Life is hectic right now. Pretty pivotal.
It's a time where, if I don't do the right thing, I might never have a chance to have a career. Not only because of health reasons, but because of motherhood. Possibly.
I don't know what I want anymore.
It's a bit different from last year, or even a few months ago, where I knew what I wanted, but couldn't muster an ounce of motivation toward my goals.
Coroner, autopsy, or crime scene technician. Medicolegal death investigator, organ or tissue recovery technician, emergency medical technician...They all have their appeal. Mortuary science would've helped in most cases, but I don't know about the schooling anymore.
I really can't handle the stress of not knowing whether I will get in this year or not. They have 50 people apply every year to get into the 20 person program. Why would I get in? What do I have to offer that the other students don't? Especially as someone who doesn't ultimately want to be a funeral director or embalmer. I also don't know about my grades. It's hard enough for me to get good grades in classes that I like, but I don't know about accounting, business management, public speaking, interpersonal relations, and math 1010.
I know I could do it if I really really wanted to. If it meant maybe not getting in this year, I'd still try. I know it would be ridiculously difficult to get good grades in all the classes I would need to get very good grades in. The question is if I really want to do it, and I don't really know if I do.
That's $10,000, many time-consuming, and costly trips to Salt Lake, and incredible stress on a burned-out, mentally ill student. For what? By the time I finish, it may be time to start having a family. And I don't even know if I want to do that. For the sake of my own health and just the desire that I lack, I don't know if that's the best decision for us.
Ideally, I'd love to work in a hospital as an autopsy technician. That way I can open bodies and see what's inside and help figure out causes of death - all without maggots or smells. At least not too many smells.
But then I'm not involved in forensic science. Which is why I love this field in the first place. Maybe there will be domestic violence cases in hospitals but, other than that, just people dying of accidental and natural causes.
But then there's always EMT. There has always been EMT in the background. It's always been something I wanted to do since 9/11. When I watched video coverage of Katrina, I just wanted to go help. I wanted to help with triage, I wanted to find bodies, I wanted to help living people as well. It was the same with tsunami that hit so many countries in... 2004? 2011? Not only that, but I've always been scared of an emergency happening around me and not being able to do anything. I've had three experiences of such instances.
At a family reunion years ago, an elderly relative fell backward near a pool, and had a heart attack. I stood close and watched. I wasn't afraid, I just didn't know what to do. My aunt is a nurse, and another relative was a detective - I believe he knows just above basic life support. There may have been another person helping. All I know is I just wish I was more helpful.
Then, early this year, a girl passed out while I was helping the teacher after class. I wasn't afraid, my first reaction was to help. It wasn't until later that I realized that I was pretty calm and clear headed. Of course, my teacher and another student (who was once an EMT), went to help, so I wasn't needed.
Then, a little bit later, there was an incident with Stephen at the dentist office. He has always been squeamish about health care procedures. I should have been watching him more closely, but the technician kept asking him if he was alright and he kept replying positively. That's when he started making a weird noise. I knew it wasn't a good noise, so I got up to look and see what the problem was. When I got inside the room, he was laying back, and his arms were kind of dangling. He looked extremely pale with an indescribable green hue. His eyes were rolling back. The technician said: "he's just had a seizure."
Maybe it's because I didn't see it, or that the technician was worried, or maybe it was just because I was worried about Stephen, but I may have freaked out a little bit. I don't remember much, just shouting for someone to come help. They sent for an ambulance, and he was seen by a parade of EMTs and paramedics, and even a cop and some firefighters. That was a hard day. One of the worst days of my life. It was another scenario where I wish I could have been more helpful. I've always wanted to be helpful to people around me. I've always wanted them to feel safe around me. All I'm worried about here, if I were to take this path in life, is my intense fear of just talking to people.
I wish I could pinpoint what the problem is. I know there's nothing to worry about. And I'm not afraid of what people think of me. I just don't want them to know how uncomfortable I am. I don't want them to sense that. I can hardly stand the sound of my voice when I speak. I feel like every single thing I say is wrong. I actually love people. I know we're all flawed and I know that we're all worth something, but there's just something wrong with me. Its not other people. I think that's what most people don't understand about my mental health. I wish I could control it. I would give anything to control it. It just happens when I'm around other people or when they engage me that I just feel... Absolutely beyond terrified.
Anyway, now I've heard of a new job called tissue recovery technician. They take freshly dead bodies of donors, and harvest ligaments, vasculature, bones, skin, and other things for the purposes of transplantation. They help people, they don't have to interact with that many people, and they get to see the inside of bodies all the time. They know how to suture them up after they're done doing what they do. They take the skin grafts and bones and ligaments and whatever else back to the hospital. Its cool. No maggots.
EMTs can do tissue recovery, but they usually want surgical techs. I don't know. Maybe I'll do both. I feel better now. More calm, since I began writing.
The uncertainty of life, I think, is what sucks the most.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Weird friends
This post was made using voice recording on a phone.
Last night, Stephen and I saw our friends for the first time in what seems like forever. It's actually been just a month or so for a couple of them.
People usually wear me out. Nice, mean, outgoing, or introverted. They wear me out just being near them. It's hard to explain but, around others, there is this constant, massive pressure. Pressure to converse properly, behave uniformly, and otherwise pretend I'm normal.
And I'm not trying to say I'm some special, fancy unicorn by any stretch, just that my social brain is dysfunctional. I try to study others to see how to act or what to say. Somehow other people just seem so comfortable starting conversations and continuing them effortlessly.
When I hear my own voice, I cringe. I literally get embarrased and SO panicky. I freeze up. My hands get sweaty, my shoulders tense. When I'm not medicated, my throat closes, and my pitch gets higher as a result. I constantly feel like I'm messing up. Then I start self- flagillating, and that's where most of my depression came from. Just berating myself all day. I feel like my astronomic discomfort makes those around me uncomfortable too. I'm a menace to society, and it only ends up making me feel worse.
Anyway, the fact that my interests don't coincide with most people's is even more alienating. I don't seem to have much in common with anyone. The most emotional thing about getting my PKD diagnosis was that it meant I was even more different now. I have even less in common with others. It's such a freak- of- nature event. No one in my family has it. And PKD is rare, but still the most common life- threatening genetic disease. So I can find others, right? I did, but all they would ever talk ( whine) about is their PKD. They're so uninformed about their own illness. They didn't know anything, and they'd complain about everything.
Anyway, the only time I can get a break from the immense feelings of inadequicy and embarrassment is when I'm alone. There is, when I'm medicated, one exception: my friends. I still get really nervous beforehand, but when I see them, I finally feel like I belong. There is a very weird group of boys in the world who I can be mostly myself around.
I had an especially worthwhile experience yesterday. You know that dumb book about love languages? Can you guess what mine is? Touch. Yup, believe it. I think it's rather comical that the scardiest of scardy-cats, people- wise, needs to have physical contact with them!
Anyway, perhaps mostly because I'm married, my friends don't usually like physical contact. Hugs, being too close together, anything. But yesterday, one of them was situated between me and Stephen on the couch, and we were so close that a side of his body was in contact with a side of mine for hours! I think I was mostly happy because anyone felt comfortable enough around me to do that. I feel like I give of some kind of uncomfortable, repelling vibe. But there it was (this is especially weird to be excited about because I know he reads this blog. Sorry)!
