I'm going to be posting two posts today, but the other one will be kink-related, so be aware. Or beware. However you feel about that particular expression of sexuality.

I've been feeling… off… lately. I think since the Arthritis Introspective G8 Conference in Milwaukee two weeks-ish ago. Don't get me wrong, it was a great time and I made some fantastic business/advocacy connections, not to mention at least one solid friendship which I suspect will last a lifetime. I didn't learn much that was new to me, which surprised me, honestly. I didn't realize how much I already know about rheumatological diseases in general, and living with them in specific. I impressed myself, actually. lol. However, it was difficult in the sense that there were a lot of people there who do all this amazing volunteer/advocacy/professional work to support the arthritis community and raise awareness and change legislature to benefit the citizens of the arthritis community, and it left me feeling basically like a big, fat loser.

I already have a difficult time with the reality of having to leave my work at the Healing Journey, which  is my baby, having nurtured it from the ground up and having actively been a part of almost every step of its growth until a year and some change ago… whenever it was I stopped working. Two years? Yeah, I think so. Time flies, really, and I forget when I stopped doing this or that. They aren't exactly milestones that I wish to remember and celebrate. Although… maybe I ought to do just that? Maybe I should pinpoint the milestones of my disease(s) progression and find some way to look at them in an optimistic light, or at least not be totally broken over them. Have a tea party with friends for every "anniversary", or do something symbolic and meaningful to honor the tough decisions I've had to make in the past. I like that idea. I personally feel that symbols and representations are immensely powerful and can be crazy healing if used in earnestness. It goes along with my slow research and interest in paganism/nature-based "religion". I'll have to think on that and see what comes to mind.

Speaking of symbols and representations, did you notice that I got my nose pierced?! Oh, and my lobes got another hole in them as well. This ties into my "funk" in a sense, because one of my greatest gripes about my time as a super Christian is that I had to so severely curtail my personality and present an image that wasn't really me, and to me that hearkens right back to the extremely abusive and dysfunctional environments in which I was raised. I was actively told to keep the true nature of our home life a secret from the authority figures in my life, such as the school teacher at the small church school I attended from first to eighth grade. At home as well, I learned early to cultivate or feign an interest in whatever my step-dad was into, to avoid as much pain as possible and garner as much affection as he was willing to dole out. So that means that the Raiders became my football team, I loved video games and Final Fantasy VII, I watched WWF wrestling and had a favorite wrestler, though I deviated there by favoring Goldberg instead of Sting. It was a survival mechanism, in childhood as well as in adulthood. I needed an identity, acceptance, because I had so long stifled my own identity and could not accept myself. How could I? I'd been told in various ways, most non-verbal, that who I was naturally was unacceptable. Such is the nature of abuse, of the power and control wielded by the strong, abusive person or people. They efface the identity of the weaker, tell them who and what to be, becoming ever more powerful with each act of compliance. It's awful.

My teenage years, the high school years, were a reprieve. I dressed how I wanted, collected and hoarded the things I found interesting, listened to "my" music… but it left me isolated and ostracized, for the most part. I always had a few friends, but most people stayed away from me. Apparently they were afraid or intimidated because I seemed so self-confident and assured, but it was a complete facade. I did enjoy those years of relative freedom, though. It was during that time that I met my husband and we fell in love. He became the person who knew me the best; my true self. Every gory detail was open to his eyes and ears… eventually. And he accepted me. That laid the very first foundation for healing, though it was many years before any significant healing would take place.

Now, I'm recovering from my years in bible college and as a worker for my denomination in a small, backwoods area of Idaho that was more conservative than anything I'd ever seen before. I know that I was probably considered very liberal, though I was considered extremely conservative where I came from. It's funny how that superficial identity can shift from place to place, depending on the perceptions of those around you. But I'm still scared to fully express myself, because of social media and the circles I'm still friends with. I want to be "me", but I don't want to drive away or alienate my old friends whose views I understand but don't necessarily agree with. And more than anything I don't want to be evangelized. I'm not "lost". In fact, although I've felt so "blah" since the conference--something I later realized to be the product of travel exhaustion and PMS--I still feel the strength and confidence that I possess in myself keeping me afloat. I have times where I doubt myself, get down on myself, even hate myself still. It happens from time to time. But one of the things that I hated most while trying to be a Christian was having to give away my power and give the credit for my strength and my accomplishments to god. You know what I mean-- you are never actually the one who does anything, because it's god engineering the circumstances and giving you strength and telling you what to say, right? It reminds me of playing with dolls or figurines/action figures. I said what I was supposed to, but I was constantly bewildered by the fact that I was the one who worked hard and poured out my effort and strength, yet I was supposed to ignore my own willpower (because relying on your own willpower is a sin, I think) and demurely say "praise god!". It just didn't sit right with me. Again, probably because of the lifetime of abuse and domination where my power was taken away again and again and again, my accomplishments diminished and ignored.

I get that a lot of my beef with my denominations beliefs stem from my sensitivity to abusive tactics. Some might say that I'm overreacting and interpreting abuse and dysfunction where there is none, but I believe that, because of my sensitivity, I see what others may not be aware of. They may be fine with ignoring their part in things and giving all the credit to god, but I'm not. Human beings are remarkable, and capable of so much. I think that it does a disservice to humanity and our potential when our strength, our creativity, our amazing power to endure the unthinkable and come out the other side hopeful and gracious, all that is attributed to the subtle workings of a divine being who is way out of our league when it comes to that kind of stuff. What about the incredible contributions of atheists or other religions to humanity? I've been told that it's god working through them without their knowledge, but isn't that kind of invasive? If a deity is going to pop into my head and use me as a vehicle for his/her/their accomplishments, I'd kinda like to know about it. It feels like a conspiracy theory for Big Brother or something.

Anywayyyyy… moving on from that soapbox… you may have guessed this by now, but my piercings are symbolic for me of trying to be the best version of myself that I can be; my true, honest self. It's an "I've wanted this for a really long time, dammit, and I'm not going to let my fear of rejection or criticism stop me from expressing myself anymore!" statement. And you know what? I love my nose ring so much. I think it looks really attractive, and I like who I see in the mirror a little more now that I have it. I feel a little more badass, more ready to take on whatever comes to me, a little more bold and creative. I feel unstoppable, really. All that from a couple little circlets of metal. Go figure.

This feeling of uncertainty, of "blah-ness" that's been haunting me for the past five or so days has also led me to take a step back and evaluate my life. I don't want to waste away on the couch for the rest of my life, but I do recognize that I'm in a transitional phase right now. It won't always be like this, but right now I'm trying to find diagnoses and learn to manage what I already know about. It's a lot of work and time and energy, and I don't have much left over for anything else except maintaining my marriage and a few select friendships. In fact, I really need people to be proactive if they want to interact with me at this point. I'm exhausted all of the time, and I am sleeping a good deal of the 24-hour day. I spend a lot of time with my cats and snakes, too, when I'm awake. Mostly because I can do that while I'm doing other stuff, but mostly mostly because my cats follow me around and sleep next to me and take my spot if I get up for something.

I have a few bits of news that's developed recently, as well. Firstly, I was denied disability again. Everyone who knows me and has heard is more or less incensed, because they believe that I qualify without reservation, and moreover that it would be a huge benefit for me and my husband. I feel the same way. I'm really ticked off, because they claim that they carefully reviewed my records, yet the list of diseases I have is not only incomplete but one of them is totally wrong!! Nowhere in my medical records does it state that I have hyperthyroidism. I struggle with hypothyroidism, something that's given me much grief and physical suffering through the years. Uncontrolled, it is debilitating in its own right. Corey and I both agree that it's time to seek a lawyer's help. I also received a private message from an acquaintance who is a disability lawyer in a different state, and she said as much before I even discussed it with her in depth. I felt quite affirmed in kind of a silly way while Corey and I were discussing the disability ruling and our next move. I suggested that maybe I am just "being a pansy" and I'm not as sick as I think I am? Maybe I just need to suck it up and try harder? Corey looked me in the face and said, "No. You are not a wimp or a pansy. You are sick, and they're wrong." I know that if I were simply being lazy, he would call me out on it. He agrees and says that he'd tell me to go do something. lol. It was nice, though, knowing that my hubby not only agrees with me, but he understands the severity of my issues and believes that I am doing my absolute best to be "well" (or just "better") and productive. It warmed my heart.

