Well, I seem to be wide awake tonight (perhaps because I spent the majority of the weekend sleeping??). So I figure this is the perfect time to tie up some loose ends from past posts. You know, I began writing about my religious faith (which will be an ongoing journey and examination, not wrapped up in one post), I shared the hope I had after meeting my new doctor and getting new medication, I began to rant at John Mayer (hope he didn't think I was finished with him!), and I posted a link for you all to read about the earthquake we had here (never saw that one coming).
Easiest -- The 'quake was about a 3.8 they decided, after first posting it as 4.3 (not sure how such issues get ironed out). I hear of exactly NO ONE who was injured or even incurred more than minor damage (apologies if you have such a story and I am unaware... no insensitivity intended). I guess we had an earthquake in Illinois a couple years ago, but it was too far away for us Chicagoans to feel. And my mom tells me there was a moderate one back when I was a baby. But I have never in my life personally experienced this phenomenon. Here in the midwest we fear "twisters" and rightly so! We, as a region, have suffered great devastation from tornados sweeping through here. But an earthquake!!
First off, thanks be to God that it was not another one like in Haiti. That one was -- needless to say it -- one too many for the poor people there. For any people to deal with, but so sad for the Haitians who have such limited (in many cases, NO) resources. We were lucky here; this 'quake was just enough to be interesting, something to gossip with each other about ("Did you feel it?" "What did you think it was?" etc). I was sleeping on my couch, having crashed out in front of the TV. Dorian was asleep in his cat house, directly at eye level across the room from me. I was tossing and turning and had woken up moments before. My cat was sleeping peacefully when all of a sudden there was this ... sound, and also the feeling ... of everything shaking. The closest experience I can relate is that of being underground when a train is going overhead on a bridge or something. I thought that it was my upstairs neighbor doing something -- I had no idea what, but he makes loud and unidentifiable noises all the time. But I also could tell this was not the activity of one human being, because there was such uniformity to the quaking. Every wall, the floor, and the ceiling were all shuddering equally in force. I think it lasted 15 seconds or so.
Dorian woke from his sleep with a start the very second it hit. My poor baby! I have never, in all of our car rides, moves to new places, vet visits, etc., EVER seen his eyes so huge and his ears pricked up so high! He did what he usually does when he is afraid, or thinks maybe he might need to be afraid, and looked directly into my face. This is such an endearing trait in my pet: like a child looking to the trusted parent for reassurance, he looks to me when something is loud or disturbing to him, when a new person enters our home, things like that. If I say (as I did during the earthquake), "That's alright, baby, that's okay. It's okay" (and repeat!), then he calms down. He trusts me! I think it's so beautiful. And so that is what I said to him, desperately trying to hide the fact that I actually did not know whether "it" was indeed "okay". It was startling and scary, but over so quickly. I might have felt frightened longer, or I might have gone upstairs and finally beat my neighbor to a pulp. But within moments, a few friends sent texts, everyone checking on everyone else, wondering whether they felt it, all of that stuff. Once I knew that all was well, and began to see on the TV news that reports were coming in of a minor earthquake, well, then it became just an interesting start to a day!
With the earthquake behind us then, I blogged about how John Mayer pissed me off. I have seen the media beat him down fairly sufficiently this past week, but still. The whole racial issue is just disgusting. I won't get over that crap from him. I just won't. But the thing that I haven't heard much talk about is how he spoke of former girlfriend Jessica Simpson. The whole way that he was so flippant and sarcastic, seeming to say that he had to get out of their relationship so that he could be mature. Ick. Talk about having no self knowledge at all. He spoke in the two interviews about his ex as though he was just loving the hot sex he had with her (we ladies always love it when you share details with the world, guys), but sigh ... alas ... he had to be a man and move on with his life. VOMIT. I'm not a huge Jessica Simpson fan or anything; I mean, she's okay, I've liked a few of her songs, and I think she comes off pretty ditzy and over-privileged. But this is just respect. I can't stand the way that Mr. Mayer talks about her. I can't stand the way a lot of the media talks about her (she is SO far from the hideous, gargantuan ogre that you would think, reading some of the press). I hope that she knows any man who actually loves her, as Mayer claims to, would speak kindly and respectfully about their relationship. Her ex-husband, Nick Lachey, does a great job of this.