I didn't get ignored or interrupted for the most part. We had so much fun playing games together. They get my humor. I appreciate theirs. Also, they're not afraid to have conversations about deep topics or weird hypotheticals. They're so smart and so weird. And I want to belong. I sometimes feel like I belong. That's more than I get anywhere else.
Last night, Stephen and I saw our friends for the first time in what seems like forever. It's actually been just a month or so for a couple of them.
People usually wear me out. Nice, mean, outgoing, or introverted. They wear me out just being near them. It's hard to explain but, around others, there is this constant, massive pressure. Pressure to converse properly, behave uniformly, and otherwise pretend I'm normal.
And I'm not trying to say I'm some special, fancy unicorn by any stretch, just that my social brain is dysfunctional. I try to study others to see how to act or what to say. Somehow other people just seem so comfortable starting conversations and continuing them effortlessly.
When I hear my own voice, I cringe. I literally get embarrased and SO panicky. I freeze up. My hands get sweaty, my shoulders tense. When I'm not medicated, my throat closes, and my pitch gets higher as a result. I constantly feel like I'm messing up. Then I start self- flagillating, and that's where most of my depression came from. Just berating myself all day. I feel like my astronomic discomfort makes those around me uncomfortable too. I'm a menace to society, and it only ends up making me feel worse.
Anyway, the fact that my interests don't coincide with most people's is even more alienating. I don't seem to have much in common with anyone. The most emotional thing about getting my PKD diagnosis was that it meant I was even more different now. I have even less in common with others. It's such a freak- of- nature event. No one in my family has it. And PKD is rare, but still the most common life- threatening genetic disease. So I can find others, right? I did, but all they would ever talk ( whine) about is their PKD. They're so uninformed about their own illness. They didn't know anything, and they'd complain about everything.
Anyway, the only time I can get a break from the immense feelings of inadequicy and embarrassment is when I'm alone. There is, when I'm medicated, one exception: my friends. I still get really nervous beforehand, but when I see them, I finally feel like I belong. There is a very weird group of boys in the world who I can be mostly myself around.
I had an especially worthwhile experience yesterday. You know that dumb book about love languages? Can you guess what mine is? Touch. Yup, believe it. I think it's rather comical that the scardiest of scardy-cats, people- wise, needs to have physical contact with them!
Anyway, perhaps mostly because I'm married, my friends don't usually like physical contact. Hugs, being too close together, anything. But yesterday, one of them was situated between me and Stephen on the couch, and we were so close that a side of his body was in contact with a side of mine for hours! I think I was mostly happy because anyone felt comfortable enough around me to do that. I feel like I give of some kind of uncomfortable, repelling vibe. But there it was (this is especially weird to be excited about because I know he reads this blog. Sorry)!
I didn't get ignored or interrupted for the most part. We had so much fun playing games together. They get my humor. I appreciate theirs. Also, they're not afraid to have conversations about deep topics or weird hypotheticals. They're so smart and so weird. And I want to belong. I sometimes feel like I belong. That's more than I get anywhere else.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Save the Date?
Well, I found out a few things today.
First, we might not be able to afford me going to school. Which means I'd have no chance of making it into the program next year/applying this year. What should I do? I can sign up and hope for a miracle or something. There is still the possibility of getting my record wiped because of my mental health at the time. Or I could just give up and go to EMT school. It's not so bad. I've always wanted to do that. I could be useful, but there's also the fact that I'd want to do mortuary school more, I think. I just want to work with dead people, why is that such a difficult thing to do?
Then again, Dr. Melinek started following me on Twitter. It's probably because I follow Ask a Mortician's Caitlin Doughty. They met at a book meet (I've only read Dr. Melinek's book, but it was fantastic!) and they became friends. I wonder if I can ask either of them for advice/help. I've contacted a few mortuaries. Maybe 10? Not one of them has gotten back to me yet. Maybe I just need to be patient...or more diligent?
Also, our bishop says it's possible to be sealed in 3 months. If we do everything we should and we go through all the preparation and stuff. 3. MONTHS. That's way sooner than I thought was possible! Awesome! It's just in time for the opening of the new temple. I'm so excited! I'm thinking May 24th? May 14th? I want it to be rainy, but I want there to be flowers. I guess it doesn't really matter. I just want everything my wedding didn't have: good weather, professional pictures, no stress, and enjoyment. There were moments and items at my wedding that I loved, but the rest of it makes me cringe. I hate thinking about my wedding.
And then, since it's so close, maybe we could have an open house at our place? That might be fun! Christmas lights, flowers, DELICIOUS food (maybe catering, even?), cake, and good times. No specific attention on me would be fantastic. Just a memorable gathering.
So...save the date?
First, we might not be able to afford me going to school. Which means I'd have no chance of making it into the program next year/applying this year. What should I do? I can sign up and hope for a miracle or something. There is still the possibility of getting my record wiped because of my mental health at the time. Or I could just give up and go to EMT school. It's not so bad. I've always wanted to do that. I could be useful, but there's also the fact that I'd want to do mortuary school more, I think. I just want to work with dead people, why is that such a difficult thing to do?
Then again, Dr. Melinek started following me on Twitter. It's probably because I follow Ask a Mortician's Caitlin Doughty. They met at a book meet (I've only read Dr. Melinek's book, but it was fantastic!) and they became friends. I wonder if I can ask either of them for advice/help. I've contacted a few mortuaries. Maybe 10? Not one of them has gotten back to me yet. Maybe I just need to be patient...or more diligent?
Also, our bishop says it's possible to be sealed in 3 months. If we do everything we should and we go through all the preparation and stuff. 3. MONTHS. That's way sooner than I thought was possible! Awesome! It's just in time for the opening of the new temple. I'm so excited! I'm thinking May 24th? May 14th? I want it to be rainy, but I want there to be flowers. I guess it doesn't really matter. I just want everything my wedding didn't have: good weather, professional pictures, no stress, and enjoyment. There were moments and items at my wedding that I loved, but the rest of it makes me cringe. I hate thinking about my wedding.
And then, since it's so close, maybe we could have an open house at our place? That might be fun! Christmas lights, flowers, DELICIOUS food (maybe catering, even?), cake, and good times. No specific attention on me would be fantastic. Just a memorable gathering.
So...save the date?
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Torn
Some people will make it very clear that they don't like you. Sometimes they don't even know why they don't like you. All of this is okay, just don't think for a second that they're being truthful when saying that they do like you. Actions most always speak louder than words.
Something I'm still learning, apparently. It's just what to do with those people.. Normally, I'd say to just ditch them and move on with your life - you're both better off - but sometimes there are circumstances where that is next to impossible. So are you nice anyway, knowing most of what they do and say is fake? Or do you block them out as much as possible? And, if they really don't know why they don't like you, is it their fault? Should they be "punished" for that?
I'm not sure what the ethical thing to do is.
Anyway, school is a nightmare right now. I know what I want to do. I'm not nearly as close to an A.A.S. in criminal justice as I thought I was so, at this point, mortuary science is only so many more credits. Also, if I want to be able to apply next year, I have to get into Math0990. Or something else. It's very high-pressure at this point. I just worry I still won't get in after all the hard work. 40-50 people apply to the program every year. They only accept 20! That's less than a 50% of getting in! I'm freaked out. I wish I could know if this was worth it. This is what I want, but will I ever have time for a career?