In other news, I began physical therapy today! The great part is that she comes to my house once a week, so I don't have to arrange transportation for that as well. It's hard enough trying to find rides for all of my dr's appointments, much less the ones in other cities or states! Seriously. That is the biggest thorn in my side besides the Intractable Pain. (The pain which the good ol' disability folks didn't list among my diseases or take into consideration, apparently.) I have a chart of exercises to get through, and the repetitions are low for now. We are starting small and working up, not only because of my hypermobility, but also because of my extreme fatigue. At first, my goal is to do all of the exercises within two days. She showed me sitting variations for almost all of the 9 exercise moves, so that's a really good thing for me. Did you know that there's a sitting variation for crunches?! Yeah. I'm super freakin' thrilled, especially because I mentioned that doing sit-ups or crunches on the ground makes my hips pop during every rep and it's quite painful. I had to deal with that through years and years of high school P.E. classes, and I'd like to avoid it if at all possible… which it is!!! Joy to the world ^_^

That's about all for now. I feel that I've rambled quite enough for one night, and I still have that "other" post to do. I have a project that I'd like to get done this evening as well, so maybe I'll take a typing break and work on that for a bit. I plan to get on the internet more frequently in the near future. I have the desire, if not necessarily the drive for it. I was feeling guilty for a while, but then I just realized that this is the phase I'm in right now. I don't need the internet as a constant distraction from my raging pain, because it's being managed fairly well, and I have other things that take up the increasingly minimal hours that I'm awake. In all truthfulness, too, being online exhausts me. It's just tiring, and I'm already so tired that I don't feel like handling that extra tiredness as well. That's usually why I avoid it these days. But I'm starting to feel a hankering to participate again, to come out of my isolation a bit, and the internet is the way to do that. So I may be posting more often, lurking on Facebook a bit more, and hanging out on the kinky message boards I read more frequently. Just as I'm launching PT to strengthen my body, I think that I could use some social strengthening as well. I'll give it a go, anyway.
Toodle-oo!

(image found at http://xkcd.com/137/)

There's been some stuff that I've been wanting to write about lately, but I've held myself back because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of rejection, afraid of judgment, afraid that I might offend those readers whom I call friends so deeply that they will turn away and never come back. I've been toying with the idea of writing it anyway, because really, this is my space to be free and be myself without judgment, and the moment I censor myself because of some imagined consequences at the hands of probable judges, well… I might as well just stop writing altogether.

I do know that some of the things I have to write will be unsavory for certain members of the conservative Christian crowd that I used to run with, and that's fine. Different strokes for different folks, you know? But it's the thought of those conservatives that fills me with such dread, as I know that such a community can be rather… unforgiving in nature, and I don't want to bring that kind of wrath down upon myself. I also don't want to make myself the target of some kind of evangelistic campaign designed to "win me back to the truth" or "bring me to the light" somehow. The choices that I've made have been very deliberate and thoughtful, not hasty compromises made in the throes of passion or despair. 

I don't feel like I'm being true to myself, editing out important bits of my life and personality this way. With this in mind, I have decided to write. Stumbling upon this cartoon earlier this evening just underscored my conviction and reinforced my thoughts. I still wish to take the convictions and repugnances of others into consideration, however, such as the toning down of the language that I often use, substituting swear words and epithets for other phrases. My plan is to speak in broad strokes about what I wish, and if I feel the need to go into detail I'll save it for a separate post, so readers can decide if they want to read that particular entry or not.

Why all this hesitation, all this caution, you ask? To put it simply, I'm an active member of the BDSM culture and community where I live, and I apply the kinks and fetishes I am interested in to my lifestyle on a regular basis. No, Corey and I aren't having sex on a very regular basis anymore, simply due to illness constraints and stress problems, but I can say in all honesty that kink isn't just about sex. That is, it doesn't have to be. It can be, or it can be completely removed from lust and intercourse. You really have to be involved to understand. But yes-- I like leather and lashes and corsets and ropes. All of that good old taboo stuff. There is a huge wide world of kink and fetishes within BDSM, of course. There's no way one could possibly be interested in or involved in everything. What I appreciate most about the culture is its emphasis on Safe, Sane, and Consensual, or alternately phrased, Risk Aware Consensual Kink.

What I would ask is that anyone who is finding themselves repulsed or immediately huffy and judgmental, do some research. There are a million and one websites that explain the basics and the theory without being pornographic, and who knows but that the information may prove of use in the future? Just because a person looks "vanilla" (not involved with kink) doesn't mean they are. Most of us keep up a very good front, afraid to come out of the closet for fear of losing jobs, friends, family relationships… There is a lot of stigma, and a lot of misinformation. That's part of the reason why I want to be open and honest about this; to dislodge and refute stereotypes and negative associations.

The reason I bring this up at all is because it's how I celebrated my birthday. The group in Yuma that I'm a part of has monthly "munches", which are vanilla gatherings where we get together and eat, hang out, and just generally have a fun time together. We also have monthly play parties where we get together and do just what the name implies-- we play, as groups, couples, or individuals. I've attended several parties but I've never had the opportunity to engage in any play before, as one of the rules imposed on me is that I'm not allowed to play unless Drogo is in attendance and gives me permission. His days off were changed to include the day the play party was held, and he came with and gave me permission to engage in some play. He said, "It's your birthday; go have some fun," all indulgent-like. It was cute. I was ecstatic. But I will write a separate post about the party and how it went, what I did, etc. for anyone who wishes to read it. Most of the time, at that party and at all the others, my time is spent hanging out with a plate of food and chatting with my friends. Just like any other party. We really are like any other people, except that our mutual hobbies are considered alternative, or even "bad". (Hence the secrecy.)

Another thing I've been wanting to write about but holding back on is my spiritual journey. If you've read some stuff from the early days of my blog, you may know that I was struggling along in a particularly conservative branch of Protestantism known as Seventh Day Adventist. I have absolutely nothing against the Adventist church, as I was essentially born and raised SDA and have a great number of fond memories throughout my life associated with it. A large amount of the people I hold near and dear to my heart are active SDA members, and I spent 3 or 4 years working as a missionary for the church here in the States. That being said, some of the attitudes and actions of members and leaders in the church really damaged me in profound ways, and some of the beliefs held by the church and by the members crippled me in ways that have been difficult to undo.

After moving back to the Southwest from the Northwest, where I lived for several years, I engaged in about a year and a half of study as to whether the basic tenets of Christianity and the authenticity of the Bible were real concepts that I could trust and build my belief system upon. I didn't find it to be so. When I stopped trying to make Christianity my worldview, life started making more sense. I began recovering from the depression that gripped me with suicidal force and pulled me into a blackness so thick that I could feel nothing else, nothing but crushing despair and agony. I laugh a little bitterly to myself when I think that I have a "reverse testimony"; that is, I'm the opposite of the people that stand up and tell how they were tormented and miserable and did all kinds of things and couldn't find happiness or true satisfaction in life until they "found Jesus", and once they became Christians and got saved then they had happiness and peace and life made sense for the first time. For me, I was tormented and miserable and couldn't find happiness or true satisfaction until I walked away from Christianity. Finally, finally, for what seemed the first time in my life, I had peace. I was happy. And I felt guilty, because from infancy up I had been taught that the SDA church had "the Truth", and if I walked away from that I would be lost forever. I worried that maybe it actually was true, and I was going to be lost for walking away… but I couldn't bring myself to go back, to resign myself to a life of such deep unhappiness and emptiness. Not now that I'd finally started liking who I was, seeing worth in myself and seeing beauty in the life around me and before me.

