposed to be about the bride, not the groom. The man had his bachelor party, and even then, I could never see a bunch of men answering questions about a woman. Why all this attention, when the party was about women, and one woman in particular, and her man wasn't even there?
( I'm really proud of my little baby feminist self; can you tell?)
The answers were baffling to me. And boring, when they weren't creepy. It didn't help that the groom had the same first name as my dad, and so I imagined my own dad giving these strange answers as his favorite things (though I knew it was a different person)
Favorite car? I thought it should be the Batmobile, naturally! I can't remember what the groom's favorite car was (probably some sports car), but that wasn't it. I was extremely disappointed; what a boring answer. Typical grownup.
Favorite song? Apparently, it was "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Brittany Spears. I remember thinking it was incredibly off-putting, that he liked a "girl's song," and one loved by young girls like me.
That party was creepy and un-feminist on so many disturbing levels. In my admittedly limited knowledge, I've never heard of another party like that one, before or since.
But when I was there, I did what I always did when I got bored, which was make up Buzz and Woody stories in my mind. (I still do that, after a few years of giving it up because I loved it too much and thought that God would surely think it was an idol. I now have permission to be my childhood self.)
In this particular fantasy, I imagined Jessie and Buzz were getting married, and Bo threw her a bridal shower. The women there answered trivia questions about Buzz's favorite things, and Woody happened to be walking through the room at the moment. He started easily answering all of the questions, that the bride herself didn't even know, because he knew Buzz best. He stole the show and made everyone angry, and proved that he was closest to Buzz, and not her.
And looking back on the things I came up with, I can see a whole lot of homoerotic subtext there. Woody was obviously Buzz's true soulmate all along, even if convention said that Buzz should marry a woman. I now laugh and symbolically pat my inner child on the back. Even before knowing much about gay people at all, she sure knew how to ship them! She may have even known something about my bisexuality, too, before I discovered it only a few years ago.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Pastor Assclown In Drag
I wonder, just a little bit, if my ex-friend, the closeted/homophobic Pastor Assclown, tried to put a "hedge of thorns" or some other "spiritual warfare" thing in my life, a few months ago. I had this very strange dream at that time, in which he tried to curse me, and I broke the curse in the name of Jesus.
I know that the address on this site contains the word "atheist," but it is an old name. I don't know if the atheists will have me, anymore, since I hope God is real, if God is good (and I don't think God is all-powerful, if she is good; there's no way).
I still don't know for sure if Jesus even existed or not, and I probably will never know. But I am grateful for the useful psychological trick, if it is nothing else. That's one of the few good things left over from my desperate-for-God's-approval evangelical background.
I had a dream that I had a roommate, a young woman who called herself Divine. She was trying to put a voodoo curse on me, which I discovered by finding her chocolate voodoo dolls. (Yes, I ate them! They were delicious.) But later, we were eating dinner together, and the food kept spilling all over me. I realized that she had cursed my food to do just that, and she was laughing hysterically at me.
I got tired of it all, so I looked down at my plate, and said, "I break you, cursed food, in the name of Jesus!"
She stopped laughing. Then she took on her true form, which to my surprise was Pastor Assclown. I looked straight at him, and said, "You picked the wrong girl to fuck with!"
He just stared at me in astonishment, so I went on, "You know how you're gay? I did that!"
I told him that I cursed him to be gay, since I knew that he couldn't break that in the name of Jesus. I was confident that that would not happen, since if it could, my kind gay Christian friend, Michael, would still be with his wife, and not his husband. Even the husband would still be with his wife.
And I wanted to look powerful, more powerful than Pastor Assclown's magic. I also wanted him to realize that since he couldn't break that with spiritual warfare, then maybe it was something that was not actually a curse or from the devil.
I woke up, and realized that he had been disguised as a girl. He had been in drag! And he had called himself Divine, after the drag queen that Ursula, the Sea-Witch from The Little Mermaid, was based upon. And he was a witch, trying to curse me!
He was also closeted, like I suspect all homophobes by default. He had not denied that he was gay, had not even been able to answer me--had simply stared at me. I then realized that I had a plastic figure of Ursula literally sitting on a shelf in my closet. This was in real life. I still have that Ursula statue.
The layers and layers of meaning are incredible, to me at least. But I do know one thing for sure: If he did indeed try to declare spiritual warfare on me, then he picked the wrong girl to fuck with. I couldn't have said it better myself!
I know that the address on this site contains the word "atheist," but it is an old name. I don't know if the atheists will have me, anymore, since I hope God is real, if God is good (and I don't think God is all-powerful, if she is good; there's no way).
I still don't know for sure if Jesus even existed or not, and I probably will never know. But I am grateful for the useful psychological trick, if it is nothing else. That's one of the few good things left over from my desperate-for-God's-approval evangelical background.
I had a dream that I had a roommate, a young woman who called herself Divine. She was trying to put a voodoo curse on me, which I discovered by finding her chocolate voodoo dolls. (Yes, I ate them! They were delicious.) But later, we were eating dinner together, and the food kept spilling all over me. I realized that she had cursed my food to do just that, and she was laughing hysterically at me.
I got tired of it all, so I looked down at my plate, and said, "I break you, cursed food, in the name of Jesus!"
She stopped laughing. Then she took on her true form, which to my surprise was Pastor Assclown. I looked straight at him, and said, "You picked the wrong girl to fuck with!"
He just stared at me in astonishment, so I went on, "You know how you're gay? I did that!"
I told him that I cursed him to be gay, since I knew that he couldn't break that in the name of Jesus. I was confident that that would not happen, since if it could, my kind gay Christian friend, Michael, would still be with his wife, and not his husband. Even the husband would still be with his wife.
And I wanted to look powerful, more powerful than Pastor Assclown's magic. I also wanted him to realize that since he couldn't break that with spiritual warfare, then maybe it was something that was not actually a curse or from the devil.
I woke up, and realized that he had been disguised as a girl. He had been in drag! And he had called himself Divine, after the drag queen that Ursula, the Sea-Witch from The Little Mermaid, was based upon. And he was a witch, trying to curse me!
He was also closeted, like I suspect all homophobes by default. He had not denied that he was gay, had not even been able to answer me--had simply stared at me. I then realized that I had a plastic figure of Ursula literally sitting on a shelf in my closet. This was in real life. I still have that Ursula statue.