There is hardly any time to have babies. If Stephen focuses on school, he'll graduate at the end of 2018. I'll be barely 27 years old at that point. If I'm healthy then, that leaves 8 years to have babies. If I choose to raise them full-time, that means I'll be "done" at 47 at the absolute earliest. And then it's time to start dying.
Do I even want kids? I'm not sure.
It's never really been in my plans to have biological children. There is an unspeakable amount of pressure from my church and community to have kids. Some would say it's the very reason I'm a female and not a male. It's my purpose. I really worry because my body already has so many issues. My back kills, I'm exhausted, my mental health is just now getting better, and my IBS-C is already miserable. I don't know what I'd do if it got any worse than it is. I could die trying to have kids. Then my life would've been a complete waste. Babies are tiring and they make me uncomfortable. I can't stand their crying. It's the worst noise in the universe!
But then sometimes I'm excited for babies. Just because it's the next step? It's new? I'm not sure. I just imagine creating a body in my body. That's cool. And then there is a little person I'm in charge of in the world. They can do anything. That's really neat. What good things could they do in their lives? More than one person could, right? So mathematically I'd be doing more for the world as a mother than not, right?
Or what if I can do both? Could I do both? Would I be good at both? I'm really not cool with babysitters. I don't want my kids to be raised by someone who isn't their parrent. Not to mention I'm paranoid about them getting hurt if they're not under my care.
The worst-case scenario is that I don't get in this year, I wait another year, I graduate finally, and I have kids and waste $10,000. That seems like a lot now...will it be later?
Best-case would be that I get in right away, I graduate, I have 1 to 4 kids without complication, and I'm somehow able to work (if it makes me happy) and be a good mom. Would I be able to be that busy? I'm so tired as it is!!!
So, what if I am just a mom? Should I do any schooling? What should I do? Would I feel as worthless as I think I would? I'm not "following my dreams"...I'm not sure what to do.
Something I'm still learning, apparently. It's just what to do with those people.. Normally, I'd say to just ditch them and move on with your life - you're both better off - but sometimes there are circumstances where that is next to impossible. So are you nice anyway, knowing most of what they do and say is fake? Or do you block them out as much as possible? And, if they really don't know why they don't like you, is it their fault? Should they be "punished" for that?
I'm not sure what the ethical thing to do is.
Anyway, school is a nightmare right now. I know what I want to do. I'm not nearly as close to an A.A.S. in criminal justice as I thought I was so, at this point, mortuary science is only so many more credits. Also, if I want to be able to apply next year, I have to get into Math0990. Or something else. It's very high-pressure at this point. I just worry I still won't get in after all the hard work. 40-50 people apply to the program every year. They only accept 20! That's less than a 50% of getting in! I'm freaked out. I wish I could know if this was worth it. This is what I want, but will I ever have time for a career?
There is hardly any time to have babies. If Stephen focuses on school, he'll graduate at the end of 2018. I'll be barely 27 years old at that point. If I'm healthy then, that leaves 8 years to have babies. If I choose to raise them full-time, that means I'll be "done" at 47 at the absolute earliest. And then it's time to start dying.
Do I even want kids? I'm not sure.
It's never really been in my plans to have biological children. There is an unspeakable amount of pressure from my church and community to have kids. Some would say it's the very reason I'm a female and not a male. It's my purpose. I really worry because my body already has so many issues. My back kills, I'm exhausted, my mental health is just now getting better, and my IBS-C is already miserable. I don't know what I'd do if it got any worse than it is. I could die trying to have kids. Then my life would've been a complete waste. Babies are tiring and they make me uncomfortable. I can't stand their crying. It's the worst noise in the universe!
But then sometimes I'm excited for babies. Just because it's the next step? It's new? I'm not sure. I just imagine creating a body in my body. That's cool. And then there is a little person I'm in charge of in the world. They can do anything. That's really neat. What good things could they do in their lives? More than one person could, right? So mathematically I'd be doing more for the world as a mother than not, right?
Or what if I can do both? Could I do both? Would I be good at both? I'm really not cool with babysitters. I don't want my kids to be raised by someone who isn't their parrent. Not to mention I'm paranoid about them getting hurt if they're not under my care.
The worst-case scenario is that I don't get in this year, I wait another year, I graduate finally, and I have kids and waste $10,000. That seems like a lot now...will it be later?
Best-case would be that I get in right away, I graduate, I have 1 to 4 kids without complication, and I'm somehow able to work (if it makes me happy) and be a good mom. Would I be able to be that busy? I'm so tired as it is!!!
So, what if I am just a mom? Should I do any schooling? What should I do? Would I feel as worthless as I think I would? I'm not "following my dreams"...I'm not sure what to do.
Friday, November 27, 2015
Mortuary Monday
This morning, at around 3am, I went Black Friday shopping for the first time. All I could think of was that I wanted a black suit, and when better to get that than when they're on sale?
Turns out, it wasn't that bad. Maybe it was the timing, but there weren't many people there. In fact, there were probably more employees than people! Especially in the women's suit section, it was a ghost town. Go figure. When I asked where the suits were, an associate answered: "Upstairs, in the men's section."
So the suit I went in to get wasn't there, but I found some other beauties! I got two tights, a pair of NICE black shoes, a skirt suit set, three silky tops for the suit, a purse, a scarf, and a set of legging jammies for Christmas.
Now I'm ready for my stint as an embalmer's apprentice! Or whatever they'll have me for, really.
I have my "in" still (I hope), so I'll try to go through him first but, if that doesn't work out, I'll apply to everywhere else. Anywhere else. I am excited to be in the field! FINALLY!
At this point, I think I'd be happy doing nearly anything that includes the deceased and service. Like pathology/autopsy technician, forensic autopsy technician, death scene investigator, tissue recovery technician, embalmer, or even funeral director!
Whatever. I'm just excited!
Turns out, it wasn't that bad. Maybe it was the timing, but there weren't many people there. In fact, there were probably more employees than people! Especially in the women's suit section, it was a ghost town. Go figure. When I asked where the suits were, an associate answered: "Upstairs, in the men's section."
So the suit I went in to get wasn't there, but I found some other beauties! I got two tights, a pair of NICE black shoes, a skirt suit set, three silky tops for the suit, a purse, a scarf, and a set of legging jammies for Christmas.
Now I'm ready for my stint as an embalmer's apprentice! Or whatever they'll have me for, really.
I have my "in" still (I hope), so I'll try to go through him first but, if that doesn't work out, I'll apply to everywhere else. Anywhere else. I am excited to be in the field! FINALLY!
At this point, I think I'd be happy doing nearly anything that includes the deceased and service. Like pathology/autopsy technician, forensic autopsy technician, death scene investigator, tissue recovery technician, embalmer, or even funeral director!
Whatever. I'm just excited!
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
New Year?
I'm getting sad again. Not nearly as sad as I used to be, but sad.
I think it's just because I've had a miserable week.
My birthday turned out alright, despite not being planned. It wasn't special, but we had some fun. I was disappointed the day before, so we fought. Then, Stephen called his mom the day after, because she'd texted him the day of (knowing it was my birthday). Then we fought some more, because she was being a jerk. Apparently it's on me to forgive her. It's always on me. It's always my fault. But I still don't know what her problem with me is. No one is upfront over here, and it's driving me insane.
Anyway, I was the problem again - even staying away from these people isn't good enough! So we argued more. Pretty much all week, we've been arguing. It's been miserable. And I wonder if that was the intention. I think they just want me to divorce him. And I was about to. A couple of times.