I've come to the place over these past 2 years where I will now call myself an agnostic atheist. My belief is that deities are the creations of mankind, a projection, a metaphor, something we need to survive mentally and emotionally as beings of higher intelligence. Don't quiz me on facts and details-- I'm still figuring all this out, and I was never a good apologeticist, no matter what side of things I stood on. I've always had leanings toward paganism, though-- Wicca or NeoPaganism and all that, or maybe some of the New Age beliefs. As I've been doing research lately, though, I have found that even Wicca is too "religious" for me. Again, I don't believe in actual, literal deities, and Wicca calls upon the God and the Goddess as literal beings. No, I'm more interested in earth based religions that acknowledge the energy and the life forces in the world around us, in the universe we reside in, and that seeks to reach out and redirect those forces with my own will. I think that the rituals have some kind of scientific effect that we don't understand yet, and so the results are attributed to "magick". A great deal of what is done now, without a second thought, could and likely would have been labeled magick a few centuries ago, much less thousands of years ago. If you went back to 12 A.D. and had a Bic lighter in your hand, do you think the people around you would recognize the interaction of friction and heat and fuel? Nope. You'd be a wizard, a sorcerer, a speaker for the gods.

Anyway, that's where I'm at now. I feel a large sense of relief to have written all that, but I also feel a nervous quivering throughout me as I contemplate pressing the "Publish" button. What if I lose my friends? What if my bestie doesn't wanna be my bestie anymore? *sigh* But then I guess… this part of me is still there, whether I speak about it or not. If I lose friends or family or whatever over this, well… them only accepting part of me isn't enough. That's not real acceptance, nor is it real love. It's just a test I must brave, I suppose.

That in mind… there's no way I'd ever reveal any of this to my grandparents, though. My grampa and I recently got into a very heated disagreement regarding Adventists who keep the Old Testament feasts. I know several people who do, and did myself at one point in time. My point was that they are living up to what they believe is what God wants them to do. Grampa got angry because they're WRONG, doesn't matter if they believe they're right or not, and they need to give up their sin and come back to the truth of God, yadda yadda yadda. He came to me and apologized afterward, admitting that he was being very closed-minded and cruel and it wasn't okay. I appreciated that very much. But if I were ever to tell him that I'm a pagan atheist BDSMer who is heteroflexible? Yeah. He'd probably never speak to me again. I've noticed that as people age they tend to become very inflexible, closed, and narrow minded. Their way or the high way, you know? Maybe it's just older Christians, or older Adventists in particular. I mean, they've spent so long having the idea pounded into them that only SDA's have the Truth, everyone else is wrong, and that a good SDA will tell them they're wrong so that they're not eternally lost. Otherwise it's on your head if they're "lost" and you didn't tell 'em, you know? Just another reason I left. I was sick of the gut sickening feeling I'd get when I walked into a grocery store or a gas station and felt like had to pass out tracts and witness or else I wasn't living up to my commitment as a Christian, and that maybe I'd let an opportunity pass that was the person's last. You know, like they'd die in a car accident right afterward on their way home or something. I hated that pressure. I still exult in my freedom as I walk into the grocery store and know that I don't have to interact with a single damn person if I don't want to, and usually I don't.

As my friend and I were discussing earlier, things change and people change right along with them. I am a very different person than I was just a year ago, or even a few months for that matter! I feel like springtime, like a bud poised on the edge of blooming at any second, like I'm finally growing after a season of being stumped and stunted and I'm coming into my potential at last. It's a great feeling. I'm learning and expanding in so many ways, and I just want to keep going. Everything inside me feels clean and happy, despite being sick, despite my life having taken such a drastic left turn. No, things aren't perfect, and there's still stress on me and in our household due to various things (bills, illness, general relationship stuff that happens to everyone), but I know that I'm already a richly developed woman and that the trend will continue. Honestly? I feel like I'm my own friend for the first time, and I'm actually glad to know me. I'm proud of myself. Isn't that the craziest thing?

I got my hands on an off-brand of Nutella that I can actually eat (can we please stop with the gratuitous soy usage, corporate America?), and I understand everything now. I mean everything. The meaning of life, the universe and everything. Turns out it isn't forty two, it's chocolate and hazelnuts. In spreadable form. The gods have descended and Eden is here. It's like the Ferrero Rocher chocolate candies that I've loved so much for so long but can't have anymore (thanks again to the soy problem) have exploded all over this whole grain toasted pita…slice? (what do you call a single piece of pita bread in all its pockety glory?). Of course, the whole wheat makes it healthy. Right? Right. Also, as a completely pointless side note, I must say that not indulging in the Oxford comma for the phrase, "life, the universe and everything" is killing me, but I am pretty sure that's how it's written and I want to be faithful to the original text. Douglas Adams deserves it. (For those completely lost, I'm referencing "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series by Douglas Adams. It's a series of books that is completely silly, mind bending, and entirely sensible if you read them all through.)

Chewing this deluxe chocolatey treat is killer, though, thanks to the good ol' oral surgery recovery. The gaping sockets where my 3 wisdom teeth used to be are pretty much alright, in that there's no easily discernible spikes of pain above what I normally experience, but the bottom left jaw pain has got to be the incarnation of everything evil in the world. Due to the positioning of that tooth, the extraction involved cutting open the gum and sewing it shut again afterward, and this stitched area is causing me debilitating pain. Yes, even with the copious amounts of strong pain killers that I am taking, and yes, even with all of the little countermeasures you can take against pain in addition to the pain meds, it's keeping me from sleeping at night, keeping me from eating solid food, giving me migraines, making the hours pass soooo slooooooowlyyyyy, and making my supply of pain killers look suspiciously puny. Once or twice a day I give in and eat something that requires chewing, but ouch.

I finally caved yesterday and started applying ice directly to my jaw, and that was an amazing breakthrough... at first… for a bit. Now it doesn't seem to matter. Sorbet has been a helpful friend as well, kind of numbing things out with cold from the inside, plus it's super delicious! The weather, though, has been affecting the pain levels. Clouds have been coming and going and bringing rain, so on the days that the weather is changing my pain is skyrocketing. On the calm days with no clouds and no changing, I was able to get it mostly under control. Since I cannot control the weather, I will simply do what I can to get this healing up as fast as possible. It's nice to know that this intense pain will end at some point. I'm not used to thinking that way anymore.

So. Birthday coming up in a week, give or take a day. I'm going to be the ripe old age of 27. I think it's fair to say that I'm definitely not where I thought I'd be in life at the moment, and things are going to be different than I had planned, but I think I'm coming to grips with that. I feel like I'm coming to after some time in a thick, numbing sleep, coming back to myself and gulping a huge lungful of air. I've had several "off" months and lots, lots, lots of heavy blows in a row. That's had me staggering, trying to come to terms with reality; adapt, adjust, and survive. I have not lost myself, though, and I feel that irrepressible sense of self rising yet again, despite the surroundings and trappings that modify the expression.

