Sunday, May 31, 2009

Good Day

Tonight was good, even getting off to a shaky start. The family, all of us sleep deprived, headed home from the beach.

As you know sleep = sanity and I was feeling like roadkill again. I made the mistake of rereading a journal from age sixteen after two years of "madness". I wrote of the women I loved at summer camp, there were many and nostalgia appeared in full force. For the feeling of community there. I am much less social than I would like to be. And then it turned into oh no! God is gone again! (not true). And that turned into shades of existential panic.

Fortunately, these days, the voice of sanity is louder than it has ever been. I told God, and myself, that I would have "faith". That I would trust that the feeling was temporary and that I was sleep deprived and everything would work out. Instead of mourning, or freaking out, I decided to accompany my mom and aunt to a concert at auntie's church. 

This has never happened before, the ability to say: "stop freaking out and keep moving."

The concert was good and God seemed to comfort me. And, since it was a worship concert, I actually worshipped. Which, seemed superfluous before like "why does an omniscient, perfect being need us to stroke His ego"? 

Short answer? He doesn't. We need to see Him. I, personally, desperately needed to see beauty and purity and love. And, seeing and communing in this way, was nourishing and was a step of faith. It reminded me that it's not all up to me and there is a magnificent transcendence in which to lose the ego.

And, three out of five of the "major" religions recommend losing the ego...

That being said, I didn't want to buy the guy's cd since it was worship thing. But a nice lady decided, out of the blue, to give it to me anyway. I suppose this is either a message or an example of the rampant commercialism in christianity. Mine. And Everyone else's. I think, or choose to trust, that it was a message. 

The cool thing I read about depressives is that the worst thing you can do is be nice to them. If you make them function, they can. Because, while depression is an illness, it's also a neural pattern and a pattern of habits. You can't erase the craving to smoke, but you have to change the routines that trigger you too. 

God, I believe, understands this and forces me to stretch. Another instance of grace. C'est belle!

Later, I tweeted snarkily about "Christian culture" and auntie messaged me about it... This is going to be a fun discussion (not really) *groans internally*

What is Christian culture?

The fact we honor our itinerant, Jewish Carpenter by singing "Christian" songs, in a "Christian" place and buying "Christian" stuff. I'm bad as anybody, so I can't talk. But my conscience was pricked about money and my relationship to it and the way I waste it. And the way faith can be so masturbatory.

It's about us and Jesus. And our Starbucks and our apathy about problems in the world (guilty as charged). 

But I digress. 

Tonight was good. And now, I think I'm gonna sleep. 

Thursday, May 28, 2009

A Night At The Beach

I'm back at my aunt's beach house in Nag's Head after a space no longer than a few days. It's 2:20 a.m., everyone else is sawing logs and dreaming about Santa Claus. lol.

Originally, I planned to stay home by my lonesome but my father, with skill and persistence (and bribery), wore me down. For several reasons, I really wanted to stay home. Accessibility, for example (being stuck in one place while sleepless with no friends to cuddle with like last time). And, of course, R. We were going to meet up away from the watchful eyes of mes parents, or, that would be, if they knew...

And omg. I'm clawing at the walls missing R. (More on this later...)

It's been a firestorm of emotional activity lately. I've been cleaning out an endless closet of old notebooks, and excavating the accompanying memories. From summer camp which was an amazing experience, of high school which was arguably the worst, of childhood, middle school. I have eleven years worth of pictures of Mark, enough to create a wall high shrine. Letters from boyfriends. Letters from old crushes. Old friends. Current friends. Old poetry...

It was a surreal experience to walk back down those roads, to read of joy and pain in my own handwriting. 

But, of course, the thing that stood out most was writings about the "point of contact" (though POC was a person, it's not about the person. Instead, the experience of an event. It was a trigger for mental illness for me). That weird moment in my life that seems to have halved it into THEN and NOW. It could just have been puberty (those crazy, killer female hormones! *shakes her head*). That would explain a lot, actually. But, I can trace all the SAD and depression to this one point in time. And this is weird because you'd thing enough scratching could relieve the itch but it doesn't. So you have to suck it up and keep moving. It's the only option if one wants to avoid being a rolling, breathing Heathcliffe...

Brooding is soooo last season. 

The good news is that now, even though I still feel it, I can close the book and leave the vivid sadness that used to spring up when I thought of THEN. 

Life is good. I like the blend of joy and sadness. How every silver lining has a cloud and every cloud has a silver lining. The duality keeps each experience fresh, keeps it in a tension of flying and falling. Right now, I'm doing both relationally...

