Bible, Day 24, Back to ridiculousness 1/2

So ol’ Wordyprez let me know that it’s been at least a month since the last time I’ve updated my blog site. And I usually slack off on social media if I’m having fun elsewhere, and that fun’s being had through chats and video games and wonderful family and people. So life is puuuurty  nice right now- even got an interview with a job I really really really really want.

But I was enjoying my little Bible studies, yes yes, and I was ultra excited when I got another specially made Bible from one of my sister’s friend’s mother. This lovely lady is just like my mom when it comes to religion- or, really, Christianity. What I call cloyingly religious. Like the phrase ‘cloyingly sweet’, no matter the situation or what part of the dessert you’re eating, religion makes its way in with all the delicacy as a waterfall of syrup.

It’s Jesus!

And that experience reminded me on why I had to pull no punches whatsoever with my atheism, because many times, no one else does. On top o’ dat, she knew I didn’t go to church and I bet she knew it was because I didn’t believe in any religions or gods. She repeatedly said that I should ‘try out God’ and ‘try out church’ and ‘remember God is in all things’ and was talking about how people are punished by God all the time, and I felt so damn disrespected.

Lemme tell you about one of the people that God punished in her life. I told her that I don’t deal with my mom very much because she’s not a good person right now but ain’t no one call tell her nothing- and it’s always been this way and I’ve only really just grasped it this year. Well Friend’s Mom starts talking about how this one woman in her life did very wrongly by her parents- said bad stuff, put ’em in a nursing home, treated them very wrong. Then she got cancer and died very quickly. She was in her early sixties. And while that seems like an everyday thing, that showed Friend’s Mom to always respect her parents. Lemme tell you, goddamnit, nothing sparks my fury faster than fucking gaslighting me (I get dreams- I guess nightmares?- about gaslighting nearly every day). It shows how you don’t know about me, or my life, or my effin’ parents. People automatically assume I’m being ungrateful or misunderstanding my parents or something. I think it’s because I’m a cool cat or something so my parents MUST be the ones to thank.

So I  might’ve been a bit biased on Friend’s Mom experience with Cancer Friend. But then! My sister told how she was going to visit an internet friend (went well by the way, everyone was who they said they were, sister had a fantastic time), and Friend’s Mom told us about another friend who met a man and it turned out he was evil and a pervert and they married and divorced within a month. Why was the man evil and a pervert? Because he watched porn.

I nearly asked, “What kind of porn?” But I had a feeling that that wasn’t the point. Now I know there are some feminists out there who find all porn to be the work of spoiled men who wanted to be sexually fulfilled at any moment and that pornography preyed on young women who needed money and a job- but I didn’t think that Friend’s Mom was that kind of anti-porn artist. My sister sent a still of above to my phone.

When we almost separated (I missed my bus the first go ’round, but we caught up with it- an hour early actually), Friend’s Mom gave me the Amplified Bible (ABZ) by Zondervan. ABZ uses extremely simplified translations that are more prose than Hebrew poetry. It has introductions and outlines and explanations in parenthesis and so I believe it’s addition will render my analyses more complete. Just to remind you, the other Bible I’m using is the New International Version One Year Chronological (NIVC). This foreword was a little longer than I expected, but I suppose that is to be expected after not writing for a while!

EveryMan’s Religion

I want to first start off with this. I love a good debate, although most times I’m just much smarter and more educated than my conversation partner- but hey, I’m willing to dispense some knowledge. To the post!

I’ve often been tasked with thinking: Why should I treat any religion differently than another? Apparently, some religions are more believable than others. My robotic, Vulcan-esque logic has come to the conclusion that, no, they aren’t.

I wanted to announce also that I plan to chronicle my journey through the Bible because that has been foisted onto me since birth. Then I’ll have to tackle the Quran. I have tackled bits and pieces and it seems to be generally written worse than most translations of the Bible. They are written as if they’ve been passed orally for forever, and people kept asking questions, and so they’ve added clarifications and redundancies and thought that, sure, let’s put all that shit in the Bible because why not. (I know really people are just used to the story being told a certain way, but reading it is so damn painful).

Back to the post, many people say that we should treat all religions the same, with respect, with understanding, but let me explain this piece of real magic in the world.

First, read this funny, short Cracked article about isolated civilizations.

Are you back? Ok, imagine this craziness: each of these civilizations have different religions, and they have different religions from each other. You know what this tells me? Do you know what this should really tell everyone else? Humans make up religions! All the time, they just make up some religions, spread it around, and try to keep it alive for as long as possible. And they will kill in the name of, and die in the name of, and argue in the name of, and if I or you, or anyone else was born in these places, we would be following these religions without any knowledge of the outside world or religions.

Also if one was born in one of these civilizations, you would dress like them (with no knowledge of snow boots or layering for fall). You would eat like them (what the fuck is a pumpkin?). You would experience seasons and animals like them (KILL THE GIRAFFE. WHAT’S THIS? WHAT’S THIS? THERE’S POWDER EVERYWHERE)

Combine these awesome facts that you are most likely to choose a religion that you grew up in (there’re better articles, but I can’t find them on le google), and that you are more likely to LOOK for ANY religion if you have the God Gene (a la my brother, who says he would always believe in some religion, which I find pretty…ehhhh… pathetic? But I can understand!), and then you can pretty much guarantee that even if a religion wasn’t true, people will believe in it.

Now, there’s a loaded scene in one of Tyler Perry’s movies, much like this one:

Where the ‘bad’ character explained that the only reason why so many black people are so fanatically Christian (Instead of Muslim like him) is because they were brought to American by the white man and adopted their religion while abandoning the religion of their forefathers (which may not have been Islam AND which is exactly what happened. Sure there are Christians in Africa now, but their are still a multitude of tribal religions, and an assload of Muslims being very unkind.) Anyway, in this Tyler Perry play, the ‘good’ character basically proves the  ‘bad’ character correct by saying something along the lines of “God sometimes makes people go through the wrong thing to show how right the right thing is and that is so with the barbarism of Africa to Christianity in America”. Even though the only reason Christianity is prevalent in America is because those guys killed and evicted a bunch of Native Americans, and black people were their slaves for three centuries but we’re going to forget about that now.

So with that kind of history for Christianity in America- which, real talk, was just as bad as any religious extremists today, fuck even worse, because they actually won and killed nearly everyone else here– I find it hard to say that this religion is more believable than that one, or this religion is better than that one.

