I want to die.
I want to die.
Mom, you’re straight. It’s like- you can live in the world of swollen lymph nodes. You can keep your friends, and agree with your mentors and feel loved by your god and repeat whatever shite they say about gay people- without it ever effecting you personally- even if it’s horribly and terribly wrong.
Well – I might understand what it’s like to be a tumor…. I don’t know. I have taken some positions that are very unpopular, and have been despised for it. We all make our own choices. I stand by mine no matter what anyone else thinks, because I believe my positions are right. You just have to figure out what you truly believe is right (not other peoples’ opinions) and then live it. And also you have to try not to feel sorry for yourself if others don’t agree. That’s pretty universal.
I see no “victims” here. Only choices, and the courage to stand by the choices you make. Who is treating you like a tumor?
Hey – do you still feel like coming out and doing your craft with [minor sister] tonight? If you do, you have first priority.
But if you don’t, we might go over and help [adult brother] with some things at his house tonight. (The sellers left a huge pile of garbage on his curb for the big garbage pick -up day Saturday, but now the city is telling [adult brother] they don’t want to take it unless it’s “organized”.) Either way is good – let me know how you’re feeling. Love you!
No! The problem is people are treating me like a lymph node! Like this can’t be true!
I am thinking of [adult sister] in particular here- saying that this was a lie of Satan- but I’ve gotten the distinct feeling that its being talked about behind my back this way- Grandma sent me a note with the same reference to the ‘lies of Satan’ without coming out (har har) and saying what she was talking about.
Unfortunately it’s not a lie. Nor am I just saying this for attention. Instead, unfortunately, I am the abominable thing that our people think is out to get them.
I been dealing with this actually for a long time now- when I was still gung ho about Christianity and everything. When I believed that that version of the religion was true, when it wouldn’t go away, I was perfectly content to just be single forever- its not like I’m any good at dealing with PEOPLE anyway. I prefer hiding in a pile of books.
I didn’t set out to be this way. If I had had a choice I would have chosen something else.
Do you believe me?
(one week without reply)
So there we go.
[name], I responded to your email. I wrote it in a letter, which is sitting on my desk. But all week, I have not put it in the mail because I believe you will despise what I have to say and just turn and rip into me. It has just been so nice having you stop by. I am so sorry. Would you like me to drop it in the mail, or wait until you come by the next time? Love you.
It should be a pretty simple answer, Mom. Do you believe that I’m giving an honest account of my own physical sensations or not?
If your answer is no, just say it. No amount of rationalization or long winded explanation is going to make that answer easier.
Yes, I believe you have same sex attractions. I stuck the long winded explanation in the mail yesterday.
I finally worked up the nerve to empty my mail box and read your letter. I have to tell you that I disagree and object to almost everything you said.
However, I am thankful that you were willing to tell me. The visits home were getting increasingly tense for me- knowing there were things you weren’t saying and trying to guess what they were.
I appreciate it!
Fair enough, [name]. I love you!
Hey! Could you email me the text? I think probably neither of us wants to get into a debate, but I journal on my computer as a way of processing. It would be helpful for that.
I mean, I could scan it in but that would mean checking to see if the library had one or using Grandma [name]’s scanner, and both of those would be kind of a hassle.
Make my poor sad life easier here?
WELL OKAY THEN
One time in CO you sent me a keith green song. I wanted to send you this one- I thought that you might treat it as me arguing with you instead of trying to communicate how I was feeling.
But it was how I was feeling.
These days, I think it would be a different song.
One day a kid who came in for a massage had a tattoo that said,
“A second chance means nothing, if nothing has been learned”
I stared at that tattoo for an hour while I was giving the massage.
Hi [—]! I listened to both your songs. I love you so much, but I just can’t relate to what you’re thinking and experiencing. To me, you seem full of darkness and despair, and it seems that you have chosen it. I can’t comprehend how anyone could say that God is a monster and that they would be proud to go to His hell, when He has done everything to set us free from the curse, but I will continue to stand back and respect your right to reject Him. Like I’ve said before, it’s your life, and you have every right to do with it what you choose, and to believe what you want to believe.
That’s why I sent you the song, The Solid Rock – because if you ever decide you don’t want to live in darkness and despair, you can also choose to leave it behind. I personally believe arguing with a depraved mind that rejects Truth is fruitless, but it makes me sad to think that you might interpret that as me not caring. Until my last breath, I will be here in the background of your life, praying for you.
