Some thoughts concerning religion

I went to a religious Christian summer camp for 7 years and worked as a camp counselor for 5 years. This camp was integral to my faith. I started going when I was 8 and soon developed an almost crippling fear of hell. If you never developed such a fear or were ever a believer, you are lucky. I never thought of my religious upbringing as childhood indoctrination. However, the more I think back on my faith years, the more I see the damage done. I spent many nights scared to fall asleep and chanting the old prayer,

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I shall die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen."

I was so scared every time I sinned that if I happened to die I would be sent to hell. No child should contemplate their death and fear being tortured forever.

I've been thinking about camp recently simply because the friends I made there are on twitter and I follow them and vice versa. I see a lot of religious tweets.  I also see the atheists that I follow challenging religious belief on a daily basis and it inspires me to do the same. However I'm in a bit of a dilemma. Do I just interact with strangers or with the people who I personally know and care about?

On top of this, I've already received some pushback, although subtle, for coming out as an atheist. I was best friends with a girl for so long and then I moved away when I was 7. We drifted in and out of each others' lives but we had a strong bond and our love for our camp kept us together. Sure we had different friends and lives but I always thought we would be in each others' lives. I was wrong.

She got engaged. I found out by twitter, and not in the "hey I'm engaged allison!" or even a general announcement. It was subtle but I immediately texted her some congratulations. I knew she'd been this guy for a long time and they really loved each other as well as shared similar religious beliefs. Time passed and then, she was married. I was a little bewildered. I sure wasn't expecting to be in the wedding party but maybe an invite? I mean, she had always meant a lot to me. Maybe I put more into our friendship than she did. Maybe this wasn't about me being an outspoken atheist. I mean, maybe she just wanted a small party of close friends (which I'd drifted out of).

I don't want to make this about me. I don't want to be selfish. But I'm kind of hurt. The cynical part of my brain (which in retrospect is pretty large) says its because I'm an atheist and good Christians don't associate with apostates.

So I'm wary. Do I alienate more of my past Christian friends by asking questions and disagreeing? I don't know. I'm nervous and just sad. Sad that that part of my life is over. Sad that we are worlds apart now. Sad that they will look at me with pity and maybe scorn. In many ways my heart still hurts over my past. I look at being a counselor and grieve for taking part in brainwashing children. I grieve for the fact that my life's trajectory was changed. I grieve for the what ifs and most of all I grieve for the little child that wept about hell.

2014

So this is the post where I write down my resolutions and all that happy-clappy shit. It's cliche and people get annoyed but I like them and its my blog so suck it.

This past year and for the past several years I gradually stopped reading as much as I used to. In elementary school through high school I was always reading a book, in between classes, during class (my first C can be attributed to wanting to read Harry Potter more than learning math), basically any down time was usually spent reading. My punishments from my parents were to take my books away, not limit tv or computer time (though I soon found the hiding spot and would read at night). I always assumed I would be like this forever.

Depression is a bitch and a half and college is pretty time-demanding. It got to the point where I only read when it was for a class and this rarely included fiction. I've come to like non-fiction a lot more than I did before and tend to gravitate towards religious/historical/etc. I guess I just have a hard time transitioning away from young adult fiction that I have so entrenched in for so long. Adult fiction is really hit or miss for me.

Through the insistent prodding of my boyfriend I started reading The Name of the Wind and it is absolutely awesome. Lurking around on reddit has revealed to me the 52 week book challenge where you read a book a week for a year. Ambitious and it makes me nervous because I do not like to fail (I have so much anxiety about failing I almost dropped out of college). So my plan of attack on resolutions is to set an over-arching goal. I want to read more. Yes you're supposed to do things quantitatively but my chest freezes up just thinking about deadlines.

So, reading more. I'm halfway through my current book and while its taken me longer than usual to get through it (its 600 pgs), I'm making good progress. I have a stack of books to read in my room and plan on slowly whittling that down. Hell I'd be happy to read that stack this year (close to like 10 books?).

Another goal I want to achieve is to build my own pc. Completely ambitious and previously thought to be beyond my grasp I have determined that my dad's ancient (we're talking early thousands people) desktop just isn't cutting it for gaming. It's a struggle. My pragmatic side doesn't want to overspend on a computer that has bloat ware (yay new terminology!) so with the help of the internet we shall see how well this goes. Hell, maybe I'll even get into coding (unlikely).

So we have more reading and build a pc. Other general lifestyle changes are to move out of my dad's house and get a job that doesn't make me want to commit suicide (lawyers are dumb and don't know how to treat their secretaries/receptionists). I'd like to get back in doing yoga and when the weather warms back up to get back into running (which was derailed by me being a baby about cold weather). So yeah eat better exercise more blah blah blah. I think that when I move out on my own I'd like to learn more about cooking and definitely only eat ethical meat. I don't know if I would ever want to go vegetarian but I definitely do not want to support the current meat industry. Mostly I stick with venison as my dad is a hunter and I know the animal did not suffer and had a natural and normal life (ok I can't know that completely, not like I'm following deer around from birth to my dinner plate but it's a hell of a lot better than what Tyson does to their animals they slaughter).

I suppose I should also be more budget conscious. I suck at budgets. Christmas fucked me over two ways to Sunday. I'm also slightly addicted to buying makeup and online shopping. Bad Allison.

When I leave work today I plan on digging through all my stuff at my dad's and pitching/recycling/re-homing stuff. I've always been slightly obsessed with cleaning and organizing (seriously, what 5th grader do you know that alphabetized their books by genre/author/etc.?)

So, new year, yay and all that shit.

"It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends."