One of the things that really comes back to me over and over that reinforces my nonbelief (I believe I have the God Gene, but I’m trying to focus it into a belief in humanity than any convincing religion, because no religion is convincing), that, at best, only ONE RELIGION with ONE WAY of worshiping is right. That means that ANY OTHER RELIGION or even the same with a DIFFERENT WAY, is wrong.

And the people in that religion or way, is wrong.

And the way that they argue in the name of, die in the name of, kill in the name of is wrong.

Because religions are fabricated. The way to follow them, is fabricated.

Or, at the very least, most of them.

An Angry Atheist? Bitch, I could be.

My last grandparent, ol’ Momo, died some months ago. I hadn’t planned on going to her funeral, for I had visited her at the funeral home when she last became very sick (before she then got sick and died), but the thought of my brother alone in his hotel room after coming back from the funeral worried me. My grandmother had raised him for the formative years of his life, and she was one of the few go-to relatives he had. And then she died slowly and painfully. I think of that and it’s hard for me to be sad that she’s gone. She was old and I believe ready to die. What more can one hope for, for a grandparent? My brother needed more help.

Crazy how I can share her picture without worry of getting her identity stolen or anything.

Anyway, the funeral was very Christian and as I was keeping myself strong so that my strong brother could weather himself through his grief, a pastor, unknown to everyone except the members of the church in which the funeral was held, came on stage and began to preach. Five minutes into his ridiculously long, shitty spiel, I was snarling in my head, “Who the fuck is this nigga?”

“SOME OF YOU WON’T BE GOING TO HEAVEN! IF YOU DON’T BEEEEEEEEEEELIEEEEEEEEEEVE! YOU’LL BE GOING DOWN UNDER!”

Apologetics is the religion of the age, so while the Bible does say that those who don’t believe will be going to hell, many Christians pretends it doesn’t and they keep themselves from judging when it was convenient for them. That’s fine for me, and I was fine with when my Momo did it, and I ignore it for the most part as my mother does it.

So to have this fucking stranger screeching over my grandmother’s coffin a religious philosophy she could only be caught dead at, made me want to ram a bible so far up that guy’s ass, he’ll only be able to say scripture with spurts of God’s Words flying out his mouth!

Of course, I’m being hypocritical- Momo wouldn’t want me to speak of anyone in such a way with such language… But this isn’t for Momo. It’s for me. 

That’s me.

Now this pastor continued on for a good half hour. I don’t know, it may have been less, but whatever it was, thirty minutes or thirty seconds, it was too long. Shouting about how I’m going to hell, and this person is going to hell and hell, hell, hell.

Granted, I didn’t talk much religion with my dear grandma. She probably knew I was atheist (through Mom, most likely), and she may have spoken to this pastor about it, but I find it highly unlikely that she wanted her grieving relatives reveilled via Revelations.

And I felt it from much of the church, as the crying became stifled with anger- Who’s this nigga?

We talked later about it, sadness mixed with the horrifying realization that the funeral of a beloved wasn’t only imperfect, but  the antithesis to the deceased’s lifestyle.

At the end, a well-known and well-beloved and well-self-known-flawed pastor came up and sang a gentle hymn and helped everyone cry.

When my mother dies (and I outlive her, duh), there will be no such crappy switcheroo at her funeral without her expressed and/or written permission, depending on her state of mind when she dies. As an atheist, I don’t think my grandma’s soul was or that my mother’s soul will be watching the funeral go on. The funeral is for the people (at the very least, the dead person will be in heaven or hell, so, again, they won’t care). And it’s hard to come to celebrate the life of the dead when there life is not being spoken about.

P.S. What made that nigga think it was fucking okay to start preaching at such a time? WHAT? Someone please answer this because I just don’t know.

Family Charybdis Syndrome

I have several half-brothers and sisters. As far as I know, I have no full siblings, and, as far as I know, that doesn’t matter in the full scheme of things. Well, actually, one picture-taking day, my mom asked for a picture with just Dad’s kids, the dad who is not my biological dad. The older brother there and I chose not to make a fuss, ever. Well, until now I suppose.  At the moment we let our four younger siblings and the step-sister that Dad had recently reconnected with take their together, without us.

That was a time where it made a difference. Yea, my other siblings, the four who are full, had once teased me once or twice or a dozen times that I wasn’t their real sister because I was only half. But they were extremely stupid kids and I was ‘too sensitive’. Plus, I could punch them in the arm or face when I was feeling a bit irritated.

Of course, I couldn’t do that to my mom. Well,  I could, but I wouldn’t. Would I have, then? No, of course not. I can’t remember. I remember more that my mind had gone blank, and I had to hold in my profound annoyance because Older Brother was acting pretty cool about it, but I knew he was just as upset. At least, I learned later he was.

I try not to dwell on it when I see the family pictures hung on the walls. All the pictures with themes- females, males, kids… Dad’s kids only club.

 

Took an unexpected turn there. Ah, but you wouldn’t know, now would you?

So, I’mma take another turn, back to where I wanted to start. Let’s broaden this out a bit. I recently had a long conversation with my siblings about our family. Just the immediate, no intensive talks on cousin and aunts just yet. Older brother and I tried to break through a wall of delusions. Not only that, I have a drastically different way of looking and dealing with the world than my siblings, and they do from each other.

We were Facebook messaging. It had all six of us in the beginning, but Youngest Brother (I have two younger brothers) can’t take criticism to the nth degree and jumped ship at the least bit of pushback to his lifestyle. Before, we had invited back those of us that had left, accidentally or otherwise, but we didn’t for him, and there was nothing in this conversation that would have had him stay.

The conversation started with talking about our parents claiming certain people on taxes. Anyway, it got to the point that I was complaining how I wanted my cut of whatever they got, because they get money for me, and I didn’t see a goddamn dime.  I’m sure they used it in some fashion, but I doubt they used it better than what I would have used it for. That’s a whole other can o’ WTF.

I don’t trust my parents to give me what I’m due without a lot of pushback, and my sister was certain that I would have been given my cut. After years of that not happening for nearly all things, I still don’t believe it will be given to me so easily. I’m thinking now, that that was how it has always been for me. Perhaps, it’s always been easier for Younger Sister (I have two younger sisters). She asks, and she’ll just get it, and she thinks it’ll be just as easy for me. I actually think it was harder than Younger Sister 1 made it out to be. In any case, I’m not going to risk it. It’s a long bus ride home to risk not getting what I came for.