Father God, please protect Tegan while she struggles this out. Your word says “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling”. You’re a big God, and Your compassion is huge enough to stand by and wait for Tegan to come to the end of her raging self, and to still be there with open arms, offering her Your grace. Thank You Lord, for creating this precious young woman, with all her adorable, delightful ways, and her cute, quirky personality. Father God, I ask You to grant her repentance leading to a knowledge of the Truth, so she can come to her senses and escape the snare of satan who has taken her captive to his will, hurting and discouraging people, deceiving and being deceived, when You created her to be a comforter and an encourager. This is no life for Tegan and I ask You to draw her back into the light with Your kindness. In Jesus name, I ask this of You.
I hope you can dome see Schultz soon. He has doubled in size since we got him, but he is still a fuzzy baby. You will like him! Love, mom
I’m not, Mom. Any new skill takes a while to learn and requires practice to become proficient.
But I no longer have to suck up to a being who ordered multiple genocides by calling it the source of moral perfection.
And I no longer have to publicly accuse myself of being an abomination for having biological impulses that I certainly would have done away with if I could.
And I’m becoming happier and happier.
I could get married, Mom. Do you have any idea what this means to me? I don’t have to sit at a window, holed up with my books, forever, weeping because of my secrets, staring at a life going past me that I can never have.
But as things stand, I could never invite you to the wedding, do you understand?
That I had to leave you behind in order to save my own life is my despair. It’s my only despair.
And don’t fear, oh you of little faith. You are worth many puppies. When I get up the courage to come, it’s to see you.
Tegan, I really am very, very sorry you feel that way about God, and although I disagree with you, I won’t argue with you. It will take His own Spirit to convince you that you have believed a lie about Him, so I will leave it to Him.
I’ve tried to put myself in your shoes, to see things from your point of view, and I simply can’t. To me, knowing God is “the pearl of great price”; the treasure that’s worth giving up everything else for, even including giving ones’ life. Especially now, after what Dad and I went through, I see that nothing we give up in this life is worthy to be compared with living in His presence. Even lust – just not worth it. I can’t comprehend your hatred of Him or your desire to see Him as malevolent. But that you would have to leave me behind in order to pursue lust, now THAT I understand. But it’s your choice.
I wish you all the happiness your life has to offer, while realizing very sadly that when you reject your Creator’s provision for atonement, this life is the closest thing to heaven you will ever experience. Without a doubt, you’ve made a bad trade, but God Himself gives you that choice, so who am I to selfishly demand that you fake it to make me comfortable? I love you dearly, my beautiful daughter, Mom
“but God Himself gives you that choice”
Nope. Actually not.
There is no possible amount of argument that make genocide not a crime- of ultimate proportion.
If there was- you would be able to argue. And you can’t.
The demand for truth and righteousness require that God (or possibly the Bible) be discarded.
“..to convince you that you have believed a lie about Him”
Magical feelings don’t turn faulty logic and the lack of ethics into sound logic and the presence of ethics.
“But that you would have to leave me behind in order to pursue lust, now THAT I understand”
Yeah you do. It’s in the Bible.
24 That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.
5 and said, ‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh’[a]?
7 ‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife,[a]
31 “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.”[a]
If that DOESN’T involve lust, they’re doing it wrong. Because they’re sure as heck not becoming one flesh with out that.
Finally; re: heaven.
Given the hideous lack of morality displayed by the deity described in the Bible, how do you know that Christianity isn’t a trap of the devil allowed by God to sift the wheat from the tares- and that the only people who ARE going to heaven are the ones who reject it?
TO BE CONTINUED
So I find by the grind of events what they said is true.
Those- those- dead ones. The hunted and running- those sanctified by the pain they refused to let make them martyr.
I have heard that silence is not consent. Silence is death.
It’s not just most of them now. It’s all of them. Every mother’s son of them and every father’s daughter.
But if the words I have said have earned me this silence from the people I loved, then what have they done for me but create a stage on which I alone speak?
If the silences that I did extend them were little closets in which they thought they could decide my story for me, that they could let their lies metastasize from those mother cells and destroy me, then there is no longer any reason for me to allow them one more goddamn drop of silence.
If me speaking up for myself -saying who I am and asking to still be loved- is nastiness (and that is a direct quote!)
Then they don’t deserve my grace.
And if me speaking up for others, in more desperate straits than myself, is unspeakable, I have no words for the cripple-hearted cravens.
And if they all just have completely unrelated reasons for the wall that each and every one of them has put up, then I am completely unrelated to each and every goddamn one of them.