While I was on a walk the other day I caught sight of the desert mountains in the distance, and the dark-light pattern of the clouds and sunlight passing over them in turns gripped my heart as it always does. I felt the familiar yearning for a good, solid hike, followed by a mournful thought that hiking is out of the question when I'm scraping along the road with my walker. The second thought I had was, "Fuck that noise!" I refuse to let myself be bleached barren and bled dry by my disease(s). When I go hiking or backpacking I definitely won't be able to travel as far or as fast, but that doesn't mean that I have to give it up entirely. Yes, there's something to be said for working within the parameters of reality, but there's something more to be said for not giving up on yourself and refusing to become a bland mush of a person when faced with limiting circumstances. So no, I won't be a massage therapist like I had dreamed and planned, because that's just not realistic when you consider my connective tissue disease and my fatigue and pain levels. It's not a matter of want, it's a matter of not physically capable, no matter how hard I push myself and aim for the dramatically inspiring documentary story of a life.

But I still massage my husband, my friends, when I can. When I can. I've adapted. I've altered. But I'm not giving up, not unless I want to, and for my own reasons. Because while I refuse to be conquered and give up on my hobbies and my interests because of circumstances imposed on me against my will, I also refuse to be stuck doing stuff that I no longer really want to do or that I didn't want in the first place, simply to prove that my illness "doesn't define me" or whatever. If I were doing stuff just to prove that my diseases don't have me by the balls, in that moment I'd be proving myself wrong. It's a tricky thought, and a tricky balance, and it's taken me some time to get to this place. At first I needed to simply withdraw and lick the wounds inflicted upon diagnosis, to simply ride the tide of one appointment after another, and I'm okay with that. There will be times when I do so again, and that's fine. So long as the reasons are mine, and I'm doing it for me (and not because I've been bullied into it by people or my diseases), I can do whatever I need to do to get by. For me, for now, it means letting myself emerge once more, a slightly different incarnation with all the spunk and sass of my former self combined with a new balance and perspective tempered by pain and trials.

Hey, did I mention that I got glasses? Yep, I sure did, and they make me look hot. I'll get a picture in here sometime when I can, but for now just take my word for it. Here's how great they are: I actually feel more attractive with them on than without! Yeah, I know. That's never been a thing for me before. In fact, I feel very good about my appearance in general lately. Sure, I'm still overweight and trying to slim down, but my hair has been growing out and is now a chin-length bob in my natural color, my skin is clear, I've got really cute glasses, I finally found a type of bra I can wear comfortably, thus my breasts and cleavage look fantastic (even if they *are* sports bras), and I've got some really cute earrings. I want to get more holes in my ears and I've been playing with the idea of a nose ring, a very thin and delicate hoop (see below), but I just don't think it would look that great.

I've always wanted an eyebrow piercing, however, so maybe I'll go for one of those...

I definitely want what the ponytail lady (that's Fergie, right?) has in the way of earrings-- a whole ear-full, all the way down. (I just hope my babies don't decide to reach for the shiny things, you know? Yikes!)

Of course, I want a tattoo in the worst way but since I struggle with hyperalgesia and always will, I figure that it's probably out of the question. Unless I were to use medical grade anesthesia or something for the procedure. Hmm… (Kidding.) My first tattoo, though, would be this:

To wrap things up, and on a completely unrelated side note, I love my kitties. We took Fancy, the new cat, to the vet today to check out her ears--either mites or an infection, either way real bad when we got her but improving while with us--and she behaved so well both on the car ride and during the appointment itself, even while they made use of the rectal thermometer. I know that I wouldn't be as quiet and docile as she was if a rectal thermometer was involved in my exam! Turns out that there are no mites, at least not right now. It could have started out as mites and then progressed as they left their waste behind, but she has a fungal infection that a course of ear drop medication should clear right up, and I expect that we'll see a bit of a change in her disposition once that's better. She's already sweet now, but there's a difference between being nice and sweet while you're in discomfort or pain and being sweet and nice because you're no longer in discomfort or pain. You know what I mean? Well, right now she's kind of a bitch to Bob and Juneaux (pronounced "juno", by the way), hissing and swiping when they come near or if they (try to) pass by, growling at them if she so much as sees them, but it's just driven Bob and Juneaux closer which is what I was hoping for. They're becoming bros, which didn't happen before because Bob actually had his bro, Cortes! So we'll see what happens as the kitty soap opera continues. Tune in next time for more drama on As the World Tunas/General Pawspital/All My Kitties/As the Fur/Litterbox Turns.

By the by… Which is your favorite kitty soap opera name? Got an original one? Let me know in the comments!

So guess what, folks? The Princess (that's me!) went on vacation. An honest to goodness, get away from it all vacation. I really, really did! It would in no way have been possible without my amazing sister in law, who I did not know cared for me as deeply as she does, but she spoiled me in almost every fashion imaginable.

First off, she had started saving for this weeks and weeks ago, and while I was there I paid my own way on things twice. Twice. In an entire week of going places and seeing things and doing stuff and buying food! Second, she was very careful to keep my physical labor to a minimum, to make sure that I rested as much as possible, and that I was able to access the places we visited. She carried all of my luggage and would only let me carry pillows and the like, even loading and unloading my walker every time we got in or out of the car! I must admit, it was pretty fantastic to have a sherpa, as I jokingly called her throughout our time together.

It was a bit of a whirlwind trip, but it was so incredibly nice to have no responsibilities, to not have to pay for anything, to have fun things to look forward to every day yet not have any kind of a rigid schedule so that our whims and my health could lead the way as to our activities, and to just kind of… well, I have this mental image of, like, my normal life and home and such with this blank white cutout space in my shape throughout the entire week where I would normally be during that time, and the cutout of me was pasted into this whole other life and reality for a week. Does that even make sense? It was so different from how my life usually proceeds that it felt like almost an entirely different reality, which is what vacation is supposed to be, right?

It felt restorative, rejuvenating, and soothing. I was the closest that I've been to my pre-Spoonie self than I've been in years. Granted, it took a lot of assistance to get that, but that doesn't diminish the experience at all. It's a series of memories that I will cherish for a long time to come, I can guarantee that.

Our week went something like this…

Sunday: Colleen (sister in law) arrives and we more or less intend to leave that day, but don't because I'm feeling poorly and it takes me forever to pack, and also what's the rush? We make a list and Colleen packs for me, which is awesome.

Monday: We leave in the morning after stopping by the local muffin store (Yum-azing!), I sleep all the way to Tucson. We go grocery shopping, Colleen cooks supper, take a walk around University, get locked out of house upon return and Colleen ends up breaking in through a window that was unlocked.

Tuesday: Visit an art store for shopping, go clothes shopping for me at a thrift store nearby, have dinner with Colleen's best friends and I have my first margarita. The night is capped with my first hookah smoke and we talk late into the night.

Wednesday: Walk the main drag near the University and visit the tea house we've had our eye on, go to dinner at a fancy place and run low on time, get trapped in the parking garage because of a faulty ticket and barely make the play we've been looking forward to seeing (and pre-purchased tickets for). End the night by returning to the main drag and hanging out at a coffee shop smoking hookah and eating Mediterranean pastries until the shop closes late.

Thursday: Drive to town an hour or so away to spend a few days with my friend Rose. She was interning with the Victim Rights department during the trial that put my molester in prison, and so she was sort of a victim advocate for me and we've kept in touch and maintained a friendship since. Get settled, I get a haircut and Rose takes me on a mini tour of the Army Fort and beautiful surrounding scenery. I fall asleep in the car and nap upon our return, wake to find company over for dinner, and we all hang out until dispersing for bed some time after company leaves.

Friday: Take a 2 mile walk with Rose (yeah, that's right! I'm fuckin' proud of myself!!!), nap briefly before we all pile in and drive to Bisbee to check out the stores and sights. Colleen buys her first "real" piece of art and is now an official adult, and I find some amazing souvenirs and a smaller cast iron skillet of a size we don't already own that I take home for Corey. (He likes it a lot, and used it for the first time tonight to make a sort of omelette.) After coming home, Rose's "Gathering Of The Awesome" party starts a while later, consisting of awesome women that she knows and invited to an evening of yummy light food, good drinks, good conversation and company, and a fun art activity that was also insightful and connecting.