She tried to tell me not to come over just to watch Game of Thrones (which I did, I admit), and maybe I’ll be more comfortable with asking them for stuff. That’s probably true, but, again, it’s too long of a bus ride to think so optimistically.

Then she said this:

Again with this shit!

However, to spoil it on ahead, Elder Brother and I made headway this time. At least with Younger Brother (not Youngest Brother who jumped ship).

Let me give you some background. Younger Sister and Younger Brother both have (or had) the idea that our general dislike of our parents was from lack of forgiveness in our hearts for the things they have done in the past, and that all the bitterness in our hearts are self-inflicted grudges that can all be resolved if we just let it go (Don’t).

Older Brother and I think we were abused. Well, not think, it’s science. We were abused. And that abuse was multiplied by the fact that they didn’t treat the other kids the same. Point in fact: Older Brother was often called sensitive when he was younger, and was just generally hit and yelled at all the time and teased because he was so sensitive and Dad had  a free hand whenever he was the least bit irritated. My parents were all about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, but they weren’t good at it, just as that quote is mostly shit to justify beating the crap out of four-year-olds.

I would like you to muse over this a moment: Older Brother is 3 years older, so I barely remember him and his relations with others when he was, and I might be pushing it, 7. And things have really stuck with me only beginning my third year of school, so he was about about 11 or twelve. Imagine not knowing ten years of a sibling’s life. What have I missed? What view do I truly have?

Now, Younger Sister is a year younger than me. And Younger Brother is three years younger than I am. What the fuck do we know about how Dad treated Older Brother when he was four and five and six? Who are we to say that he’s lying, and I, and I’m so sorry, I used to think most of the way about Elder Brother. When I came to terms with my own abuse, I began to realize that it was highly unlikely he was just making shit up.

Back to my point: Younger Brother is MUCH MUCH more sensitive than Older Brother. Remember, when we told him he needs to take care of his diabetes more, for example, on Facebook, he was like, fuck all of us, I hate being pointed out for my suicidal flaws. But let me tell you, everyone walks on eggshells with this dude. He is just as violent as my father used to be (and Younger Sister) with a dash of drama by calling the police or wanting to get spoonfed by some poor dimwit of a counselor and get everyone involved. Heavens forbid you tell him to clean his chore, or room, or body or to stop hogging the bathroom FOR HOURS listening to dubstep.

And what do the parentals do for this, like really? Nothing. Dad won’t touch him or talk to him, and Mama doesn’t either. He needs psychological help, but our parents can’t afford it (or don’t want to, or don’t believe he has a problem like that. More on that piece of juicy bit later).

But let me sideline again: I came over one day, and the living room was a bit of a mess. It’s usually a mess because Younger Brother uses it as his mancave, leaving his clothes and trash and dishes wherever they fall. Mother came downstairs and told me and Youngest Sister, “Be sure y’all clean this mess up.”

Neither one of us said anything. When she was out of hearing shot, Youngest Sister snorted. We later talked about it: How could she treat us so differently? Youngest Brother can make an absolute hellhole of the place, not a peep. But I come over to visit and I must clean the living room? Needless to say, neither Youngest Sister nor I cleaned it.

That was sometime last month, April. April 2014. In April 2014, my mother was still doing the same shit she has been doing all my life. Foisting responsibilities on me because I was more malleable to do as she told. Of course, I don’t live in the house and I can just leave (HALLELUJAH) and I don’t have to worry about them keeping things from me. The tax money doesn’t count since they don’t regular give that to me. I’m thinking more on the lines of electricity… Or computer time… Grounding? Yea, something like that. So I left, and Youngest Brother went back in the living room that afternoon, and Youngest Sister knew Ma wasn’t going to tell her to clean it without risking have to tell Youngest Brother as well. I think the living room is still unclean to this day.

 

So we have different views of how life went because of our age differences, and we know for a fact that our parents treat us differently and have made some mistakes when raising us. One of their mistakes was being kind of inconsistent:

Yeeeeeeaaaaa…

But things changed to The Point of No Return with Younger Brother’s post (for me at least):

And that gave Dad the right to beat the shit out of us, I suppose. Things get really hectic from here on, but that first sentence. Now, our Dad is one of the most manipulative people ever, and so is our Mom. They have these stupid ways of talking that make you say, come on, really? Are you really saying that? Then they are quick to call one sensitive or misunderstanding when in reality they are being assholes. They also have a way of blaming everyone when it’s their fault, etc.

TL;DR: There’s no way Younger Brother was never manipulated.

Never?!

Never!!!

No way.

But this is where it gets into a sinking hole of family. I don’t usually make sweeping generalizations. (Everyone’s a brat, everyone has something wrong with them, we all can say mean things) They do absolutely nothing. It might help for someone who is confused, but I’m not confused, and I don’t need generalizations to bring it all into focus.

But just in case you don’t have the focus in ya crosshairs, everyone’s perspective is warping reality. Yes, of course, Older Brother and I feel as if we are closer to reality.

For example, Dad used to call Younger Sister a slut a lot (and was always scared of his sons being fags and me being nutzoid/crazy/think-you’re-smart-but-you’re-actually-stupid) or some variation of slut. I’ve also told her those same words, although I’ve never seen her have sex. I’ve also called my brothers those mean words, and some of them have called me bad names as well. And round and round it goes. Six of us. Plus Dad, and Ma that stands in the background or something.

Let me share these things Younger Sister said:

 

I don’t mince words. But look at that! This is us, one of us kids, saying with pure conviction the completely unreal statement of how she put me and Dad on the same level.

And this is the crux of the matter. Everyone did something so everyone just take the blame onto themselves and forgive everyone else and we’re all equal and we’ll have peace.

Except Younger Sister is all about physical retribution and can’t let things go when she needs to. She lets the anger get the best of her and always feels justified because that other person should have done something.

Also, Youngest Brother is driving Younger Sister insane with his shit. She keeps saying stupid stuff like beating him up will help (no this is no joke. She keeps saying that as if it’s an actual solution even though she has PHYSICALLY FOUGHT DAD, and she still is in the house thinking the same way she has since she was nine, with a kid, and one on the way).