Something weird I noticed, which totally escaped me, was that I thought my dyketry was "caused" by POC. Reading back, it was clear that women have always fascinated me. That several girls in my adolescence stopped me in my tracks long before ninth grade. At the time, it didn't seem anymore than "admiration." Even when squeally crushes would keep me up at night, shifting in my bed because I was excited to see her (whichever her it was) the next day...

Yeah, real "straight"...

Anyway, besides this non-event, I've been formulating some ideas. Today, inspired by Josh Blue and Margaret Cho, seriously considered stand-up comedy. I even wrote out some jokes about crippletry. Maybe another CP comedienne would raise awareness? Get a dialogue started. Though, the audience would be an interesting one.

Cripple, Christian, Queer, or Crazy? This would appear to be a unique, and small, niche. But a riotously fun group. 

Then, I've been writing a apocolyptic lesbian love story. In B&N, they seem to have a lot of lesbian erotica. A lot of books on lesbian sex. Though, not many good old fashioned love stories. Girl meets girl. Girl loses girl. Girl flies across the country to convince girl to come back. Girl and girl live happily ever after.

*sighs* It's love. It makes you want to write silly love stories. I miss her. So much. I can't even type how much I miss her right now. 

You have no idea. 

Friday, May 22, 2009

Purple Prose

The night before, they lay naked in each others arms waiting for the sunrise; that last, potentially noxious sunrise that would lay waste to their former lives.

“I love you, Tina,” 

“I love you, Bette.” 

They closed their eyes. 

Tuesday, May 19, 2009


So, I haven't blogged in a while. Life has been great/crazy/terrible/interesting/insert adjective here. I quit school and, as my dad says, I'm recouping, having taken somewhat a downward turn in the last few weeks of the semester. In a way, it seems like "running away" but also taking a break and re-examining life. Priorities. Right now, it's my best (and only) option. 

Things are going back up. The big difference is sleeping. Some people get thrown off by the weather. Some people can't handle their alcohol. Without sleep, I am a nut case. It's just not good. So, I've been sleeping. And while some of my issues are perennial, sleeplessness intensifies the crazy one hundred thousand percent. 

Doing art work has been another good change. I've gotten into art work, some weird found sculpture. Not only is it a fun, relaxing activity, it's also satisfying and meaningful---to create something tangible and beautiful. Culture pivots on it's artists. So much is said, even without words necessarily. It is nourishing. And someone else might benefit from the work, which is its aim anyway.

And then, I saw people. Namely, Mark, my bff/fag to my haggotry. We spent several, stupefyingly silly days together. And it was all good. 

Weirdly enough, my father, lately, has been amazingly sweet and loving. One day, he brought "his favorite girls" flowers. Turns out, he had a revelation a several weeks ago and realized how much he loves me and how he has hurt me. It's been nearly a 180 shift. It's brought so much healing and joy. Another instance of grace.  

Consequently, I've been happier. And I'm making peace with God, life, and sexuality. God loves us. A lot. I realize how much grace has been present. It will still be a long journey, though, to find shalom. But He knows everything and loves anyway. My dad is a miracle. Mark is a miracle. Love and happiness are miracles...

I have determined to rest in that, and have also decided to "crucify belief", to hold belief in abeyance in the search for truth; so often "orthodoxy" muddies truth instead of clarifying and helping one understand. Words like justification, expiation, trinity, propitiation, with their cultural baggage, have done nothing but distance me from things like "salvation" (relationship with God through Jesus) and God's compassion, forgiveness, and love.

As for my sexuality, I really feel like I need to accept myself. R (or TGF as Mark and I have referred to her in surreptitious discussion around the house) is my girlfriend. And friend. And I love her. I love how kind she is, and how generous, and how creative and how she is yet another facet of grace in my life. 

Just to let you know, I don't think homosexuality is wrong. Or, at least, modern homosexuality (it was way different in the old school). 

This is not just because I'm bisexual (or, pansexual/queer). I did some research on the Bible which made me think twice and also found website flipped me out because it was so kind and inclusive and "grace-filled." Trapped with the acceptance which has floored me from God Himself. The LGBT folk on that cite exhibit a hundred times the grace of other "Christian" sites. 

Besides, the relationship with Rachel is making me happy. Not just the giddy, excited "abducted by aliens" kind (though that too), but it's also inspiring me. We get each other, nurture one another. She is a beautiful woman, and, for her, I want to be the best woman, christian, human possible. The relationship has taught me how to express negative emotion in better ways, has taught me more about grace in general. From what she says, I believe we have tutored each other...

Interestingly enough, I became emboldened when my dad started changing. I believe it was because something is knitting itself back together in my heart. Trust. Slowly, but surely. 

When our relationship becomes destructive, I'll end it. But I don't forsee that happening...

So here you have it. My life. Thanks for tuning in.

AC Out.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Seasons of Love!