Qui tacet consentire videtur
He who is silent is taken to agree
ubi loqui debuit ac potuit
When he ought to have spoken and was able to
Pussy Riot Forever.
It has been a while since Ferrebeekeeper has written about politics. This is partly because everything everywhere this year has been about politics, and I wanted a break from the relentless annoying noise (at least in my own little patch of the internet). Also, in general it seems like the vastly increased media/internet attention has […]
I’m a little tired of death right now. It’s been kind of a lot.
About movies. And race.
Marvel and DC both did Civil War type films. Yes you know. Yes yes. I’m slow at pop culture, okay?
It was kind of funny to me what different paths they took to end up in roughly the same place.
Racist? What? No no no! I’m not racist! In fact, my best friend is black! And my frenemy’s best friend is black!
Why don’t my black best friend super heroes ever get their own origin stories or even just non-origin movies where they are the title character and main protagonist?
Uuuuh…. Hey look! I have THREE black best friends! And my third black best friend just learned a valuable lesson by watching my white super heroes grapple with their problems! Isn’t that cool?! Even when white heroes are acting like moronic pieces of shit, they are teaching black people how to exist and black people would be lost without them!
Black people don’t exist.
Abuse survivors who question GOD are EVIL. Evil!! Evil MONSTERS who want to destroy the world and unleash MONSTERS on the world and who are all secretly EVIL and stuff. Especially if they like BOOKS and LIBRARIES and clearly have some kind of mental illness that keeps them from SPEAKING clearly. Because people who love books and the mentally ill are EVIL.
And the mastermind behind mysterious conspiracies is probably JEWISH cause their parent was nearly killed in the HOLOCAUST.
We’re renaming ourselves Budweiser for the summer.
My vote goes to Marvel for at least pretending.
The fun doesn’t end there of course. This is Budweiser- I mean America! We couldn’t limit our racism to just one or two movies in a genre created to give children heroes to look up to and heroism to emulate.
I love X-men Apocalypse so much. And I loved Guardians of the Galaxy. Don’t get me wrong. But can we address the blueface please? EDIT: and greenface too!
In Guardians of the Galaxy, you had an entire universe filled with aliens species who looked like humans, which was speciest as fuck but we don’t know any aliens yet, so I’ll let that go. But what was with the fact that they all looked like WHITE humans? I mean with the exception of the one black dude who was evil, clearly some one else’s minion and not in charge of his own destiny, and who had like one line.
And it wasn’t even like they all were supposed to be a single species. To give the impression of diversity, they painted their actors a bunch of colors. Like green.
But the facial structures, speech patterns, and futuristic hairstyles were all obviously of European descent.
Let that sink in.
We had an entire, diverse, universe filled with colored people- and all of them were white people with their skin painted.
EDIT: It was pointed out to me that Dave Babtista and Zoe Saldana are “mixed race”. I was happy to learn this fact and the names of these actors as I didn’t know them and did this rant without researching. But being the emotional basket case that I am, I reserve the right to still feel disgusted. Sort of- oppositely.
This is so much better! (sarc) We put the POC in so much face paint (digital or otherwise) that to the sad ignorant eyes of a white person they LOOKED white.
But the white main character and the aliens played by white humans didn’t need any makeup to be presentable?
Separate Phenomena. Green Face.
Green is so much more acceptable in the Marvel-verse than… you know…
Which is sort of what made it morbidly funny in X-men Apocalypse when Marvel had a bunch of straight white superheroes on a personal journey to accept their true identities… as straight white people with blue paint on their still clearly European facial structures.
I’m mean, what the fuck?
The mutants who joined the Big Bad were- DRUM ROLL
the black one
the asian looking one
the gay looking one
And THE JEWISH ONE. Who survived the HOLOCAUST. And is CONSPIRING. To destroy the WORLD.
God! What the FUCK? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?
None of THOSE people ever had to struggle with their real identities vs their perception by the wider population! Oh no! It was JUST white people!
And in true Marvel-is-a-friendly-dog-who-knows-they-shouldn’t-pee-on-the-rug-but-does-anyway fashion, the Team Bad mutants were sort of emotionally manipulated into joining the Big Bad. And in the end mostly joined Team Good-
After learning valuable lessons from white people.
In face paint.
Some days I really hate people. And I’m not particularly thrilled with earth.
But there’s nowhere else that has shwarama.