Thing is, she doesn’t think people’s actions or words really influence anyone (she believes any beating she received when young was earned and it was all her fault), which is exactly the sort of shit our parents would say, which was what I was saying when I was in the house, which I believe Younger Brother is soon to stop saying, which Youngest Sister (who did not come into the conversation except to ask if we hated Dad, even after we said multiple times we didn’t hate him. I didn’t bother answering her. I have no patience for laziness) says.

They all also make these generalizations that try to equalize everyone’s faults, but with the glaring thumb that is Youngest Brother, it’s easier to point out that not everyone’s mistakes are on the same level, and I refuse to tolerate that which goes beyond The Point of No Return.

There is so much more to say. But being out of that house, out of that soul-sucking environment where your mental capacities for stupidity and wrongness are pushing the pressure gauges, where you put your mind through gymnastics to makes sense of the reality, I realize that leaving may be the only way to begin to heal from such a childhood where we didn’t know any better.

Everyone has autism? Better than Polio.

So, fortunately, according to Huffington Post, Chili’s has canceled it’s fundraiser for an anti-vaccination autism group. As much as I love the idea of raising money for autism, the thought of perpetuating, even a little bit, the idea that people shouldn’t take vaccinations makes the bile rise in my throat.

You can still do another fundraiser for autism!

To be honest, I thought anti-vaccination shiznit was only part of the deepest recesses of the conspiracy gloom, until certain family members have brought to light that it may be bigger than it should be.

The ‘dangers’ of vaccinations (yes, I’m clever) was first brought to light by a certain family member, who I thought was joking at the time. This person sent me to a website called Dherbs, which sells ‘organic’ or ‘natural’ products for problems that are ailing you. Upon reading the page against vaccinations, I (condescendingly, I must admit) told this person it wasn’t true. When I brought up this topic to close relative of the relative who showed me (relative 2 and 1, respectively), relative 2 told me they believed it, too.

We eventually had a longer talk about it, and relative 1 said vaccinations caused them cancer, relative 2 said they might have caused their stroke, they said it causes autism

 

This can’t be happening! I thought feverishly. What stupidity was this?  Sure Dherbs is science-y and has a lot of black people, and they are ‘spiritual’, but I can be right a lot of the time, but then try to swindle you something by telling you some gross terrible dangerous lies; I don’t trust anyone’s science unless they are a scientist, not even if they are black; and, although trying to maintain a fairy-and-crystal image, Dherbs is really all about Christianity (What is with this horoscope and Jesus cohabitation? You can’t accept both! And my opinion is you shouldn’t bother with either)

Recent contact with more of this anti-vaccination nonsense has gotten to me. I don’t have the best immune system and I have a soft spot in my heart for children, so people like me and children (and old people and people who truly aren’t able to get vaccinated) are at the most risk if this idiocy gets any bigger.  I went through a rough fall and winter of getting sick over and over again. I don’t know how big the anti-vax community is here, nor was I thinking of an overall cause. I thought that me being in quick-weather-changes  Tennessee caused me to get sick so often, when I had lived the last four years of fall-winter in more temperate Baltimore. I can only imagine it being worse if many weren’t taking vaccinations (which I did).

You probably already know all the crap against vaccinations, but in case you thought it might be a good idea here’s some science here.

But I want to touch on that last topic:

As much as I don’t want anyone to deal with the debilitating effects of autism, do the rare effects of vaccinations, even the most outrageous (like cancer), do they truly compare to getting polio, measles, and smallpox back on its grand scale?

Would you rather your child live with the effects of polio or the effects of autism? The effects of measles to asthma? Smallpox to mental retardation? These are some of the effects of vaccinations Dherb reports.

I don’t find the idea of living in an age where a third of our children, sickly and elders will be wiped out by preventable diseases, so that someone can avoid the near-zero chance of getting cancer from a vaccination. Since there is no science behind the causal effects, or even enough anecdotal evidence of such things happening, I think people should just get freakin’ vaccinated.

INTENTION! vs. impact… Fucker, do you understand?!

 

Let me start off by saying that I intend to make a big impact however I can as long as I live. I will be posting some things in the next few days that will make some readers uncomfortable, and the best thing you can do in that case is hide away and read something that will stroke your deflated ego. That’s what I’ll surmise in any case.

My sister worked on a farm in June. It was  a very lovey-dovey, sensitive sort of shindig where they sat in a circle and had self-improvement meetings, and some people were fired for saying the word ‘crap’ too much. I worked there a few years ago. Nobody was fired and I don’t remember not being allowed to say crap.

I also  don’t quite remember one particular aspect of the program: Intention versus Impact, though it may have been part of the work and influenced me.

As I’ve come to embrace it, sometimes you intend something and your impact is something different, and, in any case, you should accept your impact and, if it is something you didn’t intend, own up, and try to make it something like how you meant it.

Problem is, some people get defensive when someone takes their intention the wrong way- anyone would. Biggest problem is that they sometimes never own up to it and say: Oh, that’s not what I meant at all! Sorry it sounded that way. For example:

I made a big ol’ bowl of Cream of Wheat some time ago. I always make a big bowl because I don’t eat much. When I do, I try to eat a sizable meal that’ll last me until I remember to eat again, but not that I’ll be super hungry when I do, for I may not be in the position to eat. After it’s all been lifted poured into a bowl, my brother makes the comment: “That’s a big bowl of Cream of Wheat”

Actually, I may have watered down what he said, but I don’t want to misquote him negatively just in case I have him wrong, so the neutral position it is. As you might have guessed, I figured he was making fun of me and I asked him to clarify what he meant.

He said he didn’t mean anything about it.

Now this was after a conversation I had with my dad, and also after one with my older brother, where I’m sure both meant well, but it didn’t feel that way to me. And afterwards I had another conversation with my dad and brother (same one as Cream of Wheat) where I’m sure they thought they meant well, but it definitely wasn’t. Objectively, wasn’t.

With the conversation with Dad and Older Brother (hey, I’ve already a post on both of these conversations, actually!) in the back of my mind, I told my brother about Intention! versus impact… Basically saying that he might say one thing, but it means or sounds like something else.