As much as I love Stephen - and I obviously do love him - I can't handle everything he put me through IN ADDITION to all this in-law nonsense. I will not have it. Nobody else would put up with this. Why am I being gossiped about? And why not just say your problems to my face/be ufront when speaking through email or messaging? They just tip-toe around everything and say everything is fine and they don't hate me, but then I hear that she's been talking about me again. Why? I don't do that to people I don't hate. Why would someone do that at all?
If they want me to leave Stephen, they'll get their wish if they keep this up. I can love him if we're not married or living together. Loving him is not a problem, but I don't want to deal with their childishness. I don't deserve it.
This entire year has been pretty miserable. I just want it to be over. Is it too soon to be excited for New Years?
Monday, November 16, 2015
Chaste
Note: this post was written using voice- recognition on a phone. Good luck.
I'm not sure why I've been thinking about this, but its been bugging me too much not to mention it.
I'm not sure how the lives of other Mormons differ, but in my house, having premarital sex was the worst thing you could do. Or at least the second worst.
Especially after multiple accident babies joined our family, the pressure was on to stay chaste and not have sex before marriage. It was bad.
It got so crazy at one point, that I was almost forbidden from seeing friends on Saturdays. Not that I had any friends in the first place, but that rule was quickly thrown out the window by yours truly.
It was never enforced because there were never opportunities for it to be enforced. Remember the mental illness thing? I had no interest in seeing friends.
Anyway, my parents were like many in the area. For some reason, this particular sin is problematic because parents don't talk to their children about sex at all, except for how forbidden and horrible it is, and then just expect their kids to not be curious.
Granted, not everyone is curious. I wasn't curious. I never expected to be one of "those" kids, especially given my family situation. I was old enough, when it happened to me, that I knew what I was doing. Unfortunately, my problem was a lack of self-esteem and the lack of much- needed...male attention. I've never been very attractive, but when I met Stephen, I was in a vulnerable position mentally. I was suffering. I gained a lot of weight at Weber State, despite water polo and water aerobics classes. I was actually lonely. Nobody ever looked at me with any interest. I didn't care enough about myself, and that's what got me into this mess.
I say mess, because there is a whole underground situation in Provo, Utah but no one acknowledges. I don't know if this is ignorance or if its a choice, but it's surprisingly vast. Shockingly vast.
When I was younger, I was under the impression that most people who married in the temple were virgins. Now I know better, and I really don't like it for some reason.
It just makes the temple seem dirty to me. Especially when I see people who took less than a year to "repent". I understand they want to get couples through the temple, but I don't personally see how someone can do it for years, with multiple people, and take less than a year to be sorry for it and ask forgiveness for it. You know, if it's such a serious sin.
And maybe I'm just bitter because Karyn "repented". I know she wasn't sorry. Nothing bad ever happened to her because of what she did. Why would she be sorry?
But I have a hard time thinking anyone else is either. It seems the partners of these people don't seem to mind. I do, but I seem to be in the infinitesimal minority.
I was always told in young womens but your virginity was this single, special gift that can only be given once, so you should give it only to your spouse. It was implied that bad things and sorrow could only ensue. For me, this was true. But again, I seem to be in a very exclusive, very infinitesimal minority.
It really doesn't seem like that big of a deal now. It doesn't seem to matter to anyone. And I just feel lied to. All this drama and hardship for something that is ultimately not a big deal to anyone.
I want to say that, had I known it would be like this, I would have had fun and experimented more, and slept with a lot of people. But again, I never had any "takers". Not on this meat. Maybe I just didn't know where the desperate people were...
I don't know, did I miss out? I gave my vCard to someone who had already given his away. And a lot of the couples I know about have a similar situation. Is that fair? Is it a big deal? Because it really doesn't seem like it, and I guess I just feel lied to.
I'm not sure why I've been thinking about this, but its been bugging me too much not to mention it.
I'm not sure how the lives of other Mormons differ, but in my house, having premarital sex was the worst thing you could do. Or at least the second worst.
Especially after multiple accident babies joined our family, the pressure was on to stay chaste and not have sex before marriage. It was bad.
It got so crazy at one point, that I was almost forbidden from seeing friends on Saturdays. Not that I had any friends in the first place, but that rule was quickly thrown out the window by yours truly.
It was never enforced because there were never opportunities for it to be enforced. Remember the mental illness thing? I had no interest in seeing friends.
Anyway, my parents were like many in the area. For some reason, this particular sin is problematic because parents don't talk to their children about sex at all, except for how forbidden and horrible it is, and then just expect their kids to not be curious.
Granted, not everyone is curious. I wasn't curious. I never expected to be one of "those" kids, especially given my family situation. I was old enough, when it happened to me, that I knew what I was doing. Unfortunately, my problem was a lack of self-esteem and the lack of much- needed...male attention. I've never been very attractive, but when I met Stephen, I was in a vulnerable position mentally. I was suffering. I gained a lot of weight at Weber State, despite water polo and water aerobics classes. I was actually lonely. Nobody ever looked at me with any interest. I didn't care enough about myself, and that's what got me into this mess.
I say mess, because there is a whole underground situation in Provo, Utah but no one acknowledges. I don't know if this is ignorance or if its a choice, but it's surprisingly vast. Shockingly vast.
When I was younger, I was under the impression that most people who married in the temple were virgins. Now I know better, and I really don't like it for some reason.
It just makes the temple seem dirty to me. Especially when I see people who took less than a year to "repent". I understand they want to get couples through the temple, but I don't personally see how someone can do it for years, with multiple people, and take less than a year to be sorry for it and ask forgiveness for it. You know, if it's such a serious sin.
And maybe I'm just bitter because Karyn "repented". I know she wasn't sorry. Nothing bad ever happened to her because of what she did. Why would she be sorry?
But I have a hard time thinking anyone else is either. It seems the partners of these people don't seem to mind. I do, but I seem to be in the infinitesimal minority.
I was always told in young womens but your virginity was this single, special gift that can only be given once, so you should give it only to your spouse. It was implied that bad things and sorrow could only ensue. For me, this was true. But again, I seem to be in a very exclusive, very infinitesimal minority.
It really doesn't seem like that big of a deal now. It doesn't seem to matter to anyone. And I just feel lied to. All this drama and hardship for something that is ultimately not a big deal to anyone.
I want to say that, had I known it would be like this, I would have had fun and experimented more, and slept with a lot of people. But again, I never had any "takers". Not on this meat. Maybe I just didn't know where the desperate people were...
I don't know, did I miss out? I gave my vCard to someone who had already given his away. And a lot of the couples I know about have a similar situation. Is that fair? Is it a big deal? Because it really doesn't seem like it, and I guess I just feel lied to.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Scary!
Okay, so I think I'm better now. I am scared to say it, but I don't think I'm even depressed anymore. It's great and all, but I don't remember ever feeling "normal". I feel much better, and it's hard because I don't know how to act. It's new. And Tim says all change is scary - good or bad.
I'm also afraid that it will go away, or that I'm not as healthy as I think I am. You know? It was severe, so I wonder if it's just mild now and I'm going to push myself too hard if I try anything. I'm basically paralyzed, because I can do things now, but I don't know how much is too much.
