Because We Have to Prove We’re Right

Social media causes almost as much division as it does connectedness.  Maybe it causes more the more you’re on it.  Because I have a lot of “friends” on facebook who I really get along with in person, or I did at the time in my life when I knew them, but whenever they post their views online, they do it in a manner to tear one another down.  Today I saw a post by a “friend” that pointed out a bunch of “failures” that he is blaming solely on the democratic party, and basically said that you’re stupid if you’re a democrat because of this.  With that logic we could say the same about republicans, since our republican president seems to have just as many failures and scandals as the democratic party, uses twitter as his main source of communication, and had a “whose button is bigger” contest with the leader of North Korea.  So maybe you’re stupid if you’re a republican?

Or maybe not.  I’m neither a republican nor a democrat, my opinions live somewhere in between.  Both parties have serious downfalls, and both have good parts as well.  But calling someone out because of their political affiliation is about as annoying as not liking someone because they’re gay, or making comments about women belonging on the kitchen.

I’m just wondering why people feel the need to post about their opinions in a corrosive manner.  You can have whatever opinions you want.  You can even share these opinions, because that seems to be what social media has become about.  But putting down someone else whilst sharing this opinion just because you can?  What’s the point?  Oh right, it’s to be mean.  I think people are just too mean.  And I think I’m noticing it too much.

What really gets me is that that majority of these people, at least on my feed, are outspoken Christians.  And I thought Christ told his people to go out and make disciples. I thought we were supposed to multiply, not divide.

It’s probably because we all like to believe that we’re right.  And some of us have to prove that we’re right.   Even though not everyone cares.  And the thing that we think we’re “right” about the most is an opinion, and usually, opinions aren’t inherently right or wrong.  They’re not facts.  They have sides.

And I’m probably perpetuating the crises by writing this anyway.

Rant.  Over.

Unwelcome

Have you ever entered a room and felt completely unwelcome there?  Like you didn’t belong at all?  Because I have a thousand times.  I feel that way at parties.  But I feel that way the most in the company of Christians.  I hadn’t felt that way in a long time, and I had almost forgotten the feeling, so I guess it was time to remind myself.  Why do I even try, sometimes?

It makes me feel like I’m not good enough.  Because I’m not part of the elite.  I have differing opinions.  And it makes me want to run away completely.

After my mom died, I stopped getting invited to things.  It felt like no one wanted me around.  I never knew if my original group of friends was doing anything.  But if I invite some of them to do anything, the ones who weren’t invited get upset.  And the odds of anyone showing up are slim, at best.  They ask me to have more great ideas, but only so they can take them as their own.  But I’m not playing the blame game here.
Because, if I get invited, there’s a 75% chance I won’t go.  Partly because I might be working.  Or maybe I’ll already have plans.  Or maybe I’m just not interested.  But whenever I am interested, I feel like I don’t belong anyway.  It just makes it all very draining.

I used to do a lot.  I used to plan things and attend things and have a lot of fun.  But then I moved the south.  And I’ve started making my life smaller and smaller, till almost no one fits in it anymore.  So maybe it’s my fault that I’m not good enough.

My 90s party was better anyway.

Distracted.

When I was in college, and even after I finished college, I was always on my computer.  So if I wasn’t on Facebook, or Tumblr, or doing homework, I was usually writing.  I didn’t have to make time to blog, because I was already on my computer.  Now, it’s true that I am writing a little bit less, but the reason that I’m actually blogging less is that I literally have to remind myself to bring my computer with me, or I have to set aside special time when I’m at home.  Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it is something that I should be doing.  It’s just funny that this is my problem.  I don’t even watch that much Netflix anymore, at least not by myself.

It’s possible that I have been distracted, as of late.  It’s possible that something in my life is worth spending time on that isn’t my blog and my dreams and a future career.  It’s a different part of my future.  But it has distracted me from this part of my life.  I’m trying to learn how to balance it.