The layers and layers of meaning are incredible, to me at least. But I do know one thing for sure: If he did indeed try to declare spiritual warfare on me, then he picked the wrong girl to fuck with. I couldn't have said it better myself!
 | |
| A sea-witch and a mermaid. And lots of cats. |
Friday, May 20, 2016
Minimalism: How To Get Rid Of Books
My ideal situation with books is to have a relatively few number, that I like to read over and over, and enjoy every time. And I'm almost there, now. I like to read a little bit of one book, then pick up another, etc. It takes a long time, usually, for me to finish a book, this way. But I like it. I don't get bored so easily, this way. I hate checking out library books, since I only have three weeks to finish a book, if I can't renew it. But I haven't bought a book brand-new in years, and I don't buy books often, so I don't spend very much money on books, anyway.
And I don't feel obligated to finish them, to start reading at the beginning (unless it's fiction), to read them straight through, or to read the boring parts or chapters. I pick up a book, read a little (opening to a random page, if it's non-fiction, because I like to do that), see if it's interesting to me--and with most books, I immediately get rid of them, because they don't hold my interest. It's taken years to get where I am now, with my attitude towards books, but anyone can work towards getting here, if this is what they want. And I still sometimes struggle with feeling like I have to finish a book, or wondering what information I will miss if I throw it out.
But I'm also very lucky, in that lately I have a lot of books that I love to read, even if it's just in tiny pieces here and there. I've got rid of thousands of books over the years, but I have about two or three hundred that I would love to read (and that includes everything from Chilton's car repair manuals, to "I Spy" picture books, so they're not all wordy or "smart.") But I'm always alert, when I'm reading, for whether a book is becoming boring and needs to be culled, so two or three hundred books is not as overwhelming as it sounds.
Yet I often have a dilemma: Do I choose to read the books I like first, or the books I don't suspect I will like, so that I can stop reading and get rid of them if they're bad? That's the question I struggle with all the time. I try to balance both approaches. Sometimes I even think, "This is good, but after I finish this section, I'm getting rid of the whole book." Or I decide that after I read it again once, out it goes.
With some books, I want to learn the information they have in them, but in spite of being excited about the subject of the book, the book itself is not that interesting. This happens a lot with feminist and LGBT books. I skip around, looking for interesting parts, and sometimes I am very thorough. But ultimately, if it is disappointing, I get rid of it, and vow to look for another book on the same subject that looks better. (Almost all used books, especially a few years old, can be bought on ebay or Thriftbooks.com for about $4.00, which includes shipping.)
Just because I don't have many (or for that matter, any) feminist or LGBT books, doesn't mean I'm not a proud feminist or LGBT ally. Don't think that the book is the part of you that you like about yourself or want to become.
Some books have been keepsakes, because my little brother (twelve years younger than me) teethed on them, or my late baby bunnies tore them up. But I didn't want to read them, much less keep them. So I took pictures of them, so that I could remember the bite marks or the shredded pages, then I got rid of them. If I really miss them, I can get books of the same exact title, and tear them up in a similar way or have the almost-thirteen-year-old Cody bite them again. Fortunately, I have not had to do these things so far. I'll bet Cody would bite a book for me, though; he's a pretty good kid.
If it's hard to get rid of books, you can have a notebook with a list of books you are getting rid of. You can write all of them down, or just the best ones, but if you want them back, then you can remember what they are, and get them back. I have a notebook that is designated only for this list, so that I have plenty of room to add to it, and I know exactly where the list is. I write the book's title and the last name of the author, or one of the authors. After a while, you may not feel the need to write down every book title anymore. I only write down the best of the castoffs, anymore. Some books are really good to read--but only once. Or sometimes I want to see what else the author has written, but I don't want to keep her books that I have already read. This makes it much easier to part with them.
With fiction, I personally am very picky. Literally the only fiction I have right now is the Harry Potter series. I also have two fiction books, in German, since I enjoy the language and like to read them aloud, even if I am out of practice and don't understand all of what I'm reading. But I don't count them in the same category as the English-language fiction.
If an English-language fiction book bores me from the start, then I skip around, and if I still can't find anything interesting in later chapters, out it goes. I am reading the Harry Potter series straight through from the beginning, but that is rare for me. I often skip entire chapters, to read only about my favorite characters or plot points (with the rare fiction book I like). I dog-ear the pages I skip, but I never go back to them, anyway.
I don't have too many German-language books, either (fiction or non), since I would rather have one or two favorites, to read over and over, than be overwhelmed by many books.
Some people say to get a Kindle and read books that way, but that's nonsense. Kindle books are usually much more expensive than regular used books, I (like many others) like regular books better, and if a book is older than the 2000s (or even if it's newer), chances are that it's not on Kindle, anyway. The selection is relatively small, the prices are relatively big, and paper is easier on the eyes. I have a Kindle (a gift, which I still like having, just in case), but I rarely use it.
There are many Kindle books available for $0.99, but the ones I've gotten are not worthwhile, anyway. Some Kindle books are free, though those are classics that have no copyright. If you like those, and have a Kindle (or Kindle account on your computer) already, go for it. But if you don't have a Kindle or account already, you can probably find them online. The website for my local public library has a lot of books you can read online, that have no copyright--and thus, you can read as many as you want, at once, and they don't count on your checkout limit, like the newer online and audio books. Check out your library's website, and see if it has a similar system. I know in Oregon, at least, all libraries have that.
And most importantly, please don't feel the need to finish any books! Life is too short to read boring books. Sometimes it is hard to realize when exactly a book is getting boring, but you will get better at it as you practice. There is also nothing wrong in reading only what you want out of a book (even if it's very little), and then getting rid of it. It's your life--the one and only life you know for sure that you have--so read only what you love! :)
And I don't feel obligated to finish them, to start reading at the beginning (unless it's fiction), to read them straight through, or to read the boring parts or chapters. I pick up a book, read a little (opening to a random page, if it's non-fiction, because I like to do that), see if it's interesting to me--and with most books, I immediately get rid of them, because they don't hold my interest. It's taken years to get where I am now, with my attitude towards books, but anyone can work towards getting here, if this is what they want. And I still sometimes struggle with feeling like I have to finish a book, or wondering what information I will miss if I throw it out.
But I'm also very lucky, in that lately I have a lot of books that I love to read, even if it's just in tiny pieces here and there. I've got rid of thousands of books over the years, but I have about two or three hundred that I would love to read (and that includes everything from Chilton's car repair manuals, to "I Spy" picture books, so they're not all wordy or "smart.") But I'm always alert, when I'm reading, for whether a book is becoming boring and needs to be culled, so two or three hundred books is not as overwhelming as it sounds.
Yet I often have a dilemma: Do I choose to read the books I like first, or the books I don't suspect I will like, so that I can stop reading and get rid of them if they're bad? That's the question I struggle with all the time. I try to balance both approaches. Sometimes I even think, "This is good, but after I finish this section, I'm getting rid of the whole book." Or I decide that after I read it again once, out it goes.