Little Bro #1 is one of those guys who gets offended but tries to play it off, but is really bad at it. Kind of like when my sister lies. (Which is pretty funny because she’s a terrible, terrible liar but lies all the time). As we went back and forth, I told him: “When you say stuff like that, it sounds… off. Kind of like if I were to say, “Wow, your stomach is so big!”

“But that’s rude. You obviously mean something else.”

“EXACTLY. I’m asking, what do you mean when you say I have too much Cream of Wheat?” (I’m getting a feel for the original quote… But I’ll leave what I had before).

“That doesn’t mean anything though. It’s just a observation!”

Ooooh, okay, yea, sure. And then Dad joined in the conversation and it really went to shit, so I eventually just said, “We’re just going to have to agree to disagree about this” as I thought in my mind that words have meanings and subtleties behind them that not everyone will pick up.

For some reason, Dad got incensed over that, saying somethings before this: “See, that’s what’s wrong with society today”

“OOOOH, okay.” I actually scoffed at him, and a sudden pang went to my heart as I saw little brother’s look of shock and his little backing away. Why should he fear?

“But I’m not going to say nothing about it, because if I do then everyone will-”

I had turned around from washing the pot I had used to cook my food to look at him, lifting an eyebrow at his sudden slide into hypocrisy, as he was wont to do. This time it didn’t happen; he flapped his hands dismissively at me and walked away. Right.

Sure, I may have overreacted (Dad called me over-analytical), but I’m just so surprised at how easily something that can be taken offensively was indeed taken offensively, but they couldn’t understand why I thought something deeper was going on with how big my bowl was. Especially how they kept saying it, in several different ways, and stopping before, indeed, they said what they really meant- at least, that’s how I heard it.

Moving on from there, we’re trying to move. We’ve found this lovely house not far from where my dad works. With how it’s set up, my parents, my sis and my niece, and two others can have their own room. While the last two will bunk up in one. Of course, I want my own room. I do this thing called skipping, I watch porn and other unmentionables, I stay in one room the most out of the family (except maybe Mama) and I stay up later- on the computer or a video game- than everyone else. It just sort of makes sense to get my own room to avoid many conflicts.

So, some days ago, I got into the reasoning with Little Bro#1 (CoW) and he brought up how I should stop skipping. That I should ‘sit down’ and ‘not do it’.

I told him to not act like he cared about my tic because, at that moment, it sounded as if (and I contend it was) he was only pretending to care so he could get his own room. He said he always cared and always was worried about it.

Unfortunately, I’m unable to really see what he said as some well-intention advice.

And he was so upset that I wasn’t convinced he was looking out for my best interests! To be honest, I found it pretty damn amusing that he would think, for a second, that I would believe he was always so worried about my skipping and just happened to try to convince me of it when on the line he could get his own room. Yea, the impact was pretty damn opportunistic.

The Very. Next. Day. Dad went into a lecture about the new house. As usual, when he talks for more than three minutes, the old irritation grew within me and I knew that he would ruin it somehow. He told us older peeps that we’ll need to get jobs and help with the rent (Like we didn’t fucking know that. You didn’t get that expensive-ass house so you could pay for it by yourself. You didn’t tell me how expensive that expensive-ass house was so you could pay for it by yourself. Anyway!) He asked if we understood, and then he explained himself, mostly repeating what he said before.

In my mind, I thought WHY DID YOU ASK IF WE UNDERSTOOD IF YOU WERE GOING TO KEEP TAAAAALKING?! *bangs head against table* This was going to be endless.

Then ol’ Pops got into my skipping- and I thought, yep, here comes the downturn. I could almost hear Lil Bro #1’s eyebrows move.

He told me to skip in the garage, then said that he would rather I not skip, saying he was ‘looking out for me’, that I should ‘find a new hobby’-‘read a book’. “She’s going to be 40 and skipping!” He looks at me and asks, “Is that how it’s gonna be? You’re going to be 40 and skipping back and forth. That’s what you want?”

 

Yea, Dad. THAT’S what I fuckin’ want! To be able to wake up from a deep sleep with an urge to skip, to not be able to sit down to homework, or a WordPress post because, eventually, I’ll want to skip, to not want to hang out with friends or family because I have the urge to skip, to watch a movie or listen to a new song and unable to FUCKING THINK until I skip. Yea, that’s what I want!

Asshole.

Oh, favorite part: We were actually about to go to Walmart and buy stuff for the 4th. I didn’t answer dad his stupid question, and I didn’t go to Walmart and he said: “I just wish I can talk to them without them clamming shut!”  (to my mother, as they walked to the car).

Oh, POOR YOU!

I would say I’m overreacting, but since then I’ve skipped multiple times. Any questions? Nah. Of course not.

Something funny: My youngest brother, who has a few issues that really makes the atmosphere of our home toxic, and some of my other siblings, plus my mom, had a long talk. Turns out, yes, I’m getting my own room (I didn’t really have any doubts), and so is my younger sister, with whom I have written posts and watched a great deal of anime. Therefore, Lil Bro #1 and #2 have to room together.

By the time I woke up joined the conversation, Youngest Bro was in tears that he wasn’t getting his own room. Things got a little heated and Mother gave a lecture, which YB largely ignored, but something caught on from Mama’s words: That we all deserve to be happy (that’s so sweet, cute and true!) and we all deserve our own room.

I refrained from telling her that yes, sure, we all deserve our own room. However, do some people deserve their own room more than others? Of course. That’s why we didn’t draw straws with rooms. What is hilarious to me is that YB for some time thought he deserved his own room more than me! 

 

My Bipolar Disorder, Not YOURS

You’ve probably heard the phrase “You won’t really know what it feels like until you experience it” and, oddly, it usually comes about to a person who obviously hasn’t experienced it and has absolutely no understanding of it.

Like when a person of favorable size says around of person of generally unfavorable size, “Sometimes I feel so big. You shouldn’t worry about what other people say about you. You look great how you are.” As you may be aware, favorably sized person has pretty much used bigness as a benchmark of ‘lowness’ in her life. And even if one doesn’t know it consciously, just like this person doesn’t really know what it feels like to be big, a person of generally unfavorable size (or some other unfavorable attribute) can definitely feel the somewhat insulting feeling towards people of their size.

Or someone with Crohn’s reveals that fact- and some person says, “Oh, one time I had food poisoning- and it was the worst thing ever!” I’ve actually… *ahem* roomed with someone with the disease and three people- no joke, my friends- went on about some stomach bug or another. Sure food poisoning and sickness is horrible, but trying to relate to a person’s lifelong disease by referencing a nigh incomparable illness just shows how ignorant you really are.