Ugh. And my resume aready looks bad. But I'm even thinking of volunteering at the shelter again. Maybe volunteering in a lot of places! I don't have that much energy...more, but not much. But I do have so much more motivation. I don't feel like Hell when I wake up. I feel good! A new day is a blank canvas, rather than a bland, wearisome continuation of the miserable day before. It's so amazing. And I'm so grateful.
Being healthy (I think) is a WHOLE other world. It's SO different. I can understand now why "normal" people judge those who commit suicide. Did you know we say "commit" because it used to be a crime? Crazy. So I completely get it, becaue they can't possibly understand. To a "normal" person, it just seems stupid. When a "normal" person gets sad, it's not even close to the depths of despair and ruin that a depressed person feels. Not. Even. Close.
But anyway, things are so different. And scary. But also hopeful. I have hope, I care about things I care about. It's a whole new world (*que Aladin soundtrack*)! I can do life now. I can do it!
I'm also afraid that it will go away, or that I'm not as healthy as I think I am. You know? It was severe, so I wonder if it's just mild now and I'm going to push myself too hard if I try anything. I'm basically paralyzed, because I can do things now, but I don't know how much is too much.
Ugh. And my resume aready looks bad. But I'm even thinking of volunteering at the shelter again. Maybe volunteering in a lot of places! I don't have that much energy...more, but not much. But I do have so much more motivation. I don't feel like Hell when I wake up. I feel good! A new day is a blank canvas, rather than a bland, wearisome continuation of the miserable day before. It's so amazing. And I'm so grateful.
Being healthy (I think) is a WHOLE other world. It's SO different. I can understand now why "normal" people judge those who commit suicide. Did you know we say "commit" because it used to be a crime? Crazy. So I completely get it, becaue they can't possibly understand. To a "normal" person, it just seems stupid. When a "normal" person gets sad, it's not even close to the depths of despair and ruin that a depressed person feels. Not. Even. Close.
But anyway, things are so different. And scary. But also hopeful. I have hope, I care about things I care about. It's a whole new world (*que Aladin soundtrack*)! I can do life now. I can do it!
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Still Hurts
My depression is getting better. I'm still not sure why. I'm more aggressive though, and I'm really starting to freak out about how much I talk about myself. I feel like, the more self conscious I am about it, the more I talk about myself. It's awful. And I'm sorry. I want to apologize to everyone, but I also don't want to give into the anxiety, you know? But I am sorry.
I just got finished watching a documentary on social anxiety. I didn't seek it out, I was actually watching a 20/20 episode on Howie Mandel and his struggle with OCD when I saw this documentary in the side bar.
At one point, I began to cry. I was reminded about something that has been bothering me lately. A lot. Back in May, I think, Stephen's dad came to visit for a few days. One day, he wanted to take family pictures. I was already having a hard time. After all, he stayed with us. Him and his 3 other kids from another marriage. They're great, and I think we offered, but it was still absolutely terrifying. I was so stressed out. It's hard for me to share such small quarters with so many people. Kids, especially. I just can't communicate on their level. I was hardly able to sleep, and I think the precious few moments of sleep I did manage were because of the exhaustion of having guests.
Anyway, he wanted us to take pictures. I was already freaking out because he wanted to do them on a very big, busy campus. When I couldn't find parking, there was a brief hallelujah chorus. Then I suggested we do them at this nearby park which isn't usually busy.
All parties agreed. I was so miserable already. For some reason, my back was particularly angry that day, it was sunny, I felt ugly, horrific, and sleep-deprived, and nervous as Hell for the awkward family pictures that were to ensue. I had the camera, and therefore, the reponsibility. It was quite weighty. I'm NOT a photographer. I don't want to tell people where to be, how to look, I don't want to count, I just didn't want to participate. I wanted to run and hide. Maybe catch an hour of sleep!
Well, it was uncomfortable to say the least.
On the field, the three parties met up (Stephen and I, Levi and Rachel, Stephen's dad and his three kiddos). Since this was Rachel's first time meeting their dad, I thought to give them space. Apparently, it wasn't subtle, because she asked why we were so far away. And, embarrassed, I just shuffled a bit closer with Stephen. I didn't want to be the first to speak.
It was kind of a blur. The sun was bugging me (I never see it), and I was leaving my body because of the anxiety. Their dad gave us some kind of instruction and told me to be the photographer. Holy. Hell. I can't do this. I tried to buck up (ie: ignore evey negative thought and feeling coursing through my body) and give some advice "L-let's get those trees in the shot because...they're nice." Now that I think of it, we had a freaking art teaching major there. Why didn't we make her do it?
I took a few bad pictures. They were cute because of the family part, but they had nothing to do with my (lack of) photography skills. Then Stephen's dad took pictures of Levi and Rachel and the kids. I'd refused to have my picture taken. It was awkward. That's like...social phobe 101. We don't like getting our picture taken!
I could hardly speak at this point. I just tried to leave my body and go somewhere else. I just didn't want to be there. Then their dad said we should go out to eat. Ohmybloodyfreakingheck. "Sure!".
Rachel suggested Dennys (a good choice, IMO). So off we went. Of course we were seated in the middle of the freaking room, with no walls or large seat to have my back against. They may as well have been metal foldy chairs. They were horrible. At this point, I could hardly speak at all. I had Levi and Rachel (who we'd missed their wedding, but I offered a double date the next day. I figured things were better than they had been). Then I have these three, pretty well-behaved kids I'd need to try to speak with. And then I had Stephen's outgoing, friendly dad who was trying to get a feel for his new family situation.
Oye vey.
I could not find a comfortable position in that chair. It was just a steady, achey burn that just nagged at my flanks and lower back. I snuck a few pain-killers in and gulped them down with the warmish soda they'd given me (I hate warm soda). I tried very hard to find something interesting to talk about with the kiddos. The only thing I have remotely in common with them is that one of them plays the violin. That was a brief talk. Luckily, the kids had crayons and coloring books or something to keep them occupied. The twins are quiet in public anyway. Thus, making things even more awkward.
And Rachel was just drawing the whole time, really. She'd occasionally try to talk to the kids too, but they weren't interested in the different species of turtles. I actually learned something. And I like turtles. She was high-strung and just...loud, and that always gets me antsy.
Anyway...still trying to separate myself from the exscrutiating experience, I did my best to join whatever conversation was available (while still giving Rachel and Stephen's dad some space to get to know eachother), but they were few. I just wanted to leave, really. And they both ubruptly left pretty soon after the food arrived. It was annoying (because they always seemed to do that), but whatever would get it over with works for me.
For some reason, I'd gone to the mall for something thereafter. Stephen went to work. At some point, I thought it would be good to convey my satisfaction with Rachel's choice. It wasn't a big compliment, but it was honest. And I know it can be scary to meet parents for the first time. Also, I was trying to be friends after the stupid, dramatic wedding fiasco. I'd offered to go to dinner with them before, but it was never accepted until I offered again after their wedding day.
Anyway, I sent the text: "Denny's was a good choice. Tell Rachel I said thanks." Or something very similar. What I got back though, was confusing. "I will. She still thinks you guys hate her, by the way".
Woah there. First of all, did what I just said sound like hate? Second, what about our double date? She seemed fine then. Now I feel lied to, because they were both acting like everything was fine. Of course it wasn't fine, but I didn't think it was on the level of hate. Last time I checked, you don't go to dinner with someone you hate. At least I don't. Maybe I'm weird like that.