So, John Mayer: You are an arrogant prick. I believe you are a racist, in some part of yourself that you need to examine. I don't buy the line that you just ran your mouth out of ignorance (well, there's that TOO). You have amazing musical talent, you're okay looking (a trait which is instantly elevated to HOTHOTHOT when you're a rock star), and you've been given amazing opportunities and blessings to use and enjoy during your time on this planet. It would do you well to go away, get therapy, get faith, get a real woman as a girlfriend (although ... good luck), get whatever you need to man up. If you can't do that, then you're just a one-trick pony. It's a good trick, but it's just a trick. Sad.
Okay, what else folks? Oh ... yes, I spoke rather harshly about my Catholic upbringing. Well, I have no other way to speak of it. But when I was about 23 years old, I stood at the deathbed of a beloved, absolutely-consumed-with-the-joy-of-Christ grandmother. And Something happened. I have tried many, many times to explain in words, to write, to share, to verbalize ... what happened to me there. My mother was able to understand, I think because the three of us (Grandma, Mom, and me) were all very close. But I have sort of given up on telling the story until such time as I feel "called" to do so. What I can tell you is that I was transformed that night. It was the year 2000. There was grief and loss to face when my grandma passed, of course. But I knew right away that she had given me Something, as though passing me a note before she left this world.
Grandma was an amazing woman in so many ways, tough and funny and generous and beautiful and smart ... and she was a living, breathing, walking, talking example of living one's faith. When Christians speak of joy and peace and non-judgment and living a life that mimics that of Christ, of embodying the true spirit of the Word ... well, we all know that it is rare to see and feel the presence of someone who really lives it. My grandma lived it, truly. She never feared. She ran boldly into life, she laughed, she shared, she loved. She honestly, genuinely believed in every fiber of her being in her God. And she showed me that if you can find that faith, if you can believe and know, you never have to fear or worry or wonder ... You never have to do anything but live and pray and give thanks. Oh, yes, MUCH easier said than done. But she had it down.
And that is how I began my journey into faith... (stay tuned)
Showing posts with label Faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Faith. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Doctor-Tweets and Evil Nuns
...There were a few other things about which I wanted to write recently, but they didn't really fit in with my last post... Randomness follows...
For one, I mentioned recently, in speaking of my (needless) fear of the impending doctor appointment, that the new doctor had been Twittering about odd things. Well, as you know, I recently dumped my Twitter account, but before I did, I checked out his latest stuff, and it was back to normal. Normal for him is posting information about headache studies, supplements that are helpful for headaches, um, just everything you ever wanted to know about headaches in general. But on that one weird day, he was sort of going off, as much as you can do so on Twitter. He spent like 5 posts (as you might or might not know, Twitter allows only 140 characters per post) saying stuff about how "those" with borderline personality disorders or other mild (and therefore, often mis-diagnosed or undetected) personality conditions can "wreak havoc" on a medical office. He went on to "Tweet" that these people are often treated with a rapid succession of anti-depressants "with predictably poor results." I just thought it was strange. For one thing, it was the only posting I'd ever seen from him that had any sort of personal emotion to it. I mean, it wasn't much, but he seemed to be complaining, like maybe someone (patient? staff member? FORMER DOCTOR????) with such a disorder had recently "wreaked havoc" on HIS medical office. He ended this little mini-rant with "to be continued," but as far as I know it never was, in fact, continued. Oh well. He was good to me when I met him today, so I don't care about anything else, quite frankly. :)
SO that was that. I'm over it. I just want to be done with the worry! I did it to myself in a way, as I wrote in my last post, but I also have been through so much that I give myself a little leeway to be anxious about such things. I have never been a drug-seeker, for all my faults, never gone to a doctor will fake intentions or things like that ... and when a person is suffering genuine pain and doesn't know what to do and is begging for help, guidance, treatment ... You just need to be humane, need to have "people skills" in addition to that medical degree. I'm so thankful (again, again, can't say it enough!) that I have found this clinic and this doctor.