With some books, I want to learn the information they have in them, but in spite of being excited about the subject of the book, the book itself is not that interesting. This happens a lot with feminist and LGBT books. I skip around, looking for interesting parts, and sometimes I am very thorough. But ultimately, if it is disappointing, I get rid of it, and vow to look for another book on the same subject that looks better. (Almost all used books, especially a few years old, can be bought on ebay or Thriftbooks.com for about $4.00, which includes shipping.)
Just because I don't have many (or for that matter, any) feminist or LGBT books, doesn't mean I'm not a proud feminist or LGBT ally. Don't think that the book is the part of you that you like about yourself or want to become.
Some books have been keepsakes, because my little brother (twelve years younger than me) teethed on them, or my late baby bunnies tore them up. But I didn't want to read them, much less keep them. So I took pictures of them, so that I could remember the bite marks or the shredded pages, then I got rid of them. If I really miss them, I can get books of the same exact title, and tear them up in a similar way or have the almost-thirteen-year-old Cody bite them again. Fortunately, I have not had to do these things so far. I'll bet Cody would bite a book for me, though; he's a pretty good kid.
If it's hard to get rid of books, you can have a notebook with a list of books you are getting rid of. You can write all of them down, or just the best ones, but if you want them back, then you can remember what they are, and get them back. I have a notebook that is designated only for this list, so that I have plenty of room to add to it, and I know exactly where the list is. I write the book's title and the last name of the author, or one of the authors. After a while, you may not feel the need to write down every book title anymore. I only write down the best of the castoffs, anymore. Some books are really good to read--but only once. Or sometimes I want to see what else the author has written, but I don't want to keep her books that I have already read. This makes it much easier to part with them.
With fiction, I personally am very picky. Literally the only fiction I have right now is the Harry Potter series. I also have two fiction books, in German, since I enjoy the language and like to read them aloud, even if I am out of practice and don't understand all of what I'm reading. But I don't count them in the same category as the English-language fiction.
If an English-language fiction book bores me from the start, then I skip around, and if I still can't find anything interesting in later chapters, out it goes. I am reading the Harry Potter series straight through from the beginning, but that is rare for me. I often skip entire chapters, to read only about my favorite characters or plot points (with the rare fiction book I like). I dog-ear the pages I skip, but I never go back to them, anyway.
I don't have too many German-language books, either (fiction or non), since I would rather have one or two favorites, to read over and over, than be overwhelmed by many books.
Some people say to get a Kindle and read books that way, but that's nonsense. Kindle books are usually much more expensive than regular used books, I (like many others) like regular books better, and if a book is older than the 2000s (or even if it's newer), chances are that it's not on Kindle, anyway. The selection is relatively small, the prices are relatively big, and paper is easier on the eyes. I have a Kindle (a gift, which I still like having, just in case), but I rarely use it.
There are many Kindle books available for $0.99, but the ones I've gotten are not worthwhile, anyway. Some Kindle books are free, though those are classics that have no copyright. If you like those, and have a Kindle (or Kindle account on your computer) already, go for it. But if you don't have a Kindle or account already, you can probably find them online. The website for my local public library has a lot of books you can read online, that have no copyright--and thus, you can read as many as you want, at once, and they don't count on your checkout limit, like the newer online and audio books. Check out your library's website, and see if it has a similar system. I know in Oregon, at least, all libraries have that.
And most importantly, please don't feel the need to finish any books! Life is too short to read boring books. Sometimes it is hard to realize when exactly a book is getting boring, but you will get better at it as you practice. There is also nothing wrong in reading only what you want out of a book (even if it's very little), and then getting rid of it. It's your life--the one and only life you know for sure that you have--so read only what you love! :)
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Your Disabled Chicken, Part 5: Turmeric The Miracle Spice
Normally, I do not pass on information about disabled animals unless I've tried it, but I don't currently have turmeric, and when I get some, I will let everyone know what happened. But I wanted to share this, as soon as possible, so that others could help their chickens.
I have a disabled chicken, Antonia (who sometimes crows, or rather roars, so I suspect "she" is actually a trans-rooster), whose feet are crippled up, but who is very active, nonetheless. He lives in his own house at night, and is out in our front during the day (unless it is cold, in which case he does not want to go out). I find him everywhere in the yard: Under the front deck, in the shade of the butterfly bushes, even on our sidewalk (which is about five inches high; it's quite a feat for her to get up there, but she does it!).
I have done a series on how to take care of a disabled chicken here, here, here, and here, And I recently discovered something else which I hope will help my chicken, especially with her/his feet. Maybe it won't cure her, but I hope it will help. And when I can get the stuff, I will try it.
I was reading a blog today by a nice lesbian couple in South Africa, who write about minimalism. They are also vegan, and like to write about that. Apparently, the best natural anti-inflammatory is ground black pepper and turmeric mixed with water. I got excited, wondering if I could feed turmeric to a chicken, for her joints. Apparently, you can, and it's very good for them in treating joint inflammation, bumblefoot infection (where their feet get swollen; Antonia had this once, and it went away almost by itself, before I knew what it was and started treating it with iodine; I suspect it was her good diet), and a host of other ailments, including a paralyzed neck (wry neck, which I suspect another, "paralyzed" chicken that I had, had gotten somehow; perhaps he would not have had to live in a box in my room for a few weeks until his death, if I had known about turmeric!).
I can't go to the store and get turmeric, right away, and I could not find it in my house, even though I thought I had it. The pepper gave me pause, though, because I was afraid it was spicy, and I don't want to cause my chickens pain. But I had ground black pepper on hand, so I decided to try the pepper part out on myself first.
If it makes a difference, the pepper I had was not freshly ground; it came already ground, and the expiration date is October 22, 2017. So it is not stale, but it's not fresh, either.
I mixed up a little in a small glass of water. I didn't measure it, though I suspect it was about the right (human) dosage according to Angela Horn's blog, half a teaspoon.
My mom says that the best way to get drunk without tasting the beer is to take a deep breath right before drinking, drink as much as possible, then let out your breath after swallowing. (This was from her partying days when she was younger.) So I did that. And yes, there was some spiciness in the back of my throat. So I don't know if I will feed my chicken pepper. I suspect that turmeric might be a little spicy, but I can't imagine it being as spicy as the pepper.
I did not notice any anti-inflammatory effects right away, from the pepper alone. I guess the pepper is mostly there to help one absorb the nutrients in the turmeric. The pepper did make my face a little flush, for a second, though not nearly as much as taking niacin supplements does.
(I take a lot of niacin for menstrual cramps, and it works wonders! If your face is flush, you're doing it right. I suspect that it pulls the excess water out of my system, so I'm not retaining it.)