Saturday: Leave Rose's and head back to Colleen's house, go grocery shopping for afternoon picnic planned. I nap for a few hours, then she, I, and one of her best friends that we went to dinner with go up Mount Lemmon and have a picnic, sort of start a fire to keep ourselves warm, and watch the sunset on the drive back down the mountain.

Sunday: We both sleep in, and eventually she packs up the car and takes me back to Yuma but leaves shortly after because of work the next day.

I was feeling pretty good throughout the week, at least as far as "good" for me goes, but as the week went on I could feel myself wearing out. By Friday night I was running a mildly low grade fever and felt pretty gross. Saturday night I declined a proposed meet up with a friend of Colleen's in favor of staying in bed because I felt shitty, and Monday, the day after I got back, I pretty much did nothing but sleep in hour-to-several-hour increments for about 24 hours. I'm still recovering, but part of it is that I don't have that medication that helps so much with the stiffness and pain in my joints anymore, so I just feel more arthritic and whatever than usual anyway. Also, period should be coming soon, and I'm always exhausted the week before my period and sleep more than usual, so I'm not surprised there, either.

I cheated a lot with allergens on vacation, so I'm returning to being a "good girl"… but oh man, I had some of the best food in a long time. Have you ever had fresh sopapillas? Then you are missing out on the culinary equivalent of salvation for your soul, I swear to you. They are so. good. I've also been on a huge muffin craving kick since we hit that muffin place on the way out of town. I had forgotten what I was missing, but now I am constantly reminded of my suffering due to lack. Alas, alack, woe is me, woe betide, and all that sorrowful jazz…

It was a good trip. It was a very good trip. I don't expect to have an experience like that again anytime soon, but I will surely treasure it. I feel different somehow from having  had the experience, but I'll think on that more later. I am so indebted to my ladies, Rose and Colleen. My gratitude knows no bounds. I know that they really went above and beyond for me… and yet for them, I'm sure it seems somewhat of a simple matter. It's funny how perspective works. From my perspective, it was a chance to live life again, to have fun and forget the frustrations and complexities of trying to juggle doctor's appointments and bills and finding rides and medication snafus and all that… to simply be a young woman again and enjoy things… to just have fun, pure and simple! From their perspective, it was doing things that maybe they don't get to do every day but have been wanting to, but it wasn't particularly mind-altering I don't think. It was pretty much business as normal, but on vacation time.

Regardless of who felt what, there is one thing that we should all be feeling right now, and that's pride. Pride in me, of course. Why? Because it's only been 3 days since I got home, and I'm fully unpacked! Yeah, baby! (This is fairly unheard of, just for context.) Now that I'm home, back to responsibilities, I feel a little better equipped to handle them now that I'm not so frazzled and frayed because I had a pleasant break. On the other hand, it makes me not want to deal with real life at all anymore and just continually live the vacation life on someone else's dime… Heh. If only, right?

…I spent the afternoon/evening with a friend of undisclosed name drinking wine coolers (and rum, they had rum mostly) and watching movies.

I regret nothing.

In fact, I feel happier and more relaxed than I have in a while. And especially after the day I had yesterday? It is a huge relief. Enough to make me want to drink again, and soon… which the Dragon does not approve of. lol. Of course, I'll honor his wishes… probably. Sorta.

But man… I feel… relaxed. Happy. Sleepy. I like this "drinking thing" when I do it right and don't make myself sick. I didn't even get drunk. I just got… happy.

It was nice to feel happy again.

So today we plan to go visit the local ren faire. I'm inordinately excited, as I always am when it comes to renaissance-themed events. I plan to wear my green dress (the one I initially bought to get married in), and, joy of joys, I can get away wearing it without supportive undergarments! Freeeeeedom.

My friend K devised an ingenious sling of nylon webbing, carabiners, and something that looks like a wire baking rack. It loops over the handlebars of my walker so that I can rest my feet up off the ground and be pushed on the Chariot. It's a foregone conclusion that I am not up to walking around a dusty fairground for hours. I woke up with pretty severe back pain, especially low back pain, so even getting to the kitchen from the couch is a bit of a challenge for me today. I saved pain killers especially for today, though. I will not miss out on more things, just because I'm sick! I'm already having to miss K's wedding, although that's really more of a financial thing than anything else… I missed being able to spend a week with J and had to content myself with just a few hours. I had to give up my job completely this past week (which my heart is still crying about)… no. I draw the line at ren faires. As long as I have someone willing to push me, I will force myself to stay upright and conscious long enough to at least make a pass through. I do have to make a point to take pictures of the ingeniously designed sling, though. Many people have asked for them.

Despite the high pain levels, I am feeling a bit cheery today, probably because I'm expectant about my adventure. I need to shower, but I'm feeling so buoyant that I may decide to do my makeup as well! I've compiled some really neat eyeshadow tutorials on Pinterest, and I've been dying to try one of them out. So far, though, I've not had the energy or the occasion. Seeing as how C recently laid himself down to sleep and won't be up again until 1 pm, I've got hours, so I can take my time and just do a little bit at a time. Once the sun comes up, I will bring my makeup out into the living room and set myself up a little makeup studio. Maybe I'll put on one of my favorite animated movies while I do that. I'd like to re-do my toenails, too, but that is not going to happen today. Too much back and ribcage pain for me to be bent at the waist for more than a few seconds. Besides, sparkly nail polish doesn't ever look abominable, even when it's chipped. Plus I'll be wearing boots.

Oh! Oh! My friend L, who moved to the East coast, is in town this week! She showed up the other night and surprised me :) It was really nice. I was feeling pretty awful (that was after I'd been throwing up, but was recovering), but she already knew the status of my health so there was no pressure. We hung out on the couch together, watched Pirates of the Caribbean, and chatted up a storm. Heyyyy… maybe she'll come back over and do my toenails for me? I'll be seeing her at the faire today, as well.

So far my tactic of drugging myself senseless with sleep aides and Benadryl has worked. I've slept a lot, and it has helped me to stretch out my remaining pain pills further than I ever anticipated. I'm really proud of myself for making it this far. It's been miserable, to be sure, but I'm still here, and I made it work. Now, to just make it to Monday morning… God, I hope they give me a script. I've been keeping track of my pain, (the new blog, remember?), I keep track of when I take my pills, and I've got the timeline of my symptoms and pain, so it's pretty clear that I'm legit. Not to mention the fact that M will be with me and I won't be alone, so I have someone who's seen my sickness firsthand and has taken care of me. She can add valuable perspective, and help me to advocate for myself. I couldn't find anyone else to take me up there on Monday, though I asked around, so she will be skipping out early on the last bits of the ren faire (she's staff there) and driving me up at butt-thirty in the morning. We'll be leaving by 3:30, I believe the plan is.

Have I mentioned that I'm terrified? I'm so scared that they will refuse to help me… or worse yet, want to help me but be unable to. I'm scared that I'll be labeled as a drug-seeker, as a faker, that I won't be taken seriously, and that I will be condemned to try to live with this pain as best I'm able. This is, essentially, my last hope at this point. These are the people who can help make my life livable and bearable. Whether or not I am able to control my pain dictates whether or not I'll be able to participate in life again, to hold down a job, to drive myself places, to have fun adventures, to have sex with my husband, to keep my home in order, to exercise and help my body to be as healthy as it can… It all kind of hinges on what goes down this Monday. And that, my friends, is terrifying.

I found this coat today on a website that I like to browse, dresslily. I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that most of their products are made for people smaller than I. (I'm still not used to being an XL with a double-digit bosom!) It's a shame, really, because they have some adorable things!