A little off topic, but something that I have been watching is Z: The Beginning of Everything on Amazon Prime.  It’s about F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald.  It’s about how they met and fell in love.  It’s about his writing.  I’m only a few episodes in, but I just watched the wedding episode.  On the train on the way to her wedding, Zelda’s sister tells her what to expect on her wedding night.  She tells her to keep the lights off.  And she tells her to let her husband do what he is going to do, and to lay back and think about the magnolias in the garden.  I know that things were different then, but it really annoyed me.  It annoys me that there was a time where women were expected not to enjoy what happens in the bedroom.  It annoys me that people still think that way.  Relationships should never be about pleasing your husband.

I have a lot of thoughts.  And I would love to take the time to collect them.  I’m going to try to do that this month.  I’m going to try to set a goal to set aside time to myself to write and be and enjoy.  Because I’m worth it.  My dreams are worth it.  So I’ll try not to get too distracted.

My Thoughts on the Day Before Thanksgiving

I don’t really care what you have to say about Thanksgiving.  I know that it became a tradition in an unsavory way.  I know that people want to say it’s a white privilege holiday.  I know that this land is stolen.  I know this land isn’t promised.

But I don’t really care.  And I’m not even a Thanksgiving advocate.  I literally just don’t care.  I have never once thought about or celebrated this holiday because of pilgrims having a dinner.  I don’t even think of pilgrims.  I associate this holiday with thankfulness.

There’s a guy I know.  Not a guy I like.  This guy always has to have something to say.  He always has to be right.  He always has to have the last word.  And when I tell him to stop, he refuses.  He says sexist statements because he thinks it’s funny.  He calls me militant.  But that’s not what this is about.
This guy.  This male specimen.  He has spent more than half of his life in the United States.  I’m pretty sure he was born here.  He just spent a portion of his growing up, elsewhere.
The other day, he made a big, offensive deal about how he hates Thanksgiving and he doesn’t even know when it is.  He never paid attention because “we all know what happened when that dinner was over.”  To have spent all this time in America, regardless of whether you celebrate a holiday or not, something is major cannot be ignored.  You’re going to know when it is.  Everyday Muslim, Jewish, and Jehovah’s witness know when Christmas is.  People know when Thanksgiving is.  You’d have to be stupid, more than ignorant, not to.
How does he not know that you can change the meaning of a holiday?  I know it doesn’t matter.  And I know he’ll never care.  But I needed to say something.  Thanksgiving is in the name.  It is always a time that I have believed to be set aside to be thankful.  He believes everyday should be thankful, which is true.  But that’s not the point, is it?  We celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, don’t we?  Shouldn’t we be showing how much these things matter on a day to day basis?  How bad is it that we set aside a special day as well?

This is my first Thanksgiving away from California.  This is my first Thanksgiving since losing my mother.  I don’t even want this Thanksgiving.  But it is a part of life.  So I’ll live through it.  Maybe.

Can’t we celebrate if we want?  What is the point of making someone feel bad for wanting to have a little joy in their life, even if it might be manufactured propaganda?

The only one who loses, is him and the turkey.

Everybody can shut up now.

When Getting Out of Bed is Hard

I never learned how to reach out.  So everything seems inappropriate and everything becomes uncomfortable and needing anything seems like an obsession.  I make mistakes.  I’ve made them a thousand times, and it’s different every time, but as I become older it’s almost as if things are more and more detrimental.  It’s so much easier to turn to the things that will eventually push you over the edge than it is to run to the one thing that might make this all okay again.

I’ve been analyzing again.  But this time I have something to analyze.  Grief has stages.  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  I don’t know what stage I’m in.  I know that I don’t want to talk about it.  Not with most people.  Not most of the time.  If you get to be that person, or one of those people, then I’m sorry.  But for everyone else.  I’m sick of it.  I’m sick of people saying that what I do or what I say is okay.  It’s bullshit.  This is all bullshit.
I’m not even sorry.  I’m not even sorry that I push everyone away and then feel abandoned.  Because I’ve done it my whole freaking life.  It’s what I’m best at.

I don’t even care right now.  I don’t want to care.  I want to do whatever I want.  I want to be reckless.  I used to be reckless.  But there will always be something tethering me to the earth, keeping me from being fully free like that.

I’m not an alcoholic.  I don’t really have an addictive nature.  But I wish I was.  I wish there was a reason that getting out of bed didn’t seem worth it.  A reason that was more than a state of mind.

