That book I mentioned previously, Carry On, Warrior, is essentially founded on my blogging motto--to be honest, to open up my life so that others might feel understood, accepted, and less alone. But that doesn't mean I share everything. There are still parts of myself that I hold back because I want to look put together and self-assured and fine. One of the biggest parts of my identity is my faith, and I want everyone always to think I've got that down pat, thank you very much.
But, I mean, I don't. I mentioned before that a symptom of depression/sadness for me is avoiding God. I've realized over the past couple weeks a few reasons why: I'm tired, and I think paying attention to God will only make me more tired. I feel stupid for even being depressed, because even though my life is changing, it's not like, cataclysmic. So I feel stupid for ignoring God, and I imagine that He's just frowning down on me, waiting for me to get my shit together, rolling his eyes over my privileged problems when there children dying of AIDS and people who don't know Jesus. I know, theologically, that God is not like that. But, well, there's theology for you. Not so useful in your head unless it penetrates your heart.
All of this is buildup to an epiphany I had today.
I've been having a really hard time going to church (for the above reasons, plus people! Depression brings out the introvert in me, and I just don't want to be friendly and peppy, ugh). I've gone the last two weeks, though, despite trying to snooze through my alarm and repeating to myself while driving there, "I could turn around. I don't have to do this. I'll just go home."
When I finally dragged myself out of the house this morning, ten minutes after I should have left, I sent up a mumbly prayer something like, "I'm sorry I don't want to go to church, God. But I'm going, because I think it will make you happy. I think it will be good for me. I know You gave us the church because we need each other, so I'm going, alright? I totally admit that I'm trying to win Your favor even though You always love me. Ugh."
Then as I was driving, I realized I've been treating God as a therapist lately. I've been sharing all my anxieties and worries and sadnesses. We talk a lot. But it's always about me. As I was about to turn onto 75, I realized I haven't praised God lately. And I immediately followed up that realization with, "Well, I don't really think You deserve to be praised."
That made me cry. Because it's pretty prideful to tell the God who created you and sustains you that well, I don't think you deserve praise. That's one of those smite-me moments, added to the fact that I really do like God, and I'm pissed at myself for being so apathetic toward Him.
I wasn't ready to praise Him, even with the knowledge that this was my deficiency, and thankfully, God didn't press the matter. This was one of those times when, who knows what was going on in my head. Maybe it was all my own neurons firing, thinking thoughts and putting words in God's mouth. But I just thought, "Jesus saved you." Nothing else. I didn't feel obligated to thank God for any of the thousands of blessings that I'm ungrateful for. He cut right to the heart of all matters. I frowned, trying to think of a way to not praise God for the saving work of His Son, but I couldn't. So I grudgingly said, "Thank you. That was...pretty awesome." And I kept driving to church.
When I got to Trinity, every song was about Jesus dying for us, saving us, promising us life. No feel good "I love God!" songs. Nothing sentimental or sappy. It was just truth, just this one central truth, over and over. So even though I still felt apathetic, and I'm still nowhere near a healthy relationship with God, I feel. Understood. God knows my pain, and maybe He's even allowing me to sit in it. He won't fix everything, and life will continue to be hard, but my soul is safe with Him. And that's all I need to cling to, so I guess I will, and I'll praise God for that with a tiny whisper that is all I have to give.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Get Out of My Brain (Just Kidding, Stay)
My friend Lindsay from DTS texted me awhile ago and said she had a book she thought I would like. When we went out to eat the other night, she brought the book, and guys, I definitely read the whole thing today. It's a memoir blog-turned-book, and everything this woman says is so much of how I see myself and who I want to be. Imma review it all proper over on my book review blog, but I had to share a portion that made my jaw drop because of the uncanny ability she has to read my thoughts.
"Still, I was afraid to join this new church. Because I don't want to pretend to believe anything I don't believe. I don't want to pretend to not have doubts...Before I joined any church, I needed permission from whomever was in charge to be different.
So I invited one of the ministers over to my house.
I was scared.
...I told her that I love Jesus madly and deeply, but my problem always seemed to be that I understand him quite differently than many other Christians do. And I love these other Christians, so I didn't want to offend them. I suggested that maybe it was better for me to remain unattached to any particular church rather than disrupt a perfectly lovely one.