Of course, I’m not immune to such antics either, though when I recall such instances I don’t think myself cute at all. I do, however, find it cute when I’m the object of  said antics.

So, I have bipolar disorder. When I first realized it fully, I began to notice that it’s not just me being calm and sweet to being depressed- because I knew for certain what that shit felt like, and was quite aware when I was dragging myself through it. No, it wasn’t normal wavelength to flatlining through sludge.

There’s something else. It’s not  ‘angry mode’. I’ve found the most common dichotomy of bipolarity in popular media (including cartoons, especially anime) is Calm/Happy and Psychotic/Angry.

No, my coin has FUCKING ECSTATIC on one side and DEATHLY DEPRESSION on the other. Often, I’m running along the narrow rim of normality, bumping over annoying people and small disappoints and the like before teetering on one side, losing balance, rolling down the wide diameter of one side then a slight rim job and then to the other side until something makes it all stop- a bottle of pills or a really good book or a long walk at 3AM.

What I’ve come up against the most is “Well, everyone has their off days.”

Now, that’s a completely true statement, but how can anyone tell me that after years of trying to stay on the rim, how can anyone even imply that I don’t know the difference between how I feel when I’m having an ‘off day’ or a ‘good day’ or depression and mania?

What bugs me the frickin’ most is that I begin to second-guess myself. My biggest clue that a majorly devastating depression is about to hit is when I begin to roll around in the euphoria-filled wonderland of mania. Mania now feels as recognizable to me as depression, but if I’ve heard that phrase recently I began to count off the good things that have happened to make me have a ‘happy day’.

And that’s how I felt today. I don’t remember who said something ignorant about bipolar disorder- it might have been someone’s post on Facebook or some shit- but I remembered the baseless sentiment and it stuck to me.

When I’m manic, I get the munchies, no weed needed. I’ve been eating constantly, but telling myself that I’ve just gotten off my period (even though I mostly get cravings before my period, and never after), and that I haven’t been eating as well as I should (which has also been true- but I’ve been eating better overall. Nothing as good as when I was eating nearly vegetarian at school, though),

When I’m manic I can’t concentrate. I’ve been multitasking in my free time for almost five days now, unable to spend good time with my sister (on anime or 642 and various other things) or anyone. Even on my computer, I check this, then this, then this, then this. And I’ve been telling myself that all of it is so very fun and no one would be able to stay on task, right?

When I’m manic, I get aroused easily. Now, I’m usually that way… But now I know it’s different, because I wake from sleep too aroused to lie down. I sit at the computer watching a youtube video or reading a comic, planning on going to bed in about half an hour and then BAM, I know I won’t be able to read or hear another word without relief.

When I’m manic, I go into panics over the stupidest things, and one not so stupid thing: I fully understand I’m manic now, and have been for nearly a week and this depression is going to be killer, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. That’s the not-so-stupid thing. Stupid things? Working at Denny’s yesterday, cutting tomatoes, and the way the tomato slices look- the shapes appear within:

Terrifying- But I realized that if the core is thick in the middle, I don’t panic

They got to be so scary that I stopped slicing tomatoes, diced them, and didn’t look back. The dark is too dark, and I can’t look anyone in the eye, it’s just too much!

I had to stop myself from screaming with delirious joy because we had Taco Bell downstairs, but I couldn’t keep the squeal away when my sister gave me her churro. I laugh out loud because the feeling in my chest is too much to contain, and I bite my arms to stifle the ants beneath my skin. And, hell, I’m too damn sore to do that again, though I can feel my body reeling with that energy.

I just hope I hit bottom within the next three days. I’m off from work. I haven’t been depressed for an extended period since January, and had mild manic attacks since then. But this… This is no ‘happy day’. I’ve been the same thing for fucking months. I’m doubting myself on going to a new school, on ever finding any lovers, of seeing my brother or any type of friend anytime soon, of ever truly liking my sister again or not thinking my dad is not worth talking to- but none of that bothers me at the moment.

But it will when I roll over to the other side, where I go so much more slowly…They won’t be simply ‘bad days’, they will all be the culmination of a goddamned depression  that I simply don’t want to deal with, especially when I’m so alone in it.

How to Lose Everyone I Love, ASAP or Care Inapplicable

When I first started this blog, it was for a number of things I was writing because the sites I used didn’t allow too much discussion and I got the distinct impression that

At the same time I thought that, I believed I would never get anything like followers or fans or anything quite so fabulous. I’ve got a trickle that I’m grateful for, though I wouldn’t mind more, a lot more. But it’s not like I’m jealous or anything.

Haha, last pic for a bit, seriously

In any case, I definitely didn’t think I would ever connect this to my Facebook page and have taken some pains to not associate my real name with this page. I mean, when I rant about my Dad or about gay porn or about my bipolar disorder and all the stuff in between, it’s not something I had wanted read by my nearest and dearest.

Today I realized two things, though: this little blog gets more likes per ‘status’ than what I post on Facebook, and NOBODY CARES- at least there or, really, much here. And I honestly don’t care who cares here on WordPress since I doubt I’ll ever meet them in the streets.

This was pushed on me by a number of things, the main one being someone in this world seemed to be trying to confess to me, but I was under the distinct impression that we were incompatible, mainly for the fact that we hardly knew that much about each other, and I haven’t revealed many of my darkest thoughts that could make or break a relationship- any relationship. Another main thing is that I adore a bit of personal strife, and it’ll be nice, like a lot of strife that I’ve received, to tell a future somebody that nothing really happened.

But! You might be thinking, I might lose a lot of friends! Or, if you happen to scan through my pages, I’m going to lose everyone!

Frankly, I couldn’t care less. I’m just an incompatible person for them, and I refuse to hide for fear of what- losing people who thought very little of me? This is not to sound bitter or angry- it’s just the truth. It’s kind of like how I don’t care about what Romney is doing now or if Justin Bieber will ever make another song. It’ll be fine if Romney is having a lovely talk with Ann or Bieber is taking a hiatus, like people on my Facebook will be happy I’m alive- but that’s as far as anything goes. And nothing so far as to worry about it.