Okay...I'll be honest. That's the best policy. "I never said I hated her. I just think she's loud and annoying." He replied "She's only like that in public!" I've heard that one before. And I said what I've always said "Okay, then I'll meet her in private." At one point before all of this, I remember adding "I want to see what you see in her." It was never followed up on. I guess I have to do everything.
Quite soon I realized what had actually happened. "You hardly even looked at her!" Or something. Maybe it was "You didn't look at her enough." That's all I really remember, is that I didn't look at her enough. And that's what really hurt. Someone would judge me, a VERY mentally ill person, on whether I look at someone enough? Not just that, but that someone was examining me that closely in a social situation. It really, really, really hurt. And I was very confused. He was always giving her exuses. Whenever she was acting grumpy or sad it was: "she's mentally ill". But I'm just as mentally ill (if not more), and he's judging me on how often I look at someone?!
Your wife is meeting your dad for the first time. You think you'd focus on that. Or maybe these half-siblings you never see. Your brother. You're going to focus on ME?
*Rant Alert We missed his wedding because his family is a cluster **ck of monstrous, immature jerks. We were awake and dressed, and we had our present for them ready. And that's when I saw what their mom did. It was too much. I didn't and still don't know why these complete strangers were being such a-holes to me. And to Stephen, for that matter.
I disliked Rachel at first because a) I hate otaku, b) she was loud which, as a hypervigillant social phobe, I really, really, didn't like, and c) she swore at one of my best friends. Over nothing! She came in with a rotten attitude and then swore at my autistic friend!
In hindsight, it may have been harsh, but she wasn't allowed at my house after that. We did hang out on Halloween, but that had disastrous results because of her bad attitude. And I told Levi every time the subject came up that I was annoyed by her, but that I would be happy to meet her if I'm getting the wrong impression. He'd just get defensive and say he didn't want to talk about it.
Ultimately, I did have the wrong impression. She's fine when she's not high-strung. Especially when it's just me and her, I have a pretty good time. She's a girl, so I get more anxious because of that, but we jive on a lot of ideals, and we both love sweets and asian food! She's also pretty blunt and TMI, which is a rare gift that I thoroughly appreciate. Especially in a woman. *
They'd been examining me. My actions at a stupid dinner! No mercy for me. I didn't look at her enough. Even though she was drawing in her book 98% of the time. And I know this because I LOOKED at her. I looked at everyone. What the hell? And what is enough? I have my own problems. Would you do this to anyone else? So now when he's around, I always feel like I'm being watched. You know? It really sucks. And it makes me act all weird and self-conscious.
Eventually, after plenty of texts and two calls that weren't picked up, I drove to their mom's house and basically pushed the door open when it was answered. I was nearly distraught at this point, yelling and crying (I think). All I remember saying was "How dare you!?" Over and over. Rachel emerged amidst the fury and acted as mediator for the rest of the time. More like a spokesperson.
This is where I learned that a) she thinks I invited Levi - and not her - to a birthday party I was throwing for both of the twins, and b) Laurel told her about Stephen's infidelity. And they both questioned why I was "so mad at the woman".
First of all, what the hell? That was Stephen's birthday party. And, at first, he didn't want to invite Levi. I thought we'd be nice and at least invite him (and I knew deep down that Stephen wanted his brother to come too) - I thought he'd decline because his new wife would have something planned. Surely. She's much more social than I.
To my surprise, Levi said: "Rachel doesn't have anything planned for my birthday." I figured this meant that she was busy and would be throwing a party later. Or that she had a previous engagement. Why else wouldn't she have something planned? And Levi certainly didn't hint at anything.
Apparently, she was very upset about it and Levi gave absolutely no indication this was the case. This is also very hurtful. Why would he just let her be mad at me/have her feelings hurt? Why not just decline to come? I'm glad he did come, but I'm sure his wife would've appreciated him staying with her. And now she's upset with me! And that's apparently okay.
I was just trying to be nice. I didn't want anyone to be left out. Had I known she would be in town, I wouldn't have invited him.
Then, there's the whole Laurel being a gossip thing. I'm over it by now. That's just who she is. She'll get part of a story and spin it to everyone she knows. I've heard enough of them myself, I should've known she'd be saying many about me. I really don't think I'm that noteworthy though... I guess I should be flattered?
That bothered me a lot. It still does. How is something so private anyone's business? Stephen and I and Karyn are the only people who have the right to talk about it at all. And I do, but that's my right. Not Laurel's. I only told her so she'd shut up about Karyn. Can you believe she ASKED Stephen if he still talked to her? After he and I were married?
Yeah. She just saw Karyn riding a bike down that street by BYU as we passed, and she asked Stephen if he talked to her anymore. He shouldn't be talking to her anymore. I told Stephen to just tell her, so I didn't have to hear about Karyn anymore. She sucks.
And suddenly that gives Laurel permission to yap about it to whoever. She said it was basically vengeance for posting publically on Facebook that she wasn't unfriending Karyn after I asked her to and that she hated me. And, guess what? I was only telling the truth, and I used supporting facts. She is using pure speculation. And she said it to a lot of people. Including Rachel, who wasn't my Facebook friend, so I don't see how that subject could've even come up in a normal conversation.
Anyway, this documentary just brough back a lot of hurt. I'm mentally ill, and somehow I don't get any breaks. Our friends "hating" Rachel was my fault. They didn't, but I still got yelled at for it. Stephen never heard a word about it and neither did my friends (which would make more sense, right? If they're the ones who "hate" her so much?).
It's just that, I'm chemically wired to be like this. I couldn't control it. Why does she get a break for everything and I don't get one for anything? Why are people always assuming the worst about anything I do? I'm very honest, they can ask me. It's always the worst. I'm always out to get everyone. I am trying very hard to hurt people, apparently. No. The only person I've ever tried to hurt in my life is Karyn. And I tried very hard. Creep-level hard.
Ugh. And that was never resolved, to my knowledge. Rachel still doesn't know that I wasn't trying to be mean or exclusive. I was trying to be nice. What's with that family?
Monday, November 9, 2015
Babies/Math/Brain Explosion
Oh gosh, another baby post.
It all started a few months ago, when Stephen and I visited my general practitioner for my annual kidney tests. We do a 24 hour pee-collection test and a blood test. Pretty simple. But he hadn't seen us in awhile, and I think I'm his only patient with PKD (because he didn't know what it was when they sent him my CT scans saying it was probably PKD). So, he wanted to have a little talk with us.
He just sat down in his little rolly chair and frankly (something I love about him) asked: "Have you two talked about having kids?"
I was a little surprised. "We've talked about it...maybe 3? We don't know when."
"The sooner the better." He said. Then he began talking about a high-risk pregnancy team he knows in Salt Lake. My pregnancies are high-risk because of the PKD, and also because of my blood clotting disorder. I asked what would be the age limit for having kids, and he said "35".
I wasn't really listening because, though I already knew my time was limited, I didn't realize how soon we'd need to start making decisions. I don't know about Stephen, but I kind of began to dread the future. When can I get my degree? How can I fit babies and my job into one life? How could I have the energy for something like that? What about insurance? Aggggghhhh!!!
I was able to chill for a few months. The clean results helped. Then, a few days ago, I read a post from The PKD Foundation. It was a personal story about a guy with PKD. As usual. But this guy didn't realize his father had died of PKD-related complications at a youngish age (multiple heart attacks and a brain aneurysm). It was never diagnosed in his family until him. But then it dawned on me that I am the first person in my family with PKD.
