Why I hate religion.

Religion is one of the worst things that can happen to someone. Faith is fine; belief is good. Trying your best to be a good person within the context of that faith or belief is a laudable goal, but not if religion gets involved.


I mean, religion is one of the most divisive, excluding pigeonholes we Homo sapiens have devised for ourselves. Who cares if you are Catholic or Protestant? The Northern Irish do. What's the huge difference between the Jews and the Christians, persecuting each other for centuries? A testament and a hippie.
I personally identify as agnostic. I believe there might be something out there bigger than myself, a safe place for the souls of my mother and all those who've gone before us. But I don't claim to know what that is, so I prefer not to claim I do.

Religion causes hatred. It encourages bigotry and fear and intolerance. Faith is a wonderful, beautiful thing, and some days I truly wish that I could believe with my whole heart in something I can't see or prove. I think I'd be happier if I could.

But using the "Word of God" (or Allah) to hate, to kill, to ostracize, to bully, to punish, to confine? "God" should not be about those things. The unspeakable atrocities carried out in any god's name are not the fault of faith or belief. They are the fault of religion.

Religion does not create communities. It teaches islationism and intolerance, especially in the "One True Way" religions.

Having been raised in a cult (look it up; Catholicism is a cult) and since broken away from it, I gotta say the idea of a less-structured faith appeals, but I still haven't found anything that truly speaks to me.

Maybe I'll find it; maybe I won't. But you know the worst way to get someone hooked on your particular brand of Kool-aid? Forcing it down their throats. Coming to my door and telling me that I am going to hell is not the way to get me to come to your church. Even if you promise me brownies.

In My Shoes

The shoes I have to wear in public are too tight.

People are always surprised when I claim to be an introvert. I don't like big crowds, lots of people, or loud noises. But I like to be liked; I like to be noticed. So I pretend. And that's when the shoes get too tight.

Around certain people, the shoes change. With some of my friends, they become flip flops or really comfy slippers.

With J, I can be barefoot all the time, knowing that she will rub them and put Neosporin on the blisters that come up when I have to wear my too-tight public shoes.

At work, they are pointy toed heels, just tight enough to let me know they're there, but I've been doing my job for nine years, so they've become broken in, and I mostly feel capable in those shoes.

With most of the people of my acquaintance, I feel like I have to wear different shoes at different times. I have to wear the combat boots with my LARP friends, my ballet slippers with my theater friends, and brand new wedges for the people I knew in high school. None of these are terribly comfortable; all feeling like they are too new, too unwieldy.

Some would probably say that if I wore these shoes more often, they would fit better, but the truth is, I hate shoes. I'd rather be barefoot all the time. But if I do that, I step on rocks and sticks, so my feet always hurt worse when I'm barefoot in public.

So I wear shoes that are largely uncomfortable because it's expected of me.

But lately, I cannot merely grin and bear the discomfort of shoes I didn't choose. I cannot stand them. I walk through someone else's life, wearing shoes I don't even own. And the person they belong to has narrower feet and non-existent toes.

These shoes don't fit. They aren't my shoes. These shoes leave me hobbled, too afraid to take a step because I will twist my ankle, leaving me sitting on the sidelines, as usual, in my fabulous, yet terrifyingly uncomfortable shoes.

Nothing fits, and I end up staring at a rack filled with more shoes than I know what to do with, because it's easier than wearing them.

I probably will never feel like I can be barefoot all the time; that just leaves my feet too vulnerable to the perilous places I have to walk. Maybe some day, I will find a pair that really fits, but for now, I will continue to be barefoot with J, and pretend that the shoes I wear with everyone else don't leave me with blisters Band-aids can't cover.

My Grass Cuts Itself

Scratching my itch with a razor blade

Feelings pouring out red and black

Tired of living but too scarred to die

I just wish I could get the feeling back

I wanna be happy, but I don’t know how it goes

Wishing you were here to make the pain go away

I wanna be content to live one day to the next

Wishing there was something more to say

You lay your body down to protect me when I’m tired

Living with you frees me to do what I detest

I’m hurting and I’m bashful and wishing you were here

I’m sick and I’m weary and so very unimpressed

I wanna be happy, but I don’t know how it goes

Wishing you were here to make the pain go away

I wanna be content to live one day to the next

Wishing there was something more to say

Today is the first day of the rest of my life

But what’s the point of living at all?

Is the “rest of my life” sleep or nothing more?

Can you show me how to stand up when I fall?

I wish I could see what you see when you see me.

I wish I could be that girl for you.

I wish you could remove the blindfold from my mind

and show me that what you see is true.

I wanna be happy, but I don’t know how it goes

Wishing you were here to make the pain go away

I wanna be content to live one day to the next

Can you tell me how to make it one more day?

Changes, or, My Life in Pictures

I've been thinking a lot lately about the changes that have happened in my life lately. I'd like to walk through these changes in pictures.

Here I am at 11 months old:Wasn't I adorable? Don't you wish you had one just like me? No? Ok, moving on.

I think I'm about 3 in this picture:


That's me and my bubby in front of my Grandparents' house, going to church one time when we were visiting them. I don't do that anymore, go to church OR visit my grandparents.