I also saw this story about the wonders of turmeric, in treating a chicken with a paralyzed neck, and I thought I would share it. And I wanted to share it before I forgot to.
I'll let everyone know if there are any dramatic effects for my disabled chicken. I don't expect that it will cure her (it might have if I had known about it when her feet first started giving her trouble--who knows?), but hopefully it will help her. I don't know how long it will need to take full effect, though. I plan to put some on her food, about half a teaspoon a day (since s/he is a big chicken), as per the instructions on this natural chicken care blog. And even if I don't notice a change, maybe it will make her feel better, at least, even if I can't see it. In any case, it doesn't seem like it will hurt her, so I will throw everything I can at the problem, like I always do. :)
I have a disabled chicken, Antonia (who sometimes crows, or rather roars, so I suspect "she" is actually a trans-rooster), whose feet are crippled up, but who is very active, nonetheless. He lives in his own house at night, and is out in our front during the day (unless it is cold, in which case he does not want to go out). I find him everywhere in the yard: Under the front deck, in the shade of the butterfly bushes, even on our sidewalk (which is about five inches high; it's quite a feat for her to get up there, but she does it!).
I have done a series on how to take care of a disabled chicken here, here, here, and here, And I recently discovered something else which I hope will help my chicken, especially with her/his feet. Maybe it won't cure her, but I hope it will help. And when I can get the stuff, I will try it.
I was reading a blog today by a nice lesbian couple in South Africa, who write about minimalism. They are also vegan, and like to write about that. Apparently, the best natural anti-inflammatory is ground black pepper and turmeric mixed with water. I got excited, wondering if I could feed turmeric to a chicken, for her joints. Apparently, you can, and it's very good for them in treating joint inflammation, bumblefoot infection (where their feet get swollen; Antonia had this once, and it went away almost by itself, before I knew what it was and started treating it with iodine; I suspect it was her good diet), and a host of other ailments, including a paralyzed neck (wry neck, which I suspect another, "paralyzed" chicken that I had, had gotten somehow; perhaps he would not have had to live in a box in my room for a few weeks until his death, if I had known about turmeric!).
I can't go to the store and get turmeric, right away, and I could not find it in my house, even though I thought I had it. The pepper gave me pause, though, because I was afraid it was spicy, and I don't want to cause my chickens pain. But I had ground black pepper on hand, so I decided to try the pepper part out on myself first.
If it makes a difference, the pepper I had was not freshly ground; it came already ground, and the expiration date is October 22, 2017. So it is not stale, but it's not fresh, either.
I mixed up a little in a small glass of water. I didn't measure it, though I suspect it was about the right (human) dosage according to Angela Horn's blog, half a teaspoon.
My mom says that the best way to get drunk without tasting the beer is to take a deep breath right before drinking, drink as much as possible, then let out your breath after swallowing. (This was from her partying days when she was younger.) So I did that. And yes, there was some spiciness in the back of my throat. So I don't know if I will feed my chicken pepper. I suspect that turmeric might be a little spicy, but I can't imagine it being as spicy as the pepper.
I did not notice any anti-inflammatory effects right away, from the pepper alone. I guess the pepper is mostly there to help one absorb the nutrients in the turmeric. The pepper did make my face a little flush, for a second, though not nearly as much as taking niacin supplements does.
(I take a lot of niacin for menstrual cramps, and it works wonders! If your face is flush, you're doing it right. I suspect that it pulls the excess water out of my system, so I'm not retaining it.)
I also saw this story about the wonders of turmeric, in treating a chicken with a paralyzed neck, and I thought I would share it. And I wanted to share it before I forgot to.
I'll let everyone know if there are any dramatic effects for my disabled chicken. I don't expect that it will cure her (it might have if I had known about it when her feet first started giving her trouble--who knows?), but hopefully it will help her. I don't know how long it will need to take full effect, though. I plan to put some on her food, about half a teaspoon a day (since s/he is a big chicken), as per the instructions on this natural chicken care blog. And even if I don't notice a change, maybe it will make her feel better, at least, even if I can't see it. In any case, it doesn't seem like it will hurt her, so I will throw everything I can at the problem, like I always do. :)
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
The Masturbating Banana Doesn't Like Me
I once read a joke where a cucumber, and pickle, and a penis were talking about how terrible their lives all were.
"Every time I become big, fat, and juicy, they cut me up and put me in a salad," the cucumber moaned.
"That's nothing--every time I become big, fat, and juicy, they put me in vinegar and put me in a jar," the pickle said.
The penis glared at them both bitterly. "You guys have it easy!" he said. "Every time I get big, fat, and juicy, they stick a rubber tarp over my head, put me in a dark room, and bang my head against the wall until I throw up and pass out!"
So that's what I thought of when someone online named BreathlessBanana decided to be mean to me. It made me laugh, wondering how breathless their banana was!
This person made a rather confusing comment on the epilogue for my "Buzz Vs. Woody" storyline (on my Deviant Art page here), and I'm still trying to figure out their logic behind it. I mentioned that I was doing a sequel, with Evil Emperor Zurg's ex-wife (the only person in the galaxy who's scarier than him!), and BB said this:
"You say sequel like you put up a full story that has 100,000 fans...
I think you mean "Chapter two"
Also, OOC, poorly written, wtf."
So...apparently, I'm supposed to "earn" the title of "sequel" by getting 100,000 fans? I've never heard of that idea.
She obviously didn't realize that I had 62 previous short chapters, which was why it was called an "epilogue." And most of all, that I can call my stories whatever I damn well please! :) I'm now working on my "Epic Blockbuster Earth-Shattering Majestic-As-FUCK Sequel."
And that I can be as arrogant or stuck up as I want to be, about my own story, especially if it's not arrogance at the expense of others. I wrote it in such a way that it is the perfect story for someone who shares my taste. Probably no one will share my taste exactly, but I think it's damn good, even if I'm the only one in the world who enjoys it (which I'm apparently not, since a few people added chapters to their Favorites lists).
Deviant Art, and other sites on the internet, are supposed to be places where people can just relax, enjoy themselves, and not have to worry about whether something is "well-written" or not. I have read fan fiction stories where the writer obviously is still learning English, or where it is written by a native speaker but is full of typos, and I have loved them! The content of the story is what matters, to me.
And I do try to remove as many typos as I can, in my own stories. But some people are still new to writing, or drawing, etc, and they should still have a chance to get their work out there. And it can still be enjoyed, even if it's "poorly" drawn or written.
In a similar vein, some Youtube channels have videos of people singing terribly. And yet, who cares? They still have a right to sing, and enjoy singing! :) And others can enjoy their progress, or even if there's no progress, their passion for singing.