So what else? Oh, well, I wanted to speak about my faith, not that anyone asked or anything :) It's just been on my mind. I suppose I'm like many people in that when times are extremely bad or extremely good, I really think even more (because I'm an over-thinker at all times, to be sure) about the meaning of things, who or what is in charge, how is that proverbial wheel in the sky kept turning (ode to Journey and the book of Ezekiel, take your pick, I like 'em both).
So what do I believe? I feel, more and more lately, that I need, that I want, to sort this out. Well, I was raised Catholic. That had a large impact on my life, especially when I was being forced to go to church until the age of 18 (house rules in my family), and that impact was mainly negative. The single, and most terrifying and damaging thing that took place -- although it was by no means the only one -- was in 4th grade Catechism class, where we had an absolutely ancient nun for a teacher. (Quick note for the uninitiated: on Sundays, we were supposed to attend Catechism, we called it "C.C.D." and I don't remember what that stood for, if we attended public school during the week; those who attended Catholic school didn't have to do this.) So this nun was at least 197 years old, and she was nasty. I mean it. She was mean, she had no teacher's training that was relevant to children our age from our background (if she had any teacher's training at all; it certainly wasn't a requirement). She regularly yelled insults at kids who didn't have their books or supplies or whatever; I remember it was kids who had to shuffle from parent to parent on weekends, things like that. ...You know, kids whose parents might have been going through their own crap and didn't think to send the student to CCD with his pencil or his workbook or whatever. A lot of the kids were poor; that's why we didn't attend the private Catholic school in the first place. She couldn't care less who we were though. She was merciless and joyless and loveless. She didn't want to be there with us, teaching us the beauty and meaning of the Catholic religion, the love and joy and meaning that could be ours if we lived accordingly ... Oh, is that not what teaching children their faith is about? I could be mistaken. Anyway, I don't know where she wanted to be. She was ugly inside and out, that bitch. Mmm-hmm, I said it. I called that nun a bitch.
Well, the thing she did that destroyed me personally was this. One bright young Sunday in my life ... she somehow got onto the subject of SIN. That was not mentioned in-depth in the 4th grade reading books, I assure you. But of course, she probably didn't even read those books. And, if you know anything at all about Catholicism, you know that SIN -- determining what is a sin, and what kind of sin it is, which sins send you to hell, which might be forgiven and which cannot ever be forgiven, etc., this is a big chunk of what it's all about. So Sister Imelda (yep, her real name, I don't give a damn) starts in about sin. And then she goes there. She starts telling us about sexual thoughts and feelings and (gasp) actions. She explains to the aghast/bored/giggling/variously-occupied-with-anything-but-listening-to-her 8 and 9 yr olds that while we might just be interested in looking at each other, it's a SIN to think about things like touching private parts: someone else's OR our OWN!!! Yes, kids, touching others' private parts is a sin, ok? And furthermore, touching your OWN private parts is also a sin. Got it? Good. ... NOW, lest you get the wrong idea, don't even think that you can get away with thinking about touching anybody's private parts! Why? It's a SIN!!!!!!! And it isn't a "venial" sin (that's the kind that God can forgive if only you go and confess it to your local priest). Nope, it's not that kind at all. Rather, touching body parts, yours or others' and also thinking about touching body parts ... these are mortal sins, children!!!!! They separate you from God, and you go to HELL!
With God as my witness, she said it to us. She said these exact things, and my traumatized, sensitive, precocious 9-year-old self remembers it like it was yesterday ... NO... Like it was earlier today. I don't remember a lot about what the other kids did or how they reacted or whether they were even listening. I do recall one particularly mischievious boy laughing and making snide comments. How many times I have wished for that sense of humor, sense of caprice, personality ... whatever it was that allowed him to laugh rather than fall to pieces the way I did. Because that shit was no fuckin' joke for me. I died that day. I was never, ever the same.