John 15: 12 My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. 13 Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
“[T]he 34-year-old was shot in the back as he desperately tried to shield his boyfriend from a shooter’s savage volley of gunfire,” News.com.au journalist Debra Killalea wrote in a news report published Monday. “Tragically, while he managed to get his boyfriend out to safety, he died in hospital from his injuries, according to friends.”
I John 4: 16 …God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. 17 This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. 18 There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.
19 We love because he first loved us. 20 Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen. 21 And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister.
“The good news is that there’s 50 less pedophiles in this world, because, you know, these homosexuals are a bunch of disgusting perverts and pedophiles. That’s who was a victim here, are a bunch of, just, disgusting homosexuals at a gay bar, okay?…
But these people all should have been killed, anyway, but they should have been killed through the proper channels, as in they should have been executed by a righteous government that would have tried them, convicted them, and saw them executed.”- Pastor Steven Anderson
John8:43 Why is my language not clear to you? Because you are unable to hear what I say. 44 You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies. 45 Yet because I tell the truth, you do not believe me! 46 Can any of you prove me guilty of sin? If I am telling the truth, why don’t you believe me? 47 Whoever belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God.”
She’s finally crying now.
The “Joy of the Lord” that kept a smile plastered on her face till now- after now- has given way. She goes into his room where he’s trapped, immobile, in his body. In his chair. His head balding and shorn. She sits with him and cries.
The cancer has rippled and warped his body too badly for him to live much longer. Despite everything they did. The special vitamin C treatments that they drove to Indiana for twice a week. The biological dentist who happily let them pay him to remove his root channel- to get out the ‘bacteria that caused his cancer’. And pay for a secondary excavation when the first had no effect. The trip to bask in a hyperbaric chamber that supposedly simulated the environment before The Great Flood, when people lived 800 years at a whack because the Pre-Flood Earth was so perfect.
Ken Ham said so, you know. Those evil, ungoodly, evolution-believing cancer doctors didn’t believe- because they were deceived by the devil. They were blinded from seeing that these things were the REAL medicine- far more effective than their worldly gobbledygook.
And now not even the worldly doctors can keep him from dying.
Sitting on the staircase with my flip phone. Others huddled, all around. Everyone crying.
I knew people died. A seemingly unending stream of great-grandparents and withered great uncles had died over the course of my high school years. Hospitals, family gatherings, potato salad.
This was college. This was some one I actually knew.
Some one who you talked to every day- who made jokes and laughed at them himself and juiced wheat-grass. Someone who was going to live.
I was trying to explain.
“… they were out walking at night, and climbed up on the roof of a building, and there was an uncovered ventilation shaft….”
His friend had been climbing up behind him. They had gotten to the night quiet roof, with the city spread out around them. A glowing life sized map of itself.
And he had disappeared. While his friend looked. No sound.
His body was lying in a pile of ash several stories down, bleeding at the seams.
He’d spent the weekend before with a couple of friends and their young son. He’d spent most of the trip tramping through the woods, teaching the kid how to whittle and cut walking sticks and be a mountain man. Now his fiance was weeping uncontrollably, rocking, brown banks of curls hiding her face. “He was going to be such a good father. He was going to be such a good father.”
I finished, and the silence on the other end makes me think I must not have explained well enough. The terrible feelings of loss and tragedy.
Finally a voice crackled at the other end of the line. It was a lot like my mother’s. It was my mother’s. It was cold.
“He sounds stupid“
The family had many children. Was it eight? was it twelve? The blur of so many huge families- the only people we associated with -the blur of so many children. So many faces. Meetings maybe one a month- maybe. Never enough time to get to know anyone.
I don’t remember.
They had many children. There had been a party at one of the family homes- we had not gone- but many of the families we knew had. All of them supersized groups- self gravitating, with self contained atmospheres- merged for the evening into a black hole of fake laughter and godliness.
The toddler had escaped. The sibling assigned to that toddler’s caretaking that evening- an girl in her early teens- had lost track of him in the crowded house.
The baby had escaped. Gotten out of the house. Toddled out onto the highway next to the house. Toddled across three lanes of traffic.
And been hit by a semi.
My mother sighed as she finished recounting the details of her phone conversation to the upturned faces and ears of her own many children.
“But you know, all his hair started falling out a few months ago, and she didn’t know why. Maybe there was something really wrong with him and this was just God’s way of sparing them.”
“Maybe it’s all for the best.”
When I was a pre or early teen, a traveling home school family, with a traveling home school family business of “rods” made a stop in the area. The homeschooler moms in our area had, like, a tupperware party of thing to beat your kids with. Many of them brought their kids along to the presentation- including my mom.