My parents definitely don't have it. Their parents don't have it because their fathers are still alive (and old), and their mothers both died of different cancers, I believe. It would've been noticed. So, without them getting tested, I'm 100% sure I'm the first one.
That's a big responsibility, with a giant potential for guilt. I could have kids and probably bleed this illness into my family tree, or I could be responsible and stop it in it's tracks (i.e: not have kids). I never worry because I always imagine they'll have a cure soon. Or they'll approve the only available treatment in the United States. But it's possible that won't happen. How many people have had PKD kids with the hope that there will be a cure soon - and one doesn't come?
I don't know. I wouldn't be the only one. Many women with PKD choose not to have kids.
But now I'm thinking about it again. Trying to plan out my life, now that I'm slowly getting energy back. But I've done the math, and it doesn't add up. Babies + Career + School = impossible. Even if I do mortuary science (which I've decided is what I truly want to do), that's a little over 2 years away. And I can't have a baby during that time because formaldehyde. Afterward, I wouldn't be able to keep regular hours...could I? If I got an autopsy job, it would be a 9-5 or some variation but, if I got a funeral home position, I would need to be on call/at the funeral home all the time. Yes babysitters, but a) I don't trust them and b) would my work earn anything if most or all of it is going toward babysitters?
Those are not hours condusive to babies. And I'd be 26.5 after graduating. With 8.5 years to have up to 4 kids. IF 35 is alright (30 years old is when people start to have problems). Then, what good is my degree for? I'll be raising babies until about 46 years old (20 years), and then I'll be getting ready to die - unless I have other options than a kidney transplant or dialysis. Those won't work for me.
And a stay-at-home mom, growing up, was the last thing I wanted to be. I thought it was so tragic. You give up everything - my mom gave up everything - to raise kids. What was the point of life before kids? It's not like you can use any of that knowledge (at least I wouldn't be able to) in raising kids. Other than "Don't do this, or you could die in the following ways...." I also know CPR and First aid, but that's not much.
But life doesn't turn out the way you want it to most of the time. It would be so intersting/sad if the girl who grew up needing a career to define her, wanted to adopt black babies, and be single most of her life turned out to not only marry at barely 21 years old, but never finished school, and raised 5 kids. It seems my life is going that way though. And maybe being a parent is all I could ever do successfully anyway.
But I didn't know. I guess I was just holding it off until we were ready. But what is ready? And when would we get there? What if we miss the window? What if I suddenly develop high blood pressure? No babies after that. Too risky for my taste. I'm under good insurance now, it would be hard to get that kind of insurance for a good price after age 26, when Obamacare is no longer enforced.
Ugh. Anyway...
Then one of my best friends got pregnant with her third child. She's doing well for herself. 3 already, and I haven't got 1 yet! For some reason, I was SO excited for her. I've never been that excited for any baby. Then I pictured us with a baby. We can handle it. They somehow handle 2 right now, and they're about to get a 3rd!
Maybe I could work while Stephen raises the baby at home/goes to school?
My mental health is getting better. I think it would be good to have a baby while I know I could probably mentally handle one...
Geez. I just don't know. And then you read articles like this, and think you've been a total slacker: https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2011/10/children?lang=eng#16-PD50029123_000_2030
The only thing I think Stephen is concerned about is money. I want to be sealed first, of course, but my main concern is whether or not to have babies in the first place!
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Because I'm nuts
If you're a member, you've surely heard about the new policy change. You're going to hear about it over and over for the next few weeks. And I want to share my feelings, but they're still fresh. Pretty fresh, anyway.
When I first heard about it last night (when I couldn't sleep because we had hometeachers and their wives coming over to hang out today), I could only cry. I kept asking God (/talking to myself, thinking God could hear me) "why?" over and over and over. It's something I do a lot, so I feel like we have a close relationship, but I'm probably just nuts.
I tried desperately to first make sure I knew what was actually being changed and then to understand why that change would be made. I know God works in ways we, as mortals, could never understand, but I still tried. I pleaded for this not to be true.
Within seconds, I was sure I would leave the church. No church I belonged to could teach us over and over that 8 year-olds can decide to be baptized. Why should it be different just because someone's parents aren't straight? Why aren't single parents being secluded? They're not the secular family described in The Proclamation. This church has begun to lead us astray. They're trying desperately to win a battle against the gays because they lost the war.
But I slowly recovered. Pretty slowly. Asking God over and over if it was true. How could it be true? Why would this change? Now? It's interesting timing...
I tried to find other arguments. Other..."takes" on it, rather (I hate arguments). Maybe I was being short-sighted. However, most "takes" I could find were from a place of superiority ("It doesn't bother me, because I'm a better member than you" or "It doesn't bother me because I have more understanding and faith than you") or a place of anger ("All you hipster mormons better get in line. God doesn't accept gay marriage and, as a member, you need to renounce it too" or "Gays wouldn't allow their kids to join the church anyway. Chill. Geeez.", "Why would you question God?").
Many people posted scripture or talks that separated the good members from the better. The last time that happened, I inflicted my biggest scar (also my last). I was so distraught that there was such contention within my own faith. They lost "the war on gays", so they turned internally and began tearing at those who believed in gay marriage. We weren't truly faithful, we didn't believe in the prophet or God, we were stupid or immature, etc. Oh my gosh, it really, really hurt to be verbally tarred and feathered by people who I called my brothers and sisters. Even my real family was posting these things, knowing full well how I felt about gay marriage and my faith.
This was almost as bad. And I think so because it doesn't affect me directly. I didn't feel directly singled out, I felt bad for the children who are now being singled out. Turned away from something they believe in just as much as any other 8 year-old or older. Why does it mean less when they say they "believe the church is true"? Ugh... I hate that cliche.
All I could think of was all these girls camps a young girl with same-sex parents couldn't attend. This girl all the others in her ward could've benefited from hearing. Her testimony. Her struggles that she now has to face alone. I thought of a young man, missionary-age, who couldn't serve because, like many men his age, he still lives with his parents.
I could only cry. And then I suddenly felt okay. My brain still didn't know what was happening or why, but my heart was okay.
Then I woke up on Friday, and logged in to see yet more opinions on the matter. Those filled with superiority, those filled with anger, those filled with sadness, and those filled with thoughts of leaving the church. The same ones I had briefly touched the night before.
And why didn't the church say something at first? Why did most of us hear about it on Facebook? On the news? Why wasn't this addressed skillfully and thoughtfully? How could this be inspired?
Family members, desperate to keep me in the church, shared their feelings. Their interpretations as to the reason for this change. They didn't need to. I know what I believe. However, I realized that if the gospel and the church were separate, they would still have no reason to worry, because I would've already left. I stay in the church, and I believe in the church because it is mentioned in the gospel as Christ's church. And I believe that gospel. More specifically, I believe in the Book of Mormon. I know it's true. It's not even a belief. I can't explain it with logic or science, but I know what I feel when I read it, and it's undeniable.
That's how I deal with alllll the many, many questionable things about the church. 1: All churches have questionable things about them. 2: People are SO imperfect. 3: I know the Book of Mormon is true. If it's true, then this must be true. If this is true, then I have to believe this. So on and so forth.
There is also the knowledge that everything will be set right in the afterlife.