I am not going to make this about my sexuality and when and how much I knew and all that (not right now anyway). But at that age, I was aware of cute boys, was aware that one day, I would do that stuff that makes babies with them, and was vaguely aware of my own body parts (you know, those ones). And so, while some kids might have been at different stages with their knowledge and development at that age, that's where I was. And because of this, because I had noticed and thought about, and been curious about, myself and other kids and cute boys and all of that ... well, I had just been informed that God was angry and that I had committed a sin which was going to send me to hell when I died one day. I was nine. It was already over. I had ruined my life. And my afterlife. OH. MY. GOD!
The fallout was tragic and long-lasting. I guess, since I'm writing about it at great length and feeling angry yet again here and now, it's still resonating with me even today, these TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER!!!! I remember that day, we went to my grandma's after church for donuts, per family tradition. I don't know how I must have behaved, but I was a child of an alcoholic and already well-trained to behave as though nothing was wrong when everything was. I guess that's how I made it through that day and many after it. I never spoke of what was on my mind. I never spoke to my parents about what I had done, my terrible thoughts, my sins, the fact that I was a terrible demon in God's eyes and would not join them in Heaven when I died. I kept it inside my little mind, my little heart. THAT. BITCH. I was a little girl. I didn't understand. Well, obviously. Let me just say, as my adult self today, that if someone ever did something like this to a child of mine (which I don't currently have any of), and really, even if there was a way for me to travel back there and protect THAT child, ME, via time machine or something ... I would beat this lady physically, I think. I really believe that. Wanna talk about sin, bitch? I'll show you some mortal effin sin up in here.
And no, that wouldn't make me right. And it wouldn't teach the old cow anything. And yes, it is my belief that the God I NOW believe in would be unhappy I did that. But I think my rage and the years that went by before I knew better or felt better about that incident would just ... that's what would happen, that's what I would do. I'd have to sit down and talk with the Big Man Upstairs about it after. Good thing there are no time machines anywhere around here.
Okay, so I wanted to write about my faith. And that was my first introduction to "faith." But it isn't faith as I know it now. I think for tonight I have written enough, if anyone is even still reading. The wonderful and beautiful thing is that today as a grown woman, I have had amazing experiences, I have learned and seen and sensed true divinity in ways that defy my explanation sometimes. From these, I draw my spirituality. From these, I set out upon my journey to know my God. I do believe in Him. I do believe we can do things to separate ourselves from him, as we can do things that draw us nearer to Him. Oh, and I'm using "Him" as the pronoun to describe a God I know, but I do not actually believe there is a human-type gender that embodies the divine. It's just the usual literary device, so I stick with it. I'm okay with using "Him." To say "It," for example, does not respect the personal presence that I have known and experienced at times. So next time I write about faith, let me write about these things... These things which are good and (I believe) true and beautiful. Because, that was a horrible day in my childhood, and I think, a horrible thing for a human being to do to a child. And let me also just say, that while I still do not wish to re-join the Catholic faith, I do not tell this story as a means of describing all nuns or all Catholics or any of that. Don't even go there with hate comments about all that. I know that the woman described above was one of a kind. And her evil was her own ugly thing.