If you wait until your writing, singing, or art is "good enough" to get it out there, it will NEVER get out there! PukingPlaintain's comment, ironically, reminded me that I just need to relax and not worry about perfection. I don't want to end up like her--whether I would treat myself this way, or others!
I remember taking a Figure Drawing (human body) class about two years ago, when I first started this blog. I went to the haunted Umpqua Community College at the time, as it was well before the shooting. I remember one of my classmates, an older woman about in her mid-thirties, I would say. She didn't seem very confident at all. And I once overheard her tell our teacher, "I'm afraid to draw that. I'm afraid it won't be any good."
That was exactly how I felt, with drawing, and how I still feel, sometimes. I remember being shocked, once, reading someone describe drawing as "relaxing," since it was so stressful for me! :)
But my art teacher, another woman about the same age as her non-confident student, said, "Why? It's just paper! The worst thing that's going to happen is that you'll make it ugly!"
And that always stuck in my memory. It's just paper. Or it's just a blog post or story on the internet. Or it's just a video. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that you make it ugly, poorly written, poorly sung, or not what you had in mind when you started it.
I remember that often. And it helps me to banish my perfectionist tendencies, when they give me grief about something. It's just...fill-in-the-blank.
I remember, also, that I used to wish I had a mental disability, because then I would be able to be easy on myself, if I couldn't do something very well.
Now, that wasn't very sensitive--but I still remind myself that, if I was disabled somehow, I would know to be easy on myself, and love myself, no matter how "bad" the things I tried were. If I was disabled, physically or mentally, I would just love my efforts. So why not just love my efforts, right now?
There are going to be some people who seem more naturally gifted than me, or who do it easier or "better." But that doesn't make me worse. That doesn't mean that I don't have considerable talent or potential. And most of all, it doesn't make my contributions any less valuable or worthy.
Society is understanding of people who have disabilities, and rightfully so. But it's harsher on people who are not disabled, or not visibly so. If a comedian is a beginner, and still learning about timing and jokes, then they "suck" and should not be in comedy! If a singer is a beginner, and their voice is untrained, then they are screechy and awful and should never sing again. (Notice that THEY are considered screechy and awful--not their singing or sometimes even their voices.)
People don't say that someone is a beginning, out of practice, or doesn't draw in a style they like--they say that the artist "draws terribly." And yet if they knew that the artist had no arms and was drawing with their feet, or had a pencil in their mouth, it wouldn't be "poorly drawn." It would be great, for what the artist was capable of, especially at the beginning of having to draw like that.
People have differing abilities, whether they are disabled or not. And everyone should have the right to simply enjoy themselves. And perhaps their abilities will improve. But even if they don't--who cares? Get your work out there, tell people you are a beginner, or disabled, or whatever, and you will find people who are supportive, who encourage you. Some people will be haters, but block them, keep doing your thing, and get as far as you can with it! If you can't find anyone to be encouraging to you, then encourage and love yourself. (And you can also leave a comment below, and I will be encouraging to you, because any effort should be celebrated, not torn down!)
Remember, this is your hobby! You should have fun with it, not be worried about performance!
That comment above has just reminded me that, now more than ever, I need to not worry about whether something is good or bad, and just have fun or enjoy writing it. I don't want to end up like this person! I don't want to feel like my story or my writing is unworthy somehow, or inferior, just because it's not famous or other people think it's poorly written. Other people may simply have not heard of me, or they simply may have a different taste in writing, or not care for the subjects I like to write about (or be more picky about "imperfections" than I am, with my passion). And none of that is my fault, either. I don't want to end up like this person, measuring my success and self-worth by what others think of me, or my writing--even if they're A LOT of others!
So the night that I read that comment, I pitched an article to a site I've always wanted to write for, Cracked.com. And if it doesn't get accepted there, then it will be published here. The article is "6 Things LGBT People Wish Christians Knew About Them." (I also have two fan theories that I will post here, if they don't get accepted there. They want theories to be convincing, but I like theories that are creepy or make the story better, whether they're convincing to others or not.)
I thought at first that my LGBT article idea would be too controversial for Cracked--but I have to try! I have to try, and I have to simply enjoy the process of trying, every step of the way.
It's vitally important that I not become another Masturbating Banana, judging myself and others very harshly--for something that is a mere hobby! Something that should be fun, that should bring joy and purpose to the creator's life--and hopefully, joy to those that share her taste.
And Wanking 'Nanner, apparently, judges her art based on how many fans she has, or some whim of her inner critic. I must avoid becoming like her, at all costs!
So I guess it was good, in the end, that she said that, because I was reminded of exactly what I don't want to be, and I've redoubled my efforts to be the exact opposite of that. I'm not going to thank her, because she's being awful, but I'm glad to know what I don't want to be. I now have the living embodiment of my perfectionist tendencies--and she can kiss my ass. Because I'm going to enjoy my life, and I can't enjoy it fully unless I get all of my work out there. :)
(And one more thing: I would suggest that anyone who is curious whether my story is "poorly written" or not, should read the story here, and judge for themselves. My work speaks for itself, and I am still just as proud of it as ever.)
"Every time I become big, fat, and juicy, they cut me up and put me in a salad," the cucumber moaned.
"That's nothing--every time I become big, fat, and juicy, they put me in vinegar and put me in a jar," the pickle said.
The penis glared at them both bitterly. "You guys have it easy!" he said. "Every time I get big, fat, and juicy, they stick a rubber tarp over my head, put me in a dark room, and bang my head against the wall until I throw up and pass out!"
So that's what I thought of when someone online named BreathlessBanana decided to be mean to me. It made me laugh, wondering how breathless their banana was!
This person made a rather confusing comment on the epilogue for my "Buzz Vs. Woody" storyline (on my Deviant Art page here), and I'm still trying to figure out their logic behind it. I mentioned that I was doing a sequel, with Evil Emperor Zurg's ex-wife (the only person in the galaxy who's scarier than him!), and BB said this:
"You say sequel like you put up a full story that has 100,000 fans...
I think you mean "Chapter two"
Also, OOC, poorly written, wtf."
So...apparently, I'm supposed to "earn" the title of "sequel" by getting 100,000 fans? I've never heard of that idea.
She obviously didn't realize that I had 62 previous short chapters, which was why it was called an "epilogue." And most of all, that I can call my stories whatever I damn well please! :) I'm now working on my "Epic Blockbuster Earth-Shattering Majestic-As-FUCK Sequel."
And that I can be as arrogant or stuck up as I want to be, about my own story, especially if it's not arrogance at the expense of others. I wrote it in such a way that it is the perfect story for someone who shares my taste. Probably no one will share my taste exactly, but I think it's damn good, even if I'm the only one in the world who enjoys it (which I'm apparently not, since a few people added chapters to their Favorites lists).