Here's me in a play in 7th grade. Note: I did not choose to look like a psycho Prussian girl scout.

This one is from the morning after prom. I don't know why I look so happy in this pic, since my head was throbbing and.....stuff.

Here's one taken by my good friend, M, one night when we were all out drinking and doing karaoke...



That brings us to J. She has become a very important part of my life. In fact, she is the most important part of my life. Here's a couple of shots from our commitment ceremony (you will please note how happy I look in these pics. This is not a mistake. I'm actually *happy.*):


Here's us at Hogwarts (no, not the school; we were at the "Wizarding World of Harry Potter" in Orlando with her family):


So that's my life, kinda, in pictures. Do these capture every moment? Of course not. Pictures don't generally show us when we're lonely or depressed, or guilty, or whatever. They usually just show us being happy.

So are pictures truth or lies? Do they just show what we want people to see? Or do they show an inner truth that can only be captured on film (or a memory card)?

I don't know the answer to that question. I know, that I, for one, won't be trying to capture images of truth. My emotions are too plain to begin with. Why would I want to have those emotions captured for everyone to see?

Crowded

I pretty much never leave the house anymore. My car's been out of service for a while, but I haven't minded too much, simply because of all the really scary stuff outside my door.

People, for instance.

I don't know that I could classify what I'm feeling as agoraphobia, because I'm not afraid of being outside, per se. I prefer to call it "hermitting" or "nesting." Call it what you want.

Mostly, I just don't have the energy to deal with the outside world.

At home, I can sit in MY space, eat MY food, listen to MY music, hook MY projects.

I'm still connected to the world via the net, and I still occasionally leave the house to go be with the world.

But it's really too much effort. All of it. I feel...crowded. By everyone.

There are people in the world. Truly stupid people. Truly hateful people. Sarah Palin. Glenn Beck. Bill O'Reilly. Not that I come across these people in my corner of Ohio, but the Palinites, the Beckians, and the O'Reillese are there. I live in a conservative place while holding extremely liberal views. This sometimes gives me a headache.

There are people in the world. Rude people. Inconsiderate people. Intolerant people. Either in action or in deed, they make the world a little bit worse for the rest of us.

Sure, I know that for every pontificating dudebag on the planet, there's at least one decent plodder who doesn't make waves. And for every hundred million or so of those, there's someone I care about personally.

Doesn't mean that I want or am even able to deal with the arseholes to get to the people I love.

So, fair warning. I'm not coming out unless it's something 1) I can't avoid doing, or 2) I really, really want to do.

It's not that I don't love you anymore. It's not that I don't want to see you. But seeing you means that I have to see people I don't want to see, and that is physically causing me pain at the moment.

And if your suggestion to me is that I have people over to socialize without having to go out into the world, my answer is no. I have to have a space that is all mine. I found the one person I am able to successfully share my space with, and I (in a totally non-legally binding sense) married her.

So if I feel up to it/can't get out of it/need to do it, you'll see me around. Otherwise, I'll be back to you later.

Is This Home?

Home. What does it mean? Where is it?

In my life, I have lived in 4 cities. Three in Indiana, and now one in Ohio. None of them have felt like home. I've lived with family, with friends, alone. Alone, a lot, by choice. And none of those places ever felt like home.

I've traveled a bit, but not as much as most people I know. I've seen New York City in the spring, Louisiana and Texas in June, and Wisconsin in January. I've never left the country. I've wanted to, but circumstances have just never jelled so that it has happened. I want to travel. I want to see Ireland and New Zealand, Wales and Australia, but not in that order. I want to see the canals in Venice, the monoliths on Easter Island, and the moose in Alaska. (I know I could see a moose in the zoo, but I'd really like to see one walking down the main street of some tiny Alaskan town, ala Northern Exposure.)

But none of the places I've traveled have felt like home.


As I was leaving Wisconsin this January, I finally realized that I was going home. It didn't matter to me that I'd lived in Indianapolis for more than a third of my life, or that for the first eighteen years I'd lived in Evansville. Suddenly, with no more warning than an aneurysm, I realized that a suburb of Dayton, Ohio was home.

And it wasn't because of the house, or the cats, or the weather, or anything else that might've tied me there. It was HER.

I was going home from a blizzard-ridden business trip, because she was there.

She's my home. And it doesn't seem to matter what the street signs say.

So to quote Mr. Joel: "Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike or Indiana's early morning dew. Home can be the hills of California; home is just another word for you."

It's Not Okay...

It’s not okay to tell someone that they are wrong because they don’t do things the way you would do them, as long as they aren’t hurting themselves or other people.

It’s not okay to make someone feel bad about themselves for exercising their legal avenues of redress when their rights have been violated.

It’s not okay to re-victimize someone. Ever.

Actually, it’s not okay to victimize someone.

It’s not okay to make this about your own victimization when you are wrong.

It’s not okay to intentionally hurt someone to make yourself feel better. Ever.

It’s not okay to hurt my family or my friends.

It’s not okay to be passively aggressive.

It’s not okay to be aggressively passive.

It’s not okay to be mean to someone just because the relative anonymity of the internet makes you feel safe. What it makes you is a coward and weak.

It’s not okay to force the way you think and feel on other people.

It’s not okay.