This coat, silly as it is, really appeals to me. I like bright colors and fun, unexpected accents. I love fur trim. I love old-fashioned looking things, and this is reminiscent of the late 19th century to me. Did I ever mention that for most of my childhood my greatest ambition was to be Amish? I used to actually spend hours scheming about how to be taken in by an Amish community, since they're pretty exclusive.  The simplicity, honesty, and hard work of their lifestyle really appealed to me, and it was all cloaked in the romanticism of childhood fancies. The dream died when my mother informed me that all the Amish were allowed to read was the Bible. Being the bookworm that I was and am, this was an unacceptable compromise, so I sadly parted ways with my fondest wish. (I've since learned that this is not true.)

I had a vibrantly sky blue coat while I was at SOULS. I got it at a yard sale put on by the church we were staying at my first summer in MI. It was a pleather trench coat, dappled in shades of sky and pale blue so that it looked like a pleasantly clouded sky. It made me sweat since there was no air flow through that material, but it was certainly handy for rainy days. GM hated it, I later learned, because it didn't match with anything that I owned or wore it with. I am of the opinion that you don't have to match at all, ever, unless you want to. I also firmly believe that coats are exempt from any outfit matching rules and can be whatever color or style you darn well please.

I finally did part with my blue trench coat, but I think back on it with fondness. It was my way of hanging on to my individuality and the sparkle of my persona in an atmosphere that, while not explicitly demanding conformity, encouraged a sort of bland sameness. Once there I didn't have much to work with anymore-- no unnatural hair colors, no jewelry, no crazy haircuts… Just modest shirts, long skirts, and cute flats. To counter that, I wore shawls, blue trench coats, neon sweaters… anything that was still me I clung to in the lukewarm sea of conservativism. I wasn't the only one. JP had his crazy knee-high socks and his sling, BH had a red track suit he wore in off times, LP always maintained her classic, fun style with grace and ease and lovely scarves, and JR would forego the demand for "propriety" in favor of the leafy embrace of the nearest tree.

Over time, though, I even gave up the bright colors, heeding very literally the counsel to not draw attention to oneself through dress or appearance. I regret that now. I entered the world of conservative Christianity during a (long) period of my life when I was struggling to find myself, to figure out who I was without the clutter and debris of friends and hobbies and expectations and excuses. I became what I thought I was supposed to be, but that was a trick I picked up at a very, very young age. If you are what you're supposed to be, act the way you're supposed to act, etc., then you curry favor with those in power and make yourself less likely to be noticed. A handy trick for abusive and dysfunctional situations. It's taken years, though, to shed that habit and slough off the accumulation of personas cultivated over decades.

I'm finally figuring out me, letting my true self shine out bright and bold… and I think the true me would like a coat like this.

A fellow blogger shared this song on a recent post, and the lyrics really, really spoke to me. Not to mention the fact that the girl's voice is absolutely lovely, and the style is so chill and embraceable. (Also, she's so… "normal" looking, but still so attractive! That really speaks to me, as well as seeing that she is "large" but still beautiful. That comforts me as I struggle with body image as I get bigger.)

Who wants to get a bunch of balloons to hand out to strangers and make them smile with me? That looks like a really, really amazing thing to do. I'd like to tie affirmations to each balloon. I think that things fall into place just as they need to, and I bet that those affirmations will be just what needed to come into the life of whoever gets them.

Out on the open highway
Out in the open air
See the world move beneath me
Leaving without a care
I know just where I came from
But I don't know where I'll end
Only thing that I'm sure of
I'd do it all again

I found a boy I could love
Maybe I found a few
Even with best intention
They never followed through
If he could take my heart now
He'd put right in her chest
Thinking he'd have a girl
He finally could love best

And I'm gonna be fine, fine, fine
I'm gonna be brilliant

CHORUS:
This year is gonna be better and you're gonna see
This year I'm gonna be stronger and a braver me
This year and I'm gonna make it 'cause I said I would
Do all the things you said I never could

This year x2

I may not be perfection
But I never claimed to be
Maybe if I was thin or beautiful classically
Of all of the things I carry
And all of the things I know
I know that I will be loved
No matter where I go

And I'm gonna be fine, fine, fine
I'm just gonna be different

CHORUS

This year x2

Maybe you're the kind who needs lights falling down
Maybe you're the kind who needs stars racing to the ground
Just to feel the things you wish for are coming true

Sometimes it's hard to get up
Maybe it's hard to speak
You think no one understands you
Feel like nobody sees
When the night's dark around you
With all of the things you've lost
Know that the hope inside you
Sometimes is worth the cost

And we're gonna be fine, fine, fine
'Cause we'll be together

CHORUS x2

This year (I'm gonna make it, gonna make my way back to you) x2

In just an hour and a half I begin my first bout of testing for the cause of these twitchies.

I'm a little nervous, I must confess, as C shared with me that the procedure is, well, painful. His mom went through it. How painful it is exactly, he couldn't say, because he's not the one that went through it, and he claims that it's possible that his mom was being a pansy. Problem is... I'm a pansy, too! lol

I figured it might be best not to take pain killers before the test, so that the readings will be accurate, but I was hurting enough that I needed to. The thing with the pain meds is that they don't get rid of the pain, which is highly annoying. They just take it down to (mostly) bearable levels, if I'm lucky. But my stomach hurts a lot with all of this acetaminophen I've been ingesting. I suppose it's a worthwhile tradeoff. Sorta.

Also...

I love the community humor that chronic illness patients have developed. I mean, really... if you can't laugh at this stuff, you'll end up crying about it. And I hate to be droning on about my pain and symptoms all of the time, but... you talk about what's familiar and constant, and this is my life now. C and I were joking about who was going to die first last night. He says that although women generally live longer, with all this stuff wrong with me I've probably lost about 5 years, so that puts us on even footing. He actually thinks he'll come out ahead by a year or two. Could be. I'd rather die first, so I don't have to fight through the grief of losing my mate.

I asked him yesterday about suicide, my suicide. He said that, if I succeeded he'd be very upset, and probably a little angry with me. If I didn't succeed, he'd be very upset and he'd have me committed so that I couldn't hurt myself again. I was feigning offense that he would lock me away and I wouldn't see him anymore, but he assured me that he'd come visit. He also told me that killing myself, or trying, would never ever be doing him a favor. It would never be a good thing for him. I smiled at the assurance that he values my presence in his life, and I assured him that although the thought comes up in moments of desperation, it's never a serious option for me. It's not.

In the depths of my emotional and mental agony and despair, I longed for rest, for a respite from the hurricane of dark forces that ripped through my soul. Now, in the grip of relentless pain, I long for rest and a respite from the endless grinding and battering of burning, choking torment. It's torture, but there is no inquisitioner and no answer that I could give to end the agony.

Despite all that, though... despite the darkness that still rises from time to time to swallow me whole... despite the flames of chronic illness that lap at my naked, defenseless body... there is a solid, shining light that forms a bridge above the darkness, above the flames... and I can crawl to safety. And if I don't have the strength to crawl, at least I can lie on its solid surface and know that the golden pathway remains and will remain. The bridge of light is the meaning and satisfaction that I have found in my life. It is made up of my husband, my work with the Healing Journey, my friends and support system, the simple pleasures of food and tea and good books, the security of my place within my family, and the warm glow of unconditional acceptance from those who have come to love me. It is a bridge that saves me, day after day... a platform to rest upon as I drag myself from the cold burning depths of despair and frustration.

As I contemplate this odd mix of pain and darkness and light and love that is my life, I find myself profoundly grateful and humbled. I have never before in my life had a hope like this to cling to, to save me... and I cherish it. The darkness before was always so chaotic, and I could see no respite but a rock or two to cling to in the midst of the storms. Never before have I had a way out.