Just thinking about it… Like, I made very depressed statuses over the years on Facebook and some messaged me to take them down, and now that I think about it… Why did I listen? One of them was up for a weekend before anyone said anything (to take it down). At the time, I remember thinking how I didn’t want to be seen as depressed or needy or desperate, and not wanting to upset people or make them worry. However, as I contemplate, no one really gave a shit. And I shouldn’t have either. It would have been good to catalog my moods and see how I was feeling when and all those who thought I was mistaken making some real status instead of- MCDONALD’S IS THE SHIT!!!!

And no one will give a shit if a post on my blog is on my wall. One day, every one of my friends on Facebook will have seen this blog and a vast majority of them will ignore it and all statuses related to it. A few will defriend me and a couple will warn me of various things that will have no application to my life on whether I follow the warnings or not.

And what really makes this all amazing is that I’ve thought about this for soooo looooong. And nobody really cared for soooo loooooong. And, honestly, the only people that I would regret having find any of this out is some future employer. Not even my current one because, holy shitcakes, the managers know damn well everybody and literally their mama smokes hard as rocks. They probably just can’t afford to fire everyone.

I still won’t use my real name here, you know, so it makes it a bit harder for some employer to sneak a peek.

If you’ve read this far and wondering if I lost my mind, just think of this: How many of your friends’ pictures have you rifled completely through? I can name them on two hands- only two of them not family. How many friends’ pages do you check specifically to see if they have made a status? Probably none, right? How often do you go to another’s person page and click on things that they have- either their music or books, or their other friends? Riiiight.

I realized that I’m just a tiny speck in most people’s lives, at most a boulder to lean on for a fun, loving, trusting time.

Oh, another big reason I’m doing this. I wrote something I was really excited about and wanted to share more of. But the only things I could count on were Facebook and a couple of forums. My mind had immediately recoiled at the thought of Facebook before I was like, wait, why not? Nobody gives a shit really except me, and I am the universe for my mind’s eye and a marble for everyone else’s.

The World Ends With Me.

“642 Things to Write About” and Are you my Mommy?

Sometimes I wish I was my niece’s mother. That, and you know where my house is, and what’s on my Nook.

Prompt #68- Write, in ridiculous detail, directions on how to get to your house

My response: (Starting from where though? Nevada?) 

Starting from the [MY ADDRESS]’s mailbox, take two, nine-inch steps to the right. You will find yourself at the beginning of our driveway. A slight left will find you on the sloping curb to the street. Take about five ten-inch steps and you will get to the anthill in the first segmentation. Another five of the same steps and you will get to the second segment. Now take two eight-inch steps to the left diagonally at about forty-five degrees. You should now be on the sidewalk leaning to our steps. Two ten-inch steps, one segmentation, another two, the second, a light right at about twenty degrees, you will get to the last one and the first step. This step is about five inches high, the on it adds another half-inch. So lift your foot about five-and-a-half inches (or higher), bring forward until your entire foot covers the first step. Repeat in straight line, alternating feet, three more times. A two-foot step later, you should be at our door hanging a bit off the hinges. Welcome.

Sister’s response:

Start from [Sister’s high school]. You get out from the front of the school. Take a left or right. If right, go down the road until first turn. Turn left past the tennis court, past the middle school, and turn at the right corner. If left, go to stop sign, take left, past the baseball field, and down the road to the three lights. Take a left, and keep all the down to the next light. You’ll be surrounded by Mapco,  Subway, Publix, an unfinished Taco Bell, and a gas station. Take a left, down the road, to the stop sign. You can take a right into my neighborhood. Keep going straight, turn, straight, turn, straight to my bus stop. Turn into the second to the last house on the right. Thirty-seven steps up to the driveway, five steps up to the porch steps, and two steps to my door.

(Good luck!)

Prompt #69-A useless love- a connection or affinity that doesn’t fit into the plans of anyone concerned

My response: (Totally uninterested)

Paul liked Beth. Paul wanted to be a researcher for cancer. Beth wanted to be an actor. Paul admired Beth for her effortless social skills; Beth enjoyed someone with so many secrets, one who could keep things private, and that of others.

(Okay, I hate this, bye!)

Sister’s response: (No clue)

There’s no such thing as useless love? Teenage power? *holds up  “Black Power” fist*

(Alright)

Prompt #70- You are a midlevel Greek deity, hoping to move up the ranks of Olympus. What are your powers, and how will you use them to impress Zeus and the others? 

My response:

I am Block. I stop an arousal as it happens, or even when it is just about to end. I can even control lower-level gods!

Don’t think that’s impressive? Really, Zeus? Alright, next time you find some poor woman to take as some golden Pegasus you’ll see how impressive you are when you can’t get her pregnant. Yea, you’re seeing the implications, now, don’t you? You, Athena, sprinkling your love on this guy or another. Just how much would he appreciate you if he couldn’t get relief over a few years.

You get it, don’t you? I can do it all day and night, baby, and keep the good stuff for myself.

Does it work on women? Hell’s yea. Those nymphs have nothing on me. Men are going to sacrifice their children just to have a bunch of horny dames crowded around their houses. Armies will collapse as men go on a futile search for the penultimate time to ease their frustrations.

Yea, you think that’s good? Good, good…

Can I get it up? Huh? Yea.. Yea… I can… I think….

Sister’s response:

I’m the goddess of Happiness. I bring joy to those in deep pain and depression. But there’s a catch. In order to relieve your pain and depression, you must give up your most valuable item, or your prized possession. And I will know how valuable it is.

(We’re terrible)

Prompt #71-List five cultural events that impacted you greatly. Then write about one of them without mentioning yourself.

My response:

1. Aaliyah died
2. Gay marriage debates started in earnest
3. Gundam Wing started on Toonami
4. Social media started taking off (Xanga, Myspace)
5. Massacre at Virginia Tech

Aaliyah died in an airplane crash almost at the height of her popularity, which skyrocketed after her death for quite a while. Other artists, especially Missy Elliot mourned the loss of so great a singer. She was too young, one of the biggest stars of R&B at the time. Then, suddenly she was gone. Her spots on weekly music countdowns lightened the weight of her departure from this world, as if she wasn’t really gone. For short time, some thought her like Tupac (or Elvis) and she wasn’t really dead. In any case, her music is still alive, and anyone can remember her that way.