I’m really messed up.  But only right now.  I’m really not okay, even when I am okay.  And no, I don’t want to talk about it.

Trust

Trust.  It’s something I’ve talked about a lot.  I’ve talked about moving across the country and trusting God that it’s the right decision.  I’ve talked about how scary trust is sometimes.  I’ve probably talked about trusting people.  But I was recently confronted with a realization.

A close friend tried to promise something and I said I wouldn’t hold them to that.  They asked if I trusted them.  I told them that I was fairly certain I didn’t know what trust is.

And maybe that’s true.  That I don’t know what trust is.

Trust is defined as the “belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength” of someone or something.  It means to “have faith or confidence.”

Such a simple definition for such a huge concept.

Trusting God is hard, but it’s also the best decision, because he already knows the outcome.  Trusting a bridge when you cross it makes sense, because you’ve crossed it before, it has been crossed a thousand times.  We trust what we know.  We trust what makes sense.  We trust what we’ve experienced before.

But trusting people?  I’m pretty sure I forgot how to do that a long time ago.  Because people are forever changing.  If I look at my own life, a year and a half ago, I had no idea that I’d be living so far from where I grew up.  I didn’t know that I’d be starting my life over.  I didn’t realize that I would suddenly become an unknown.  So anyone who trusted that I would stay in Mammoth, or in California, or at least on the western side of the country ended up having their trust broken.
People have their own agendas.  So being close to someone, trusting someone, is one of the easiest ways to be let down in the long run.  As soon as my heart calls me somewhere else, I’ll probably leave, so if anyone comes too close, I’ll let them down.  And every time I am somewhere new, or around new people, I’m an exciting person, because I don’t really fit into any regular mold.  I am constantly surprising.  However, after a while, that gets old too.

I recently told someone that it’s better to be hated than to be passively ignored and forgotten.  Not a lot of people hate me.  But a lot have gotten over me.  That’s one of the things that I can really trust.

Sure, go ahead and prove me wrong.  I mean, it’s fine.  I’m fine.  I’m pretty much just over all the false promises.  And I fully understand that no one does this on purpose.  You can’t know the future when you say something in the present.
I promise to never promise something again.  Trust me.

All That I Am

I might be fake.  I know I’m not fake.  But I might be.  Because I cover it all up.  As honest as I am on paper, very rarely will that honesty spill out of my being in real life.  Very rarely will I be okay with someone seeing me as I am.  Because I expect to be rejected.  Which is why it’s so very hard for me to reject.

I had a hard week.  Maybe one of the hardest, in a very different way.  In a way that I can’t process.  Because I’ve been on the other side, almost.  I can’t write about it, but I’ve talked about it.  I feel like I need to keep talking about it.  Because I’m not sure if I dreamt it.

I am not a burden.  But sometimes I believe I am.  Sometimes, when I have constant communication and suddenly no communication, I feel like a nuisance.  Sometimes, when I can’t process something,  I ask for help, and it gets blown out of proportion and that becomes everything.  Sometimes I feel that my problems are all that I am.  But that’s not all that I am.
I am fun.  I am small and, some might say, adorable.  I am an adventurer.  I love the people in my life.  I love when people see my potential.  Because I have potential.  I am human.  I am creative.

Thursday night, I was gathering my things to leave the house I was at.  And my three friends were on the couches.  And suddenly I broke down and sobbed.  I don’t sob.  Not in front of people, for sure.  It all spilled out of me, for a moment.  That kind of vulnerability is terrifying.  I want to be strong.  I want to be sane.  But I am far too aware of my insanity.

So yesterday I felt lost.  Yesterday I felt empty.  I still feel that way.  And I’ll be honest.  I thought about old coping mechanisms.  I thought about my options.  I could become numb.  I could close myself off.  I could disappear.  Instead, I went and bought a hamster.  My hamster is great.  Because I’m great.  I feel like a child.  But I am so content with my decision.  Maybe, someday I’ll let you meet my hamster.  Because I am not fake.  I am real.  I am a real human with real issues, and a real hamster.  (It’s less commitment than a dog).