The mother of the family described how she would go quietly through the house and watching to see if the children were performing well enough. If they weren’t, she would surprise them with a sharp little snap on the legs or buttocks.
In retrospect- holy fucking christ! Are you kidding me? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that a perfect recipe for Complex PTSD?
The beating-ware party was decorated in the horrible overly floral pseudo-Victorian style that I remember seeing a lot in the homeschooling version of the ’90’s. The man of the family was clean cut and slimy. He didn’t say as much but he handled the money. The woman gushed about her product. Her ten or twelve children didn’t talk much unless the script or social niceties required them too. They stood in the back ground with wide, matching smiles, brought out their instruments and played music when they were required to. Hung back and smiled again.
I remember hanging out in the entry room of the house with some of the local group children. One of the boys told the rest of us quietly that he would run away from home if his mom started doing this.
There were strawberries dipped in chocolate on silver trays. The moms were all talking and laughing. And giggling.
CC image courtesy of Flickr, Pimthida.
The above image is an advertisement that used to run in Christian homeschool magazines. “The ideal tool for child training,” reads the test below an image of a long, thin shaft with a handle, a rod intended for whipping children. “The means prescribed by God,” it reads. And there’s a poem: “Spoons are for cooking / Belts are for holding up pants / Hands are for loving / RODS are for chastening.” This “flexible nylon rod” with its “cushioned vinyl grip” was marketed by Steve Haymond, and was primarily purchased by Christian homeschooling families.
By 2006, the internet and the activism of several concerned homeschool parents had taken its toll on Haymond’s whip-selling business. Raymond had advertised his whips in Christian…
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My father died on Monday. He was buried on Friday. He had an aggressive cancer that he left untreated because “God told him” that he could heal it himself by taking extra Vitamin C and by giving himself enemas with coffee.
His dad had a similar cancer a few years ago. He had a doctor advise him on treatment, instead of God. Grandpa is alive and cancer free to this day.
One time, before he got so bad, I argued with dad about his decision. The books and articles “God was using” to direct his treatment sounded distinctly like conspiracy theories to me. The conversation ended when he told me I was making him think he was crazy and roared at me to GET OUT.
Which I did.
I was very angry.
I was in the process of moving out already. Not because I had enough money. I just couldn’t stand being home anymore. It was too crazy making.
Towards the end, when it was clear that he was going to die, he wept pretty frequently. About even little things. It’s possible the tumor was growing into his brain. It had started in his throat, after all. One day he wept and told me he was so sorry he had yelled at me- that day when we argued.
I was sad too. I didn’t give a flying fuck that he had yelled.
The evening after his death I went to see my family. The front room, where he had been all day every day for the past week, hallucinating and begging to be allowed to get up, had been cleaned.
The furniture had been brought back in. The hospital bed had disappeared.
The spring peeper frogs were singing in the ditches. A night wind was flowing through the fields around the house. Someone had set a jar of lilacs on the dresser. Words and phrases from a poem were eddying in the back of my head, but I couldn’t recall them all or fit them together.
The dresser is an antique. I believe it came from his mother. I never knew her. She died in a car wreck when my dad was- 19? Hit by a drunk driver.
He was angry at his dad about something then and moved out.
Dad was born in March- like me. His mother died in May.
The drunk died in the wreck.
-T. S. Eliot, The Wasteland, The Burial of the Dead
Life and Other Stories by Kieryn Darkwater
A Queer Lit Rag
"What makes a hero? Courage, strength, morality, withstanding adversity? Are these the traits that truly show and create a hero? Who are these so called heroes and where do they come from?" - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Notes From The Underground)
Logical and Inspirational quotes
The Ridges of Intertextuallity
This site is all about ideas
I have a lot of clothes, and most of them I have bought second hand for a few pounds. I love styling, so this is a blog of what I wear!
The Power of the Awakened Feminine
Homeschool Alumni Reaching Out
Cynthia Jeub's Blog
naming the results of a kjv-literalist homelife
An ongoing exploration of faith, culture, myth, life, art. An advocate for all who are trapped in nightmares.
adventures in gender, pop culture and snark
"Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences." - Sylvia Plath
Healing from Narcissistic Abuse | No Contact | Emotional Healing
Reflections Concerning Art, Nature, and the Affairs of Humankind (also some gardening anecdotes)
A blog by Lisa Kerr
for the world we're hoping for
[silence like a cancer grows.]
Hands are for Holding
a christian lesbian tries to find her place in this world