Sister’s response:

1. North Korea threat
2. Michael Jackson’s death
3. The “No Seatbelt Song” curse
4. Facebook
5. Sandy Hook

Sandy Hook had a great impact. Little kids died just because someone wanted to shoot up the school. It’s sad how people can be. Some people believe that it wasn’t real, which resulted in a Youtube rage war. Some people thought that after the incident people would stop shooting schools. They were wrong, and now there is a gun law going on and more shootouts.

Prompt #72-Pick a person, then ask yourself: What is the hardest choice this person has ever had to make?

My response:

My older brother came out to my parents. He told me like a year or so before. Ma told me in the garage and I was like… I already knew, like, long time ago. I had told him not to tell them, but, in the end, it’s all good.

Sister’s response:

[Me] when she decides to create a character for a game.

(Jerk…. But I do take a very long time- No, fuck off!)

Prompt #73-You’ve just realized that you’ve lost something valuable in a nightclub (a necklace, a wallet, a phone). What happens next?

My response: (Like… doesn’t everyone just go back and look for it? Anywho- fiction!)

I checked my purse for the thousandth time that night. All throughout the dance party, I had made sure my Kindle Paperwhite was still there. I had brought it because I knew that I would eventually get bored and want to read something to get my mind in gear for more dancing.

But, at long last, it wasn’t there. The nearly two-hundred dollar e-reader was my pride and joy. Though I had a Nook before, there was something about 3G service and a built-in light that made having such a device completely awesome.

I asked around, receiving the oddest looks for my serious request, especially since I referred to my Kindle as Paperwhite. Since most people my age that went to clubs didn’t really read, I had to explain further. More confused looks. Why did I bring that if I wanted to dance?

Well, it was either read or sleep, which I cannot help when I’m not entertained adequately.

And I need my damn Paperwhite! Where the hell is it?! I start to panic, the anxiety building as it always does oh-so-quickly whenever I lose something for too long a time.

Then I see a crowd of guys around something bright. As they laugh, eyebrows raised, falling back in surprise, I know it is my Paperwhite, and that they were reading one of my gay BDSM stories. I come close to the group and see that I’m right. I ask for my e-reader back, and they laugh, patting me on the back, calling me crazy.

I cradle it to my chest, smiling for so many reasons.

Sister’s response:

If it’s not my phone, I would go back and look for it. If it’s not in the area I thought it would be, I would ask the manager. If the manager doesn’t know, I would give up until I come back to that nightclub, and see if anyone has it. They’ll probably lie, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. If it was my phone, I would try to call it.

(WOOO!)

Irreplaceable. You only have one Mom- Oh… Wait…

That’s bullshit. I think I’ve gotten on that phrase before. It’s such a stupid thing to say. A guilt-diverting, dismissive little assholish thing to say.

Now, I love my mom more than most people. Pretty sure she’s in the top five of people I wouldn’t mind, ever, living forever. Someone who I fervently hope would die after me, somehow, someway. Someone who I hope for that, if any god was real, that would let my mother into heaven or whatever she wants that the god is able to do. Someone who I will give my ability to walk or hear just so she will stop having those debilitating migraines that make her completely unable to function- migraines which the government says she can still work around, denying her medical benefits and the like as she suffers from the pain- which sometimes triggers unconsciousness AND amnesia- and the limitless boredom she must endure because she can’t do a damn thing, nor does she have the money for anything grand.

She is one of the leading factors for my atheism. Her cherry-picked notions of the Bible and god steadily drove me away from all faith. Her belief in ghosts (and blaming any oddities I see on my mental health) and ‘too many coincidences’ had me finally realizing that most of it was probably made up. Add in that she still says stuff like “Well, everyone has off days” when a topic on depression happens, while later crying to Momo about how almost sinfully bored and unhappy she’s been with her life- while high on weed- and I’ve come to the conclusion that she can make silly judgments on very real feelings.

Her cooking is wonderful. (Duuuurrrrr) But our oven is broken, so a lot of my favorite foods have been sidelined for months. Oh, cornbread, where art thou? I think her cooking is so wonderful, that she can cook it and fill herself on the fumes. Seriously, she does very little exercise- like, none at all. And I doubt her metabolism is top rate, since she’s had problems with her weight most of her life. But she still looks great- and I hope I look like her when I’m forty… forty-three? Forty-six?

Awful daughter. That’s me.

Growing up, and Pa would lose control so many times, I remember her going into her room to ignore everyone and everything. As much as she said that Pa wasn’t upset when he was screaming at us, or patting us on the head saying that he loves us when he says things like ‘stupid look on your face’, or saying that she’s the queen and Pa’s the king of the household and we’re all serfs- she was quick to make like Casper when things got rough. And when we fought back, when my brother grabbed a knife, or my sister bit down into the arm that Pa had wrapped around her neck, that’s when she’ll hurry. To save Pa, like he was in danger.

She was the one to yell at Dad when he called me crazy. Rolling her eyes at him when he got all stupidly defensive as if he was the one ridiculed. She was the one to sharply call out his name whenever he referred to the mental hospitals as looney bins or nuthouses. She was the one to convince me that my bipolar disorder was definitely an illness a long time in development. She was the one to offer meditation since I was an atheist and prayer wasn’t an option.

She is the one to suddenly grab me and rock me like a baby. To give me the last sip of her sodas, to buy me a Dr. Pepper or Twix as I’ve always asked for so, so, so many years. To make beef stew when I come home, and when I went away. To fry chicken breast when I was feeling down. To talk to me about things bothering her.

The one to say she wasn’t hungry after buying everybody meals at McDonald’s or Sonic or even a diners like Waffle House or Denny’s. To say she’s fine, when she’s not, so, so, so, so many times.

She is the one where much of my liberal leanings come from. Her years on welfare, her nonchalant attitude to those who are on welfare, her cocky openmindedness towards those of different faiths, no matter how crazy. Her generosity towards anyone in need. Her strident disapproval on all those preaching the love of Jesus Christ and showing none of that in the actions.

When she checks on me every once in a while. When she takes a small bath so that I can get more hot water.

When she gives [THAT SISTER] one more chance… and another… and another… And her no-good ex as well, and his mother.

When she says that she can’t in good conscience tell anyone that she’s let to to repay her.

When she is fighting for the custody of my niece.

When she fights off yet another migraine, and says she’s okay, and that she loves me, and smiles when I say I love her back, soooooooooo much.