I explained that I had all kinds of doubts and questions and negative feelings about the church's role throughout history. But I told her I still loved the church. I felt kind of like St. Augustine, who said, 'The church is a whore, but she's my mother.' If I were to become a member of her church, I would need permission to speak my mind respectfully but freely. I would need permission to be myself."
Oh, and the book is Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed by Glennon Doyle Melton.
"Still, I was afraid to join this new church. Because I don't want to pretend to believe anything I don't believe. I don't want to pretend to not have doubts...Before I joined any church, I needed permission from whomever was in charge to be different.
So I invited one of the ministers over to my house.
I was scared.
...I told her that I love Jesus madly and deeply, but my problem always seemed to be that I understand him quite differently than many other Christians do. And I love these other Christians, so I didn't want to offend them. I suggested that maybe it was better for me to remain unattached to any particular church rather than disrupt a perfectly lovely one.
I explained that I had all kinds of doubts and questions and negative feelings about the church's role throughout history. But I told her I still loved the church. I felt kind of like St. Augustine, who said, 'The church is a whore, but she's my mother.' If I were to become a member of her church, I would need permission to speak my mind respectfully but freely. I would need permission to be myself."
Oh, and the book is Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed by Glennon Doyle Melton.
What is Courage When Life is Boring?
The other day while we were swimming, Ketan asked if my tattoo hurt in the water. Oh, Ketan, why would anyone get a tattoo if the presence of H2O caused agony? Because the thing is, it's just skin now. There's a part of my wrist that is fancily darker than the rest of my skin, but mostly it's just part of me. I don't notice it all that much.
Which is unfortunate, because, well, the point of a tattoo was to notice it and think on it and have "courage, dear heart" shoved in my face on a regular basis. So I'm trying to do that.
But what does it mean? To be courageous? Pretty obvious when someone dies or you're confronted with a tough decision or something. But what about on a daily basis?
Today I woke up and wandered outside, where Amy and Liz were three hours into a garage sale. I went back to the air conditioning and read from a book a friend lent to me. Then I ate in the garage when Liz and her mom returned with breakfast tacos. A while later I helped store the unsold goods away and went to the pool with Liz for a couple hours. I laid out, and read some more, and talked a little. When we got home, we drank coffee and I read some more, and Liz's sister came over. They left, and I read some more, and I thought a lot, and I ate dinner.
Nothing today screamed, "OH FREAKING CRAP THIS IS TOO MUCH, TAKE COURAGE, DO IT NOW, YOU NEED COURAGE!" Perhaps I should be living in such a way as to make this scenario a daily reality. I do think there's merit to pushing yourself outside your comfort zone so you will rely on God and exercise courage.
But I think God is in the daily minutiae too. He's in the books I read and the interactions with my roommates and the comments I leave on social media sites. I mean, that's pretty boring, and while it might be true, I don't necessarily need courage.
The problem is, I'm an introvert. I like slow, predictable, small groups of people with whom I am deeply intimate, preferably within the walls I call home. For years I felt like a loser Christian, because I had friends who did everything and always complained (bragged) about being "spent for the Lord" and I thought, "oh no, God, am I not doing enough for you?"
And probably the answer is yes. Are any of us ever doing enough? No, that's wrong. Nothing is "enough" because God doesn't need "enough." But we can always do more. We can always deepen our love for God and the people He created, and that deeper love can always inspire us to serve more and care more and learn more. So sure, God can use me to do more. But it's not necessary. And more to the point, I don't think God uses all people in the same way.
I read a lot. This is not news. I sometimes feel guilty about it, though, how much time of my day I devote to my brain. But sometimes I get this image of God pouring stories and information into my head, all of which trickles out through my mouth and my fingers. Maybe I'm just one of those people that God uses to fill up with ideas and compassion so that when I interact with people not so crazy about reading, I can say, "Hey! Here's a consolidation of the last novel I read, blog I keep track of, a random quote, and something my professor said. You don't have time to take all that in, so here's a sound bite." Sometimes those sound bites stick. Sometimes all the thinking I do rubs off on others.
Liz came home yesterday and said her coworker called Liz a feminist. She wanted to tell me because she knew I'd be proud, and I was! When I first met Liz, she was skeptical about the term and the movement, but as I've wrestled with my opinions and become passionate and outspoken, she's warmed to it. I doubt she'll ever be as crazy as me, but now she cares.
That's it, I think. I'll be the crazy one, and my insane passion will spill over into other people's lives so that a new way of thinking or feeling or considering will grow in them.