For one, I mentioned recently, in speaking of my (needless) fear of the impending doctor appointment, that the new doctor had been Twittering about odd things. Well, as you know, I recently dumped my Twitter account, but before I did, I checked out his latest stuff, and it was back to normal. Normal for him is posting information about headache studies, supplements that are helpful for headaches, um, just everything you ever wanted to know about headaches in general. But on that one weird day, he was sort of going off, as much as you can do so on Twitter. He spent like 5 posts (as you might or might not know, Twitter allows only 140 characters per post) saying stuff about how "those" with borderline personality disorders or other mild (and therefore, often mis-diagnosed or undetected) personality conditions can "wreak havoc" on a medical office. He went on to "Tweet" that these people are often treated with a rapid succession of anti-depressants "with predictably poor results." I just thought it was strange. For one thing, it was the only posting I'd ever seen from him that had any sort of personal emotion to it. I mean, it wasn't much, but he seemed to be complaining, like maybe someone (patient? staff member? FORMER DOCTOR????) with such a disorder had recently "wreaked havoc" on HIS medical office. He ended this little mini-rant with "to be continued," but as far as I know it never was, in fact, continued. Oh well. He was good to me when I met him today, so I don't care about anything else, quite frankly. :)
SO that was that. I'm over it. I just want to be done with the worry! I did it to myself in a way, as I wrote in my last post, but I also have been through so much that I give myself a little leeway to be anxious about such things. I have never been a drug-seeker, for all my faults, never gone to a doctor will fake intentions or things like that ... and when a person is suffering genuine pain and doesn't know what to do and is begging for help, guidance, treatment ... You just need to be humane, need to have "people skills" in addition to that medical degree. I'm so thankful (again, again, can't say it enough!) that I have found this clinic and this doctor.
So what else? Oh, well, I wanted to speak about my faith, not that anyone asked or anything :) It's just been on my mind. I suppose I'm like many people in that when times are extremely bad or extremely good, I really think even more (because I'm an over-thinker at all times, to be sure) about the meaning of things, who or what is in charge, how is that proverbial wheel in the sky kept turning (ode to Journey and the book of Ezekiel, take your pick, I like 'em both).
So what do I believe? I feel, more and more lately, that I need, that I want, to sort this out. Well, I was raised Catholic. That had a large impact on my life, especially when I was being forced to go to church until the age of 18 (house rules in my family), and that impact was mainly negative. The single, and most terrifying and damaging thing that took place -- although it was by no means the only one -- was in 4th grade Catechism class, where we had an absolutely ancient nun for a teacher. (Quick note for the uninitiated: on Sundays, we were supposed to attend Catechism, we called it "C.C.D." and I don't remember what that stood for, if we attended public school during the week; those who attended Catholic school didn't have to do this.) So this nun was at least 197 years old, and she was nasty. I mean it. She was mean, she had no teacher's training that was relevant to children our age from our background (if she had any teacher's training at all; it certainly wasn't a requirement). She regularly yelled insults at kids who didn't have their books or supplies or whatever; I remember it was kids who had to shuffle from parent to parent on weekends, things like that. ...You know, kids whose parents might have been going through their own crap and didn't think to send the student to CCD with his pencil or his workbook or whatever. A lot of the kids were poor; that's why we didn't attend the private Catholic school in the first place. She couldn't care less who we were though. She was merciless and joyless and loveless. She didn't want to be there with us, teaching us the beauty and meaning of the Catholic religion, the love and joy and meaning that could be ours if we lived accordingly ... Oh, is that not what teaching children their faith is about? I could be mistaken. Anyway, I don't know where she wanted to be. She was ugly inside and out, that bitch. Mmm-hmm, I said it. I called that nun a bitch.
Well, the thing she did that destroyed me personally was this. One bright young Sunday in my life ... she somehow got onto the subject of SIN. That was not mentioned in-depth in the 4th grade reading books, I assure you. But of course, she probably didn't even read those books. And, if you know anything at all about Catholicism, you know that SIN -- determining what is a sin, and what kind of sin it is, which sins send you to hell, which might be forgiven and which cannot ever be forgiven, etc., this is a big chunk of what it's all about. So Sister Imelda (yep, her real name, I don't give a damn) starts in about sin. And then she goes there. She starts telling us about sexual thoughts and feelings and (gasp) actions. She explains to the aghast/bored/giggling/variously-occupied-with-anything-but-listening-to-her 8 and 9 yr olds that while we might just be interested in looking at each other, it's a SIN to think about things like touching private parts: someone else's OR our OWN!!! Yes, kids, touching others' private parts is a sin, ok? And furthermore, touching your OWN private parts is also a sin. Got it? Good. ... NOW, lest you get the wrong idea, don't even think that you can get away with thinking about touching anybody's private parts! Why? It's a SIN!!!!!!! And it isn't a "venial" sin (that's the kind that God can forgive if only you go and confess it to your local priest). Nope, it's not that kind at all. Rather, touching body parts, yours or others' and also thinking about touching body parts ... these are mortal sins, children!!!!! They separate you from God, and you go to HELL!