Deviant Art, and other sites on the internet, are supposed to be places where people can just relax, enjoy themselves, and not have to worry about whether something is "well-written" or not. I have read fan fiction stories where the writer obviously is still learning English, or where it is written by a native speaker but is full of typos, and I have loved them! The content of the story is what matters, to me.
And I do try to remove as many typos as I can, in my own stories. But some people are still new to writing, or drawing, etc, and they should still have a chance to get their work out there. And it can still be enjoyed, even if it's "poorly" drawn or written.
In a similar vein, some Youtube channels have videos of people singing terribly. And yet, who cares? They still have a right to sing, and enjoy singing! :) And others can enjoy their progress, or even if there's no progress, their passion for singing.
If you wait until your writing, singing, or art is "good enough" to get it out there, it will NEVER get out there! PukingPlaintain's comment, ironically, reminded me that I just need to relax and not worry about perfection. I don't want to end up like her--whether I would treat myself this way, or others!
I remember taking a Figure Drawing (human body) class about two years ago, when I first started this blog. I went to the haunted Umpqua Community College at the time, as it was well before the shooting. I remember one of my classmates, an older woman about in her mid-thirties, I would say. She didn't seem very confident at all. And I once overheard her tell our teacher, "I'm afraid to draw that. I'm afraid it won't be any good."
That was exactly how I felt, with drawing, and how I still feel, sometimes. I remember being shocked, once, reading someone describe drawing as "relaxing," since it was so stressful for me! :)
But my art teacher, another woman about the same age as her non-confident student, said, "Why? It's just paper! The worst thing that's going to happen is that you'll make it ugly!"
And that always stuck in my memory. It's just paper. Or it's just a blog post or story on the internet. Or it's just a video. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that you make it ugly, poorly written, poorly sung, or not what you had in mind when you started it.
I remember that often. And it helps me to banish my perfectionist tendencies, when they give me grief about something. It's just...fill-in-the-blank.
I remember, also, that I used to wish I had a mental disability, because then I would be able to be easy on myself, if I couldn't do something very well.
Now, that wasn't very sensitive--but I still remind myself that, if I was disabled somehow, I would know to be easy on myself, and love myself, no matter how "bad" the things I tried were. If I was disabled, physically or mentally, I would just love my efforts. So why not just love my efforts, right now?
There are going to be some people who seem more naturally gifted than me, or who do it easier or "better." But that doesn't make me worse. That doesn't mean that I don't have considerable talent or potential. And most of all, it doesn't make my contributions any less valuable or worthy.
Society is understanding of people who have disabilities, and rightfully so. But it's harsher on people who are not disabled, or not visibly so. If a comedian is a beginner, and still learning about timing and jokes, then they "suck" and should not be in comedy! If a singer is a beginner, and their voice is untrained, then they are screechy and awful and should never sing again. (Notice that THEY are considered screechy and awful--not their singing or sometimes even their voices.)
People don't say that someone is a beginning, out of practice, or doesn't draw in a style they like--they say that the artist "draws terribly." And yet if they knew that the artist had no arms and was drawing with their feet, or had a pencil in their mouth, it wouldn't be "poorly drawn." It would be great, for what the artist was capable of, especially at the beginning of having to draw like that.
People have differing abilities, whether they are disabled or not. And everyone should have the right to simply enjoy themselves. And perhaps their abilities will improve. But even if they don't--who cares? Get your work out there, tell people you are a beginner, or disabled, or whatever, and you will find people who are supportive, who encourage you. Some people will be haters, but block them, keep doing your thing, and get as far as you can with it! If you can't find anyone to be encouraging to you, then encourage and love yourself. (And you can also leave a comment below, and I will be encouraging to you, because any effort should be celebrated, not torn down!)
Remember, this is your hobby! You should have fun with it, not be worried about performance!
That comment above has just reminded me that, now more than ever, I need to not worry about whether something is good or bad, and just have fun or enjoy writing it. I don't want to end up like this person! I don't want to feel like my story or my writing is unworthy somehow, or inferior, just because it's not famous or other people think it's poorly written. Other people may simply have not heard of me, or they simply may have a different taste in writing, or not care for the subjects I like to write about (or be more picky about "imperfections" than I am, with my passion). And none of that is my fault, either. I don't want to end up like this person, measuring my success and self-worth by what others think of me, or my writing--even if they're A LOT of others!
So the night that I read that comment, I pitched an article to a site I've always wanted to write for, Cracked.com. And if it doesn't get accepted there, then it will be published here. The article is "6 Things LGBT People Wish Christians Knew About Them." (I also have two fan theories that I will post here, if they don't get accepted there. They want theories to be convincing, but I like theories that are creepy or make the story better, whether they're convincing to others or not.)
I thought at first that my LGBT article idea would be too controversial for Cracked--but I have to try! I have to try, and I have to simply enjoy the process of trying, every step of the way.
It's vitally important that I not become another Masturbating Banana, judging myself and others very harshly--for something that is a mere hobby! Something that should be fun, that should bring joy and purpose to the creator's life--and hopefully, joy to those that share her taste.
And Wanking 'Nanner, apparently, judges her art based on how many fans she has, or some whim of her inner critic. I must avoid becoming like her, at all costs!
So I guess it was good, in the end, that she said that, because I was reminded of exactly what I don't want to be, and I've redoubled my efforts to be the exact opposite of that. I'm not going to thank her, because she's being awful, but I'm glad to know what I don't want to be. I now have the living embodiment of my perfectionist tendencies--and she can kiss my ass. Because I'm going to enjoy my life, and I can't enjoy it fully unless I get all of my work out there. :)
(And one more thing: I would suggest that anyone who is curious whether my story is "poorly written" or not, should read the story here, and judge for themselves. My work speaks for itself, and I am still just as proud of it as ever.)
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
The Only Thing Worse Than Hell (Is Thinking You Deserve It)
I remember, from the time I was in third grade to the time I was fifteen, being almost constantly afraid of going to hell. I remember praying, when I was smaller, that God would not let me die before I knew all of my sins, so I could repent of them all. I was afraid that I would die, not knowing that I had sinned, and so have unconfessed sin and go to hell.
When I was older, I was scared to death of losing my faith and therefore, going to hell. I had heard very bad things about teenagers, that they were frivolous and didn't care about God at all. And I was scared to be one. I was scared, as my thirteenth birthday approached, because I had heard that teens were bad. I didn't want to be a teenager, because teenagers went astray, lost their faith, and disrespected their parents--when they weren't doing drugs, having unprotected sex and getting pregnant, or becoming Satanists. What should have been a purely happy time, looking forward to my birthday and later just enjoying life, I dreaded immensely. After all, in a church play in which I was involved at age thirteen, I remember very vividly that literally ALL of the teenage characters in the play went to hell!