It is fall, the opening night for the school play. I remember that night vividly, the burning shame that pushed me over the proverbial edge into a spiraling chasm of depression. I remember feeling the snap of consciousness as my brain abruptly shifted gears from a healthy state to one where my world was painted grey. The second night of the play is equally memorable, not for the shame, but the burning, gnawing ache of numbness that I would soon find would become my normal state.

It takes me months to claw my way out of the pit and even when I feel my brain re-shifting back to a more healthy state, a small part of me wonders if this is the end of it. It is difficult to tell. The memories are crystal clear of how I got to where I am but the ending is tentative. One step, and then two into the sunlight. Every second wondering and waiting if those grey tendril of fog that have so enveloped my brain for the past several months will suddenly snap me back into its maw of darkness.

It is months later from that tentative ending that I breathe a little easier. I am secure in my new found happiness. I no longer wait for the rug to be pulled out from under me. I am a freshman in college and the world is in its spring, thawing from the harsh edges of the winter that became my last semester in high school. It is a challenge, socially and academically. I am three hours from home and I love it.

My mother calls me in February, maybe March, of my second semester in college. She's had enough of being with my dad, she's going to leave him in the summer. I promptly do everything I can to forget that conversation. Hope is a silly thing. I came home from college and went straight to church camp as a counselor for my third year. I was hopeful, buoyed by the optimism and love I felt all around me. Two days after camp my parents sat my brother and I down and dropped the 'news' that was not news to me. I felt sick to my stomach. Marriage reconciliation books stashed under my bed never saw the light of day.

My grades slip, due to negligence, laziness, and sheer confusion. I am learning that it does not matter what you want to be when you grow up, you need to have some sort of skill. I am not good at science, at least not enough to compete on the collegiate level. It takes me two years before I give up, throw in the towel, and realize that being stubborn can be more harmful than admirable.

I switch my major to religious studies. It is something I had been taking classes in and enjoyed but at this point I'm simply trying to increase my GPA. It does not go so well. Two years of terrible grades and terrible habits do not make a good student overnight. I'm writing larger and larger papers. My anxiety is off the charts. I cope as normal, thinking its just normal stress.

My senior year I am excited but scared for. I have no plans after school. I don't know what I want to do. I focus on the now and the now happens to be my school thesis, 20-30 pages. I feel sick thinking about it. So I don't. I have become adept at avoiding difficult things. I am exhausted, mentally, physically. I have been run through the ringer with my parents, with my brother, my grades, my own expectations of what I should be achieving. I feel like a failure.

I don't recognize the beginning this time. It started sometime in October? I remember being happy around Halloween. I started seeing a school counselor. I can't remember who told me to or if it was my idea. I just know that I wanted to die, but was too chicken to go through with it. A part of me also knew that it would destroy my family and I could still feel guilt.

Before I went home on break, I started Citalopram, 20 mg. I shook like I had Parkinson's for an entire week. I barely ate and was nauseous the whole time. I wanted to die more than ever. But that stubborn streak in me wouldn't give up. Or maybe I could see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I went home for break.

I wasn't miserable per say. The color of that break is gray. I felt nothing. Have you ever felt nothing? It's like a void has been opened up and there. is. nothing. No color, no sound, no life. I stopped wanting to die but I certainly didn't have the capacity to feel happy about that.

I went back to school in the spring and was upped to 40 mg. I did better. I could feel again. I met a boy. He made me laugh. I couldn't remember truly laughing in what felt like years. I fell in love. I could feel and I felt everything. I saw a counselor over the summer. I saw him. I went back for one last semester and finished my thesis.

It's August now. We broke up in June. I'm now fine and happy to say I didn't end up in that dark place. I'm happy. I can smile and laugh and play and I think I'm learning about who I am. Still, there are days, days that that gaping, jagged cavern stalks my movements, waiting to knock the colors from my eyesight and the hope from my breast. I know that I'm going to deal with depression throughout my life. Some people are lucky and can go off their medicine. I did for two days once, not of my choosing (a pharmacy mix-up) and ended up bawling hysterically in a gas station because I locked my keys in the car and I could not handle reality.

I still feel that part of my brain that snapped, that shifted and sometimes I fear that it will slide back and I won't be able to stop it. I'm learning the signs of when I'm starting to feel depressed. Learning to not isolate myself and to do something meaningful with my time and life. Doing things I enjoy, because I have the capacity to enjoy them again. Some days are hard. Today is one of them: but my lipstick made me smile, strangers on the internet are kind, and writing is soothing. Today is just another day and I'm happy to be here to experience it. Happy I didn't drive off a river bank like I wanted to in high school. Happy I didn't overdose on pills in college. Happy I didn't overdose on pills the other day.

I plan on seeing a counselor again. My mindset isn't the healthiest and my relationship with my dad is in tatters. But that stubbornness inside me has decided to be optimistic. So here's to a brighter tomorrow. :]

* Quote from Art of Essay, Goodbye to All That by Joan Didion (pg. 681)

Thoughts

Can I just say that this L'Oreal Infalliable lipstick is the shit? That is all.

Nail Polish

 I feel bad for people who don't think nail polish is for them. It's so fun and makes me super confident and happy to look at them.

On a similar note, makeup is awesome. It's fun and makes me feel awesome. :]

Men

Men are weird and in a lot of cases more clingy than one would imagine.

I HAS THINGS TO DO AND BOOKS TO READ AND A DOG TO WALK.

Lawdy.

Back to the grind

Back to work after an entire week off (both jobs). Goodness it was glorious. Work work work, busy busy busy.

PIZZA TONIGHT HELLZ YES.