I know the pain isn't going anywhere. When I first started getting sick, and for many months afterward, I held on to the hope that this was a passing thing... that it would peak and then recede. I know now, and have accepted, that the pain isn't going anywhere. This is my life now. I fight to diminish it, to overcome it, and to find treatments for what is wrong with me but... this is my future. I don't expect anything else. While that may be considered glum and defeatist by some, I see it as freeing. No longer expending my energy on false hopes, I can focus on walking my shining bridge and beating back the flames that threaten to consume me.

It's an exhausting battle. I won't lie. The darkness still wraps tendrils around me and whispers dark doubts in my mind. But I have something to hang on to now... something that will always pull me back out. And that's why suicide is never really an option.

So here it is, folks. Another post about God.

More specifically, a post about God and why his peeps sometimes annoy me.

Okay, I'm going to start this out with an earth-shattering confession...

I don't wanna be a Christian. I don't want to serve God. I don't want to wait breathlessly on his plan for my life. I inwardly cringe when I catch mention of the phrase "God's will" (for your life, for this or that, etc.). I try to avoid talking about religion or God with anyone I don't emphatically know is either a heathen, a pagan, or an atheist/agnostic. (There are, of course, a few exceptions... but they're pretty few and far between.)

Why, you ask?

Because Christians have been given the gospel. And the gospel is all about telling people about God, and going forth, and all that jazz... so when you're having a conversation about God, the near-inevitable outcome is that the gospel rises within them and they go forth to your brain and your opinions and your worldview and proceed to try to get you around to their way of thinking, somehow.

I was there once. I know how this game is played. And now that I'm on the other side of the net? I wish I'd never done that to people.

Seriously. I have so. much. regret. about my canvassing days and the post-SOULS years. So much guilt and embarrassment. Why, oh why, did I do those things to people?

Well, I didn't know any better. I was trained to do that. And I desperately wanted acceptance, approval, and a spot in the world. Oh, and I wanted God to like me.

E says my understanding of Christianity is warped. I say fine. Then I don't feel so bad laying it down and trying to figure out what's real.

I'm not trying to justify my choices at all. I fully acknowledge that a great many people who are or have at one time been invested in my life to a high degree would be disappointed, crushed, heartbroken, or any combination of negative adjectives upon hearing this. But it's not about other people, is it? No, not at all.

It's not just that I have anger issues with God. I fully acknowledge that one, as well. It's more than that, though...

A friend told me not to terribly long ago that I'm a very accepting person, very open, and it's true. As black and white as my thinking tends to be, I have a hard time seeing the world around me in strictly blacks and whites. The claim of exclusive truth always felt off to me, and I resent the implications that exclusive truth brings. (Namely, that everyone else is wrong!)

I was walking and praying, probably about this time last year, and puzzling over church, God, my involvement with the two... my heart... my brain... my questions... and then I walked under this tree. And I had an epiphany of sorts.

What if God is a tree? I mean, what if God is the trunk, and all those branches are the different religions or worldviews or whatever? (Keep in mind that I'd just been learning about learning styles in a class of mine.) What if each soul has a particular "learning style", and they gravitate toward the branch that will teach them who God is most clearly? For some, that may be Adventism. For others, that may be Islam. For yet others, that may be Wicca. But each soul learns about who God really is, just through different means.

It made a lot of sense to me. Despite my rigid adherence to SDAism for so many years, I naturally gravitate towards the faiths that find their understanding more in the natural world, through rituals, and through the world around them.

Don't get me wrong-- I totally believe in Intelligent Design. I believe in a Creator. I just realize that I don't know diddly squat about him, and the God that I've been interacting with all these years could very well be a figment of my imagination because he's not like how I've imagined him to be at all and I've just been projecting things onto him... which means that the God I know could be, for all intents and purposes, all in my head.

Do I believe that God inspired the writing of the Bible? Assuredly. Do I believe that it's inerrant? In intent, yes. There are contradictions within the pages of the Bible, both in details and in more philosophical aspects (like God's split personality, for one), and anyone who denies this is really, really living in la-la-land. Even the ABC has books about reconciling the "apparent" contradictions in the Bible. They're there.

Do I believe that the Bible is the only literature God ever inspired? No. I do not.

See, I've had questions for a long time... questions that I've never fully articulated or examined, because I knew that my faith wasn't up to the test. One of the reasons I hated going door to door was that I couldn't stand pushing stuff on people that I didn't fully or really believe myself. I ran across two quotations that really challenged me, though, and disturbed my placid pool of Christianity deeply.

The first is by Epicurus, and is pretty famous. (They're both pretty famous, actually.) It goes like this:
"Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?"

That pretty well sums up why I'm so angry and yes, even somewhat bitter, with God. He could have stopped my molestation and abuse. But he didn't. Didn't he want to? Did he just not see what was happening? Did he not care?

I've gotten the standard Adventist answer about the Great Controversy more times than I can count, and I've handed it out more times than I can count. I've even tried really hard to believe it, and I do sometimes. But it just doesn't satisfy my deep need for a God that cares. Yes, I know. Jesus. Right. Please, I went to Bible college, I've got this down. But that's God caring about humanity. Where's the God that cares about the toddler that was placed in a hot oven that seared her back? Where's the God that cares about the same toddler, locked in a cold bath with ice cubes until her lips were blue and laughed at by her mom's jealous, abusive boyfriend? Where's the God that cares about the skinny child with large bloody bruises across her buttocks and legs from being beat with a leather belt because she interrupted her step-dad's video game? Where's the God that cares about that child as she slept on blankets in the hallway to avoid being alone in her room at night, only to have her abuser join her in plain sight and work his hand between her legs, or spill his semen all over her blankets?

Where's the God that's going to do anything about all that shit? I'm just getting started on the tragic experiences, you know.

Where's the God that listened to the cries and prayers of that girl who believed in him so fervently, who believed all that talk about just asking Jesus and he'd come make everything better? (It's a bunch of b.s., by the way. Just praying to Jesus doesn't make anything better, despite what you hear in Sabbath school. He may be there with you, but he's a pretty passive bystander.)

And shoot, that's just my story. What about the little girl in H who was being raped by her dad and brothers, who prayed and prayed for God to help her, and even made sure to describe how to get to her house after time had passed and he hadn't stopped them? What about the story in Angels Among Us where God sends an angel to keep that little girl from being molested? WTF, God? Really? You're gonna jump in for her, but not for me, or for my girls in group, or for the other countless children that are being beaten, starved, or molested?

I'm sorry, but I'm not content to sit around accept this absent father God anymore.

Did you know that I realized I'm a quasi-Buddhist recently? I stumbled across this Q&A about Buddhism that was really, really well written, and I realized while going through it that I believed a lot of the same things they do. In this last year of searching and thinking and praying, I've developed a lot of beliefs and come to a lot of conclusions that Buddhism has been espousing for thousands of years. Funny, huh? The big, huge difference is that Buddhists do not believe that gods exist, whereas I do. So I can't be entirely Buddhist, but I definitely embrace most of their philosophies. That's pretty much the path I'm taking at this point.

Here's the other quote that shook me up so deeply. This one is from Marcus Aurelius.
“Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.”

That's kind of where I'm at at this point.

I'm tired. I'm tired of performing. Tired of trying to make it work. Tired of trying to be "right"... Should being right be this hard? I mean, if it's right... should it not be at least a little self-evident?

And the thing is... I really can't tell any of this to Christians, because it's appalling to them. It's abhorrent. Especially because I was once one of the elite, a shining star, an example to the other youth and an encouragement to the older generations.

How the mighty have fallen. Heh.

Again, it's not about other people. It's really not. It's about me doing what I perceive to be the best and most right thing... right now.