Tonight I was sent an article explaining that children of same-sex marriages shouldn't have to decide between their family and the teachings of the church. It's too much for them. But 18 years old seems beyond that, doesn't it? I'm not sure if this is the reason. And I'm not even sure if it's legitimate, but I can accept it.
Still, I cry. When I think about it. I'm sad. I don't know if I want to go to church on Sunday. For a second, I thought of turning my hometeachers away for our visit next week. It's becomming abundantly clear that I'm not wanted in this church. That I'm somehow a mark on it because of my separate political beliefs. I'm almost to the point where I'd rather just leave. I'm tired of other members telling me what I am or how I'm less than them because of what I think or believe. I'm tired of them telling me they're better than me for this, that, or the other reason. God tells me otherwise. He loves all of us. We're all important to Him.
I'm not a member because of the other people. I certainly don't go to church for them (I've been avoiding church for a long time because of them). I go to church because I know I'm supposed to be there. For whatever reason. I believe in patriarchal blessings. I know the Book of Mormon is true. At the very core of it all, I love my savior and my Heavenly Father. Church is one of the places I can feel close to them. Though, I always feel close to them. Because I'm nuts.
When I first heard about it last night (when I couldn't sleep because we had hometeachers and their wives coming over to hang out today), I could only cry. I kept asking God (/talking to myself, thinking God could hear me) "why?" over and over and over. It's something I do a lot, so I feel like we have a close relationship, but I'm probably just nuts.
I tried desperately to first make sure I knew what was actually being changed and then to understand why that change would be made. I know God works in ways we, as mortals, could never understand, but I still tried. I pleaded for this not to be true.
Within seconds, I was sure I would leave the church. No church I belonged to could teach us over and over that 8 year-olds can decide to be baptized. Why should it be different just because someone's parents aren't straight? Why aren't single parents being secluded? They're not the secular family described in The Proclamation. This church has begun to lead us astray. They're trying desperately to win a battle against the gays because they lost the war.
But I slowly recovered. Pretty slowly. Asking God over and over if it was true. How could it be true? Why would this change? Now? It's interesting timing...
I tried to find other arguments. Other..."takes" on it, rather (I hate arguments). Maybe I was being short-sighted. However, most "takes" I could find were from a place of superiority ("It doesn't bother me, because I'm a better member than you" or "It doesn't bother me because I have more understanding and faith than you") or a place of anger ("All you hipster mormons better get in line. God doesn't accept gay marriage and, as a member, you need to renounce it too" or "Gays wouldn't allow their kids to join the church anyway. Chill. Geeez.", "Why would you question God?").
Many people posted scripture or talks that separated the good members from the better. The last time that happened, I inflicted my biggest scar (also my last). I was so distraught that there was such contention within my own faith. They lost "the war on gays", so they turned internally and began tearing at those who believed in gay marriage. We weren't truly faithful, we didn't believe in the prophet or God, we were stupid or immature, etc. Oh my gosh, it really, really hurt to be verbally tarred and feathered by people who I called my brothers and sisters. Even my real family was posting these things, knowing full well how I felt about gay marriage and my faith.
This was almost as bad. And I think so because it doesn't affect me directly. I didn't feel directly singled out, I felt bad for the children who are now being singled out. Turned away from something they believe in just as much as any other 8 year-old or older. Why does it mean less when they say they "believe the church is true"? Ugh... I hate that cliche.
All I could think of was all these girls camps a young girl with same-sex parents couldn't attend. This girl all the others in her ward could've benefited from hearing. Her testimony. Her struggles that she now has to face alone. I thought of a young man, missionary-age, who couldn't serve because, like many men his age, he still lives with his parents.
I could only cry. And then I suddenly felt okay. My brain still didn't know what was happening or why, but my heart was okay.
Then I woke up on Friday, and logged in to see yet more opinions on the matter. Those filled with superiority, those filled with anger, those filled with sadness, and those filled with thoughts of leaving the church. The same ones I had briefly touched the night before.
And why didn't the church say something at first? Why did most of us hear about it on Facebook? On the news? Why wasn't this addressed skillfully and thoughtfully? How could this be inspired?
Family members, desperate to keep me in the church, shared their feelings. Their interpretations as to the reason for this change. They didn't need to. I know what I believe. However, I realized that if the gospel and the church were separate, they would still have no reason to worry, because I would've already left. I stay in the church, and I believe in the church because it is mentioned in the gospel as Christ's church. And I believe that gospel. More specifically, I believe in the Book of Mormon. I know it's true. It's not even a belief. I can't explain it with logic or science, but I know what I feel when I read it, and it's undeniable.
That's how I deal with alllll the many, many questionable things about the church. 1: All churches have questionable things about them. 2: People are SO imperfect. 3: I know the Book of Mormon is true. If it's true, then this must be true. If this is true, then I have to believe this. So on and so forth.
There is also the knowledge that everything will be set right in the afterlife.
Tonight I was sent an article explaining that children of same-sex marriages shouldn't have to decide between their family and the teachings of the church. It's too much for them. But 18 years old seems beyond that, doesn't it? I'm not sure if this is the reason. And I'm not even sure if it's legitimate, but I can accept it.
Still, I cry. When I think about it. I'm sad. I don't know if I want to go to church on Sunday. For a second, I thought of turning my hometeachers away for our visit next week. It's becomming abundantly clear that I'm not wanted in this church. That I'm somehow a mark on it because of my separate political beliefs. I'm almost to the point where I'd rather just leave. I'm tired of other members telling me what I am or how I'm less than them because of what I think or believe. I'm tired of them telling me they're better than me for this, that, or the other reason. God tells me otherwise. He loves all of us. We're all important to Him.
I'm not a member because of the other people. I certainly don't go to church for them (I've been avoiding church for a long time because of them). I go to church because I know I'm supposed to be there. For whatever reason. I believe in patriarchal blessings. I know the Book of Mormon is true. At the very core of it all, I love my savior and my Heavenly Father. Church is one of the places I can feel close to them. Though, I always feel close to them. Because I'm nuts.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Don't know don't care
I don't know what's happened, but the new feeling is still here. No idea what it is, but i think its better. Maybe I've been a bit more hostile and agitated. My IBS-C is also worse, so maybe its hormonal?
Maybe my brain is finally to the point of not being able to think of the past and present all the time.
Whatever it is, who cares? Tim is happy for me. We decided I should just ride it out. I wonder if I'm even depressed anymore. Which is weird to say.
I'm generally disappointed with myself and others. I don't think the world will become a better place anytime soon. Global warming is still happening, but I'm not obsessing about it.
Unfortunately, I'm still afraid of everything. But we're working on that. That should get better with more therapy. Am I just going crazy? Its freaking me out big time. This feeling is SO foreign. So new. We'll see. I'll enjoy it while it lasts.
Maybe my brain is finally to the point of not being able to think of the past and present all the time.
Whatever it is, who cares? Tim is happy for me. We decided I should just ride it out. I wonder if I'm even depressed anymore. Which is weird to say.
I'm generally disappointed with myself and others. I don't think the world will become a better place anytime soon. Global warming is still happening, but I'm not obsessing about it.
Unfortunately, I'm still afraid of everything. But we're working on that. That should get better with more therapy. Am I just going crazy? Its freaking me out big time. This feeling is SO foreign. So new. We'll see. I'll enjoy it while it lasts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)