But through all of that, I realize now, I wasn't truly afraid of hell. There was a much deeper, more sinister fear, one I still struggle with today, in spite of not believing that hell is likely to exist. Underneath it all, I was truly afraid of being a bad person. Underneath my fear of eternal torment was the fear of being someone who deserves eternal torment. (And it didn't help that I was told I did, anyway, no matter if the speaker believed themselves to be just as bad!)
I still fear being a bad person, and it comes out in so many subtle ways. I nearly hate myself if something bad happens to one of my animals, even if it's not my fault. And even if it's small, like the cat being trapped in my car for a few hours at night, or my disabled chicken possibly getting thirsty.
I worry sometimes that I don't work hard enough if I don't have a traditional or full-time job. I feel compelled to help people as much as I can, even if I need to help myself, first.
This also comes out in my perfectionist tendencies. I failed my driver's license test five times, and each time, it was devastating. It was hard to ascribe that to being a bad person, but I felt like I was a failure, not my driving (even though I wasn't "supposed" to feel that way). That I simply couldn't measure up to what was expected of me--what I expected of myself. It didn't help that I didn't want to take my driving test, for years, that I had a real phobia, because...well, can you blame me? I was homeschooled, too, so failing so publicly, in front of a stranger, was especially humiliating.
I felt like I should "just do it," and I felt so weak for not being "tough" enough to punish myself like this.
I think a lot of what reinforced my fear of being a "failure" or "loser" was my snooty aunt. She seems to, even now, measure the success of her children by how much unlike me they are. I remember when my youngest cousin was fifteen, and showed no interest in getting his learner's permit, that she blurted out, "He's going to be just like AJ!" right in front of my mother. My mom has never thought of me as a failure, and she didn't care what her sister said. But I think that was so telling. My extended family is very close, so it's hard not to care what they think. To this day, I sometimes find myself measuring myself against what I think she will think, even though she is not involved in my day-to-day life. It's a hard habit to break.
I must have gotten the notion that hell is where people go who hate God, and so I thought that if I went to hell, it must mean that I was a selfish, hateful person. A bad person.
I saw how Christians did not believe people, when they said they didn't hate God. When they said that they did not simply want to sin. That they weren't selfish, or hypocrites, or too self-centered to give their lives to Jesus.
These people were not believed about their own moral state, about their very thoughts and feelings. They were assumed to be lying, or lying to themselves. And they were condemned in the name of "discernment." And of course, Christians expected to be believed, when they said they weren't judging or condemning, just "telling the truth in love." But it wasn't the truth. In order for Christians to be telling the truth, all unbelievers had to be evil, hateful, selfish liars--ironically, what Christians claimed to be before being saved. The Christians thought they could throw stones BECAUSE OF their sin, not in spite of it, or because they had none.
So I didn't even believe myself, or believe that I was good, in spite of doing bad things, or in spite of a part of me not wanting to pray or read my bible that day, etc. I assumed that I was lying to myself. I was not allowed to trust my own instincts, even in spite of what other people said.
So when my brain was tired of reading the bible--in King James for a while, no less--I automatically assumed that it was my bad "flesh" trying to get out of reading God's word. I assumed that the devil was tempting me, and I was being susceptible. And this is just one example. I had severe insomnia for years, because I was so vigilant about my mind and not having one un-Christian thought, that I could not simply relax and let myself go.
I didn't realize that sometimes, it's hard to know what the right thing is. Even with all of the rules of Christianity, where your "relationship" with God is defined not by spending time with God, or even just talking to God (as if he answers back), but by how you live your life, whether your clothes are modest enough (though my family and I thought ankle-length skirts were cult-ish), and whether you can witness and have perfectly Christian conversations all the time.
It's hard for Christians to see prayer, meditation, and bible study, so they judge whether someone is a "real" Christian by outward appearances, or by statistics about said prayer and bible study--how many pages read, how long one prayed or "listened to God" or choose-your-euphemism, how "great" was the spiritual experience described. No other "relationship" is measured in that way.
Or by how one party lives or their personality. No one says that I don't love my mother, if I cuss, even if my mother hates cussing (she doesn't). But they certainly say that I don't love God, if I cuss, because they think God doesn't like cussing.
My biggest fear, to this day, is being a bad person, or being a "failure," or not responsible enough. But my mother never thinks that I'm a bad person, or that I'm a "failure." And there are many others in my life whom I'm sure wouldn't think that, either--even if my uppity Christian aunt isn't one of them. So I try to see myself through the eyes of people who love me, and who accept me and like me just the way I am. If this was someone else's life, I would not be judging them, I would be happy for them! So I try to be easy on myself. And I'm getting much better at it, though I seem to keep finding little insecurities every day.
Sometimes I tell myself, over and over in my own mind, "I am good. I am good." And it feels like I am getting high off of those words. I was never taught to believe that, not by my mainstream, "normal" evangelical Christian school, anyway. It was even frowned upon. And I'm sure they would wonder why I had such low self-esteem for so many years, and why I was depressed.
I'm supposed to love myself because God loves me so much and made me, and blah, blah, blah. But I'm also supposed to know just how fundamentally bad and depraved and evil I am, at least on my own. I'm supposed to love myself and have joy because God makes no mistakes--but I'm also supposed to hate my "sinful flesh." I'm supposed to love myself, while believing myself to be fundamentally unlovable. I'm supposed to love myself, while also hating a part of myself that I can't just get rid or choose not to have. (LGBT people, does this sound familiar?)
But love cannot be mixed with hate. The hate is the part that will shine through. Especially if the person you both love and hate is yourself.
The fear of hell does not scare me much at all, now. It took years, and my faith being "broken," to get to this place, but I've finally arrived. But the fear of being a bad person, lingers, and it will probably take years to get rid of completely--if I even can get rid of it completely.
I wonder how many other people, from both religious and non-religious backgrounds, have this fear, as well. I know some Christians who take it for granted that they are good and moral, because Jesus makes them that way. And I know some atheists who try to help others, as much as they can. Perhaps part of that is really wanting to think of themselves as good people, or perhaps they simply like to help others, in whatever form that takes for them. Who knows?
In any case, I do believe that most people do not think of the question, "Am I afraid of being a bad person?" But I think they should. Because I believe more people struggle with this, and don't realize it, than people that do not--especially if they are or have been very religious.