I am in no way claiming that this is not all subject to change, because it totally is. I could change my mind tomorrow! But that's the beauty of free will, and religious freedom. I have the choice to change my mind.

I just wish that people would accept that, stop trying to change my mind, stop being all disappointed and pouty when the realize I don't believe as they do anymore, stop being threatened by my choices... and just let me be. 

Please. Just let me be. Let me make my own choices. Stop trying to change my mind. I'm not doing this purposely to screw with you, you know. I'm trying to find my way through life, just like everyone else... Except that I don't derive my power to be happy, optimistic, productive, or even functional from God. It's inside me, where it's always been. It was only after realizing that I'm the one that's been doing all the work that I felt free. It's been me that's worked on myself, me that has healed, me that has taken risks and accepted challenges and made mistakes and been a good person. (Granted, a lot of times I was a good person out of fear of what would happen if I wasn't, but it was still me.)

Maybe God uses the strength I have inside myself to get stuff done. Maybe God uses the people around me to lift me up and speak words of life that encourage and inspire me. But I'm done with the image that he's camped out in a tent somewhere inside me with an assortment of factories that he uses to produce various things like goodness, strength, etc.

Anyway, I've probably gone on enough of a bitter diatribe here to last for a good, long time.

But before I quit, I do want to address one more thing that really, really bothers me. 

I am marrying an atheist. It's true.

However, please refrain from the following sentence when you talk about him:

"He's a really good guy, but..."

Yes, the "but" refers to his atheism. It's like all the virtues, all the good qualities, all the responsible behaviors and solid choices and the moral nature are all canceled out by the fact that he doesn't believe in God. That he had questions that were never satisfactorily answered by religion or the Bible. That he saw contradictions and hypocrisy and wanted nothing to do with it. That he was burned by Christians themselves, judged and dismissed because they knew one thing about him that they didn't agree with. 

And I've gotten the "but", too, in regards to my choices.

You're a good person, but you can't actually be considered a good person, because of this. I'm sorry. You fail the morality test. Sure, you got every other question right, but those actually don't count for anything. It's this one that determines whether you pass or fail. (Because really... if a Christian is a bad person or makes a bad choice, well, God can forgive anything, right? And they probably weren't really a Christian to begin with. But if an atheist or some other religion is a bad person or makes a bad choice, well, see? Those amoral hooligans just can't do anything else. They've given in to the carnal nature, and the carnal nature is emnity against God. Yep. It just stands to reason.)

No more "but"s.

I'm a good person. I have been a good person. And I will continue to be a good person.

Whether that's as a Christian, as a quasi-Buddhist, as a Wiccan, or as an atheist, I will still be a good person. Who I am is not what God I believe in, or how I choose to worship him.

So no more "but"s, okay? And I promise to try to be more tolerant of Christians and not roll my eyes so much.

Deal? :)

I was thinking about this last night as I took a walk (3.3 miles, not too shabby). And somewhat yesterday "morning" as C and I were at the range. And during the week, while I was laid out on the couch, sick.

Suffice to say that it's been on my mind in various forms a lot lately. :)

I feel like I'm finally learning how to do life well. Probably due in part to The Gifts of Imperfection and A Deeper Story, my mindset is changing. Imperfection doesn't send quick bolts of fear to my heart like it used to. (Um, okay, as much as it used to.)  My vocabulary is changing. I no longer seek the right choice, as though there were only one right way to do things out of the myriad of choices we are presented every day, but a right choice. I have come to believe that there is more than one right way to do things, more than one right choice. Maybe they vary in degrees of rightness-- I haven't gotten that far in refining my personal philosophy yet. But I'm breaking free of my black and white prison.

Probably part of it is due to my wonderful mate. (I almost typed husband! Almost... just 6 more months.) His no-frills way of approaching the world has helped me to be realistic, to take the machete of common sense to many of the briars that had grown up to choke my mind. It's not all briars, to be sure. I come across many valuable little plantings that I want to keep and nurture. And sometimes he disagrees, and that's okay. We have fun little clashings, interesting philosophical conversations that leave both of us shaking our heads because it's like trying to talk to a rock. (We're both a little stubborn, and too smart for our own good.)

Maybe it's because I have stability and safety, I can focus on the smaller aspects of life now. I can take the time to be good to myself, to speak my own love language, to be kind to myself. I don't have to be "on" twenty-four hours a day. And that is a huge relief and blessing.

Another thing I'm learning is to just let the day happen. Don't try to force it into a mold of what you think it ought to be like. Just let it go. Experience it as it comes. This is what I was thinking of yesterday at the range. I have a habit of looking forward to something being over even when it's hardly begun. Maybe so I can remember it and think about it, I don't know. It's like my chewing habits, but with experiences. I bolt down one forkful because I'm already looking forward to the next.

I think this "chewing thoroughly" thing is teaching me more than I'd bargained for.

Anyway, yesterday we went out and C taught me how to shoot his pistol. (I'm not good, but I'm not bad, either. If someone were coming at me, I'd say I have a 70% chance of hitting them, but odds are it wouldn't be where I was aiming!) (C is telling me that if someone is coming at me, I ought to treat it like the Renaissance one-shot pistols they used to use in sword fights-- fighting, fighting, take your pistol out and plant it directly against their chest. Did it go off? No? Then keep fighting with your sword! lol Apparently pirates used to do it that way, because it takes your chances of missing down to zero, and they already had to worry about whether or not the gun would actually go off, because the powder might be wet, etc.)

While we were out there, I found myself wanting it to be over, not because I wasn't having a good time (I rather enjoyed myself), but just because that's what I do. Fortunately, I caught myself, and I was able to focus and be more or less present for the rest of the few hours we were out there.

And as far as "planning my days"... I've more or less given that up. I mean, there are certain things I need to accomplish on certain days, to be sure, and I work on getting them done. What I mean is that detailed scheduling that I'm so fond of. "Okay, I'll do homework from one to three-thirty, at which point I should be done, then I'll clean the house from three-thirty to five, and then C and I will watch a movie, and then we'll do this, and then while he's playing SWOTR, I'll do this certain craft, and then..." Yeah, that's kind of boring. Plus it leads to frustrated expectations. What if C doesn't want to watch a movie, or cuddle with me when he gets home like I thought in my mind, or what if he wants to play SWOTR first and then do something with me, or what I if I don't feel like doing that craft? I think that dissective mindset was one of the things that led me to "soldier through" the day and activities, even if I wasn't feeling it. Like, I said I was gonna do it, so by gum I'll do it!

Allowing myself to take naps really shattered that. I can't exactly schedule a nap into my day, because who knows if I'll even need one, or how long I'll nap for, or... anything?

It's so much more pleasant to know what I need to get done and just let the day evolve as it will. There are times (especially this last week!) when I have to tell myself, Look, I know you want to quit this and do something fun. I understand, and I'm sorry. But this needs to be done, and you need to do it. Yes, you will be rewarded for your hard work, just not right now. Capice? So it's not like I just goof off and let my days fly to the wind. It's more of an "I'm not dead set on when this must occur, and if I don't get everything accomplished today that I'd like to, it's not the end of the world and I can get it done tomorrow."

I like this new way of living.

I like the little things that I'm free to do now. I like feeling free to buy myself a bouquet of flowers and decorate the jar that I put them it. I like being able to go to Michael's in the evening and window shop. I like being able to take long walks. I like being able to cook myself good food. I like being able to watch a movie, with or without C. I like being able to take a nap, should I so desire. I like being able to spend an hour or two Stumbling neuroscience articles, craft sites, and cartoons. I like my plans to decorate the house for fall, just because. I like being able to take time to just freak out if I'm dealing with stuff, if I need to.

I like my life.

I'm happy with it.

I never thought I'd be able to say that with such conviction and satisfaction.