With God as my witness, she said it to us. She said these exact things, and my traumatized, sensitive, precocious 9-year-old self remembers it like it was yesterday ... NO... Like it was earlier today. I don't remember a lot about what the other kids did or how they reacted or whether they were even listening. I do recall one particularly mischievious boy laughing and making snide comments. How many times I have wished for that sense of humor, sense of caprice, personality ... whatever it was that allowed him to laugh rather than fall to pieces the way I did. Because that shit was no fuckin' joke for me. I died that day. I was never, ever the same.
I am not going to make this about my sexuality and when and how much I knew and all that (not right now anyway). But at that age, I was aware of cute boys, was aware that one day, I would do that stuff that makes babies with them, and was vaguely aware of my own body parts (you know, those ones). And so, while some kids might have been at different stages with their knowledge and development at that age, that's where I was. And because of this, because I had noticed and thought about, and been curious about, myself and other kids and cute boys and all of that ... well, I had just been informed that God was angry and that I had committed a sin which was going to send me to hell when I died one day. I was nine. It was already over. I had ruined my life. And my afterlife. OH. MY. GOD!
The fallout was tragic and long-lasting. I guess, since I'm writing about it at great length and feeling angry yet again here and now, it's still resonating with me even today, these TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER!!!! I remember that day, we went to my grandma's after church for donuts, per family tradition. I don't know how I must have behaved, but I was a child of an alcoholic and already well-trained to behave as though nothing was wrong when everything was. I guess that's how I made it through that day and many after it. I never spoke of what was on my mind. I never spoke to my parents about what I had done, my terrible thoughts, my sins, the fact that I was a terrible demon in God's eyes and would not join them in Heaven when I died. I kept it inside my little mind, my little heart. THAT. BITCH. I was a little girl. I didn't understand. Well, obviously. Let me just say, as my adult self today, that if someone ever did something like this to a child of mine (which I don't currently have any of), and really, even if there was a way for me to travel back there and protect THAT child, ME, via time machine or something ... I would beat this lady physically, I think. I really believe that. Wanna talk about sin, bitch? I'll show you some mortal effin sin up in here.
And no, that wouldn't make me right. And it wouldn't teach the old cow anything. And yes, it is my belief that the God I NOW believe in would be unhappy I did that. But I think my rage and the years that went by before I knew better or felt better about that incident would just ... that's what would happen, that's what I would do. I'd have to sit down and talk with the Big Man Upstairs about it after. Good thing there are no time machines anywhere around here.
Okay, so I wanted to write about my faith. And that was my first introduction to "faith." But it isn't faith as I know it now. I think for tonight I have written enough, if anyone is even still reading. The wonderful and beautiful thing is that today as a grown woman, I have had amazing experiences, I have learned and seen and sensed true divinity in ways that defy my explanation sometimes. From these, I draw my spirituality. From these, I set out upon my journey to know my God. I do believe in Him. I do believe we can do things to separate ourselves from him, as we can do things that draw us nearer to Him. Oh, and I'm using "Him" as the pronoun to describe a God I know, but I do not actually believe there is a human-type gender that embodies the divine. It's just the usual literary device, so I stick with it. I'm okay with using "Him." To say "It," for example, does not respect the personal presence that I have known and experienced at times. So next time I write about faith, let me write about these things... These things which are good and (I believe) true and beautiful. Because, that was a horrible day in my childhood, and I think, a horrible thing for a human being to do to a child. And let me also just say, that while I still do not wish to re-join the Catholic faith, I do not tell this story as a means of describing all nuns or all Catholics or any of that. Don't even go there with hate comments about all that. I know that the woman described above was one of a kind. And her evil was her own ugly thing.
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