When I was older, I was scared to death of losing my faith and therefore, going to hell. I had heard very bad things about teenagers, that they were frivolous and didn't care about God at all. And I was scared to be one. I was scared, as my thirteenth birthday approached, because I had heard that teens were bad. I didn't want to be a teenager, because teenagers went astray, lost their faith, and disrespected their parents--when they weren't doing drugs, having unprotected sex and getting pregnant, or becoming Satanists. What should have been a purely happy time, looking forward to my birthday and later just enjoying life, I dreaded immensely. After all, in a church play in which I was involved at age thirteen, I remember very vividly that literally ALL of the teenage characters in the play went to hell!
But through all of that, I realize now, I wasn't truly afraid of hell. There was a much deeper, more sinister fear, one I still struggle with today, in spite of not believing that hell is likely to exist. Underneath it all, I was truly afraid of being a bad person. Underneath my fear of eternal torment was the fear of being someone who deserves eternal torment. (And it didn't help that I was told I did, anyway, no matter if the speaker believed themselves to be just as bad!)
I still fear being a bad person, and it comes out in so many subtle ways. I nearly hate myself if something bad happens to one of my animals, even if it's not my fault. And even if it's small, like the cat being trapped in my car for a few hours at night, or my disabled chicken possibly getting thirsty.
I worry sometimes that I don't work hard enough if I don't have a traditional or full-time job. I feel compelled to help people as much as I can, even if I need to help myself, first.
This also comes out in my perfectionist tendencies. I failed my driver's license test five times, and each time, it was devastating. It was hard to ascribe that to being a bad person, but I felt like I was a failure, not my driving (even though I wasn't "supposed" to feel that way). That I simply couldn't measure up to what was expected of me--what I expected of myself. It didn't help that I didn't want to take my driving test, for years, that I had a real phobia, because...well, can you blame me? I was homeschooled, too, so failing so publicly, in front of a stranger, was especially humiliating.
I felt like I should "just do it," and I felt so weak for not being "tough" enough to punish myself like this.
I think a lot of what reinforced my fear of being a "failure" or "loser" was my snooty aunt. She seems to, even now, measure the success of her children by how much unlike me they are. I remember when my youngest cousin was fifteen, and showed no interest in getting his learner's permit, that she blurted out, "He's going to be just like AJ!" right in front of my mother. My mom has never thought of me as a failure, and she didn't care what her sister said. But I think that was so telling. My extended family is very close, so it's hard not to care what they think. To this day, I sometimes find myself measuring myself against what I think she will think, even though she is not involved in my day-to-day life. It's a hard habit to break.
I must have gotten the notion that hell is where people go who hate God, and so I thought that if I went to hell, it must mean that I was a selfish, hateful person. A bad person.
I saw how Christians did not believe people, when they said they didn't hate God. When they said that they did not simply want to sin. That they weren't selfish, or hypocrites, or too self-centered to give their lives to Jesus.
These people were not believed about their own moral state, about their very thoughts and feelings. They were assumed to be lying, or lying to themselves. And they were condemned in the name of "discernment." And of course, Christians expected to be believed, when they said they weren't judging or condemning, just "telling the truth in love." But it wasn't the truth. In order for Christians to be telling the truth, all unbelievers had to be evil, hateful, selfish liars--ironically, what Christians claimed to be before being saved. The Christians thought they could throw stones BECAUSE OF their sin, not in spite of it, or because they had none.
So I didn't even believe myself, or believe that I was good, in spite of doing bad things, or in spite of a part of me not wanting to pray or read my bible that day, etc. I assumed that I was lying to myself. I was not allowed to trust my own instincts, even in spite of what other people said.
So when my brain was tired of reading the bible--in King James for a while, no less--I automatically assumed that it was my bad "flesh" trying to get out of reading God's word. I assumed that the devil was tempting me, and I was being susceptible. And this is just one example. I had severe insomnia for years, because I was so vigilant about my mind and not having one un-Christian thought, that I could not simply relax and let myself go.
I didn't realize that sometimes, it's hard to know what the right thing is. Even with all of the rules of Christianity, where your "relationship" with God is defined not by spending time with God, or even just talking to God (as if he answers back), but by how you live your life, whether your clothes are modest enough (though my family and I thought ankle-length skirts were cult-ish), and whether you can witness and have perfectly Christian conversations all the time.
It's hard for Christians to see prayer, meditation, and bible study, so they judge whether someone is a "real" Christian by outward appearances, or by statistics about said prayer and bible study--how many pages read, how long one prayed or "listened to God" or choose-your-euphemism, how "great" was the spiritual experience described. No other "relationship" is measured in that way.
Or by how one party lives or their personality. No one says that I don't love my mother, if I cuss, even if my mother hates cussing (she doesn't). But they certainly say that I don't love God, if I cuss, because they think God doesn't like cussing.
My biggest fear, to this day, is being a bad person, or being a "failure," or not responsible enough. But my mother never thinks that I'm a bad person, or that I'm a "failure." And there are many others in my life whom I'm sure wouldn't think that, either--even if my uppity Christian aunt isn't one of them. So I try to see myself through the eyes of people who love me, and who accept me and like me just the way I am. If this was someone else's life, I would not be judging them, I would be happy for them! So I try to be easy on myself. And I'm getting much better at it, though I seem to keep finding little insecurities every day.
Sometimes I tell myself, over and over in my own mind, "I am good. I am good." And it feels like I am getting high off of those words. I was never taught to believe that, not by my mainstream, "normal" evangelical Christian school, anyway. It was even frowned upon. And I'm sure they would wonder why I had such low self-esteem for so many years, and why I was depressed.
I'm supposed to love myself because God loves me so much and made me, and blah, blah, blah. But I'm also supposed to know just how fundamentally bad and depraved and evil I am, at least on my own. I'm supposed to love myself and have joy because God makes no mistakes--but I'm also supposed to hate my "sinful flesh." I'm supposed to love myself, while believing myself to be fundamentally unlovable. I'm supposed to love myself, while also hating a part of myself that I can't just get rid or choose not to have. (LGBT people, does this sound familiar?)
But love cannot be mixed with hate. The hate is the part that will shine through. Especially if the person you both love and hate is yourself.
The fear of hell does not scare me much at all, now. It took years, and my faith being "broken," to get to this place, but I've finally arrived. But the fear of being a bad person, lingers, and it will probably take years to get rid of completely--if I even can get rid of it completely.
I wonder how many other people, from both religious and non-religious backgrounds, have this fear, as well. I know some Christians who take it for granted that they are good and moral, because Jesus makes them that way. And I know some atheists who try to help others, as much as they can. Perhaps part of that is really wanting to think of themselves as good people, or perhaps they simply like to help others, in whatever form that takes for them. Who knows?
In any case, I do believe that most people do not think of the question, "Am I afraid of being a bad person?" But I think they should. Because I believe more people struggle with this, and don't realize it, than people that do not--especially if they are or have been very religious.
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