And it takes courage to be crazy. Hahaha. I'm reaching, because I want to tie the end of this post back to the beginning, but the more I think about it, the truer it seems. It takes courage to be passionate, and to lose yourself in "fantasy" without caring that others think you're wasting your time. Maybe I am. I mean, I'm definitely not perfect. But God redeems everything, and if my love for reading is boring and a time-suck and wasteful, well, I'm grateful that He uses it anyway. So maybe by "courage, dear heart" my tattoo really means, "don't worry, Tricia, I've got You covered."
Which is unfortunate, because, well, the point of a tattoo was to notice it and think on it and have "courage, dear heart" shoved in my face on a regular basis. So I'm trying to do that.
But what does it mean? To be courageous? Pretty obvious when someone dies or you're confronted with a tough decision or something. But what about on a daily basis?
Today I woke up and wandered outside, where Amy and Liz were three hours into a garage sale. I went back to the air conditioning and read from a book a friend lent to me. Then I ate in the garage when Liz and her mom returned with breakfast tacos. A while later I helped store the unsold goods away and went to the pool with Liz for a couple hours. I laid out, and read some more, and talked a little. When we got home, we drank coffee and I read some more, and Liz's sister came over. They left, and I read some more, and I thought a lot, and I ate dinner.
Nothing today screamed, "OH FREAKING CRAP THIS IS TOO MUCH, TAKE COURAGE, DO IT NOW, YOU NEED COURAGE!" Perhaps I should be living in such a way as to make this scenario a daily reality. I do think there's merit to pushing yourself outside your comfort zone so you will rely on God and exercise courage.
But I think God is in the daily minutiae too. He's in the books I read and the interactions with my roommates and the comments I leave on social media sites. I mean, that's pretty boring, and while it might be true, I don't necessarily need courage.
The problem is, I'm an introvert. I like slow, predictable, small groups of people with whom I am deeply intimate, preferably within the walls I call home. For years I felt like a loser Christian, because I had friends who did everything and always complained (bragged) about being "spent for the Lord" and I thought, "oh no, God, am I not doing enough for you?"
And probably the answer is yes. Are any of us ever doing enough? No, that's wrong. Nothing is "enough" because God doesn't need "enough." But we can always do more. We can always deepen our love for God and the people He created, and that deeper love can always inspire us to serve more and care more and learn more. So sure, God can use me to do more. But it's not necessary. And more to the point, I don't think God uses all people in the same way.
I read a lot. This is not news. I sometimes feel guilty about it, though, how much time of my day I devote to my brain. But sometimes I get this image of God pouring stories and information into my head, all of which trickles out through my mouth and my fingers. Maybe I'm just one of those people that God uses to fill up with ideas and compassion so that when I interact with people not so crazy about reading, I can say, "Hey! Here's a consolidation of the last novel I read, blog I keep track of, a random quote, and something my professor said. You don't have time to take all that in, so here's a sound bite." Sometimes those sound bites stick. Sometimes all the thinking I do rubs off on others.
Liz came home yesterday and said her coworker called Liz a feminist. She wanted to tell me because she knew I'd be proud, and I was! When I first met Liz, she was skeptical about the term and the movement, but as I've wrestled with my opinions and become passionate and outspoken, she's warmed to it. I doubt she'll ever be as crazy as me, but now she cares.
That's it, I think. I'll be the crazy one, and my insane passion will spill over into other people's lives so that a new way of thinking or feeling or considering will grow in them.
And it takes courage to be crazy. Hahaha. I'm reaching, because I want to tie the end of this post back to the beginning, but the more I think about it, the truer it seems. It takes courage to be passionate, and to lose yourself in "fantasy" without caring that others think you're wasting your time. Maybe I am. I mean, I'm definitely not perfect. But God redeems everything, and if my love for reading is boring and a time-suck and wasteful, well, I'm grateful that He uses it anyway. So maybe by "courage, dear heart" my tattoo really means, "don't worry, Tricia, I've got You covered."
Friday, June 21, 2013
From This Thought to That
1) You know that moment of sweet relief when you admit something that you feel is so strange, and everyone says, "Oh I do that too!"? Well, it's very strange for the opposite to happen, to assume that your experience is universal and then to suddenly find out that it is not. Turns out everyone did not go through the suicidal teenage thing? I thought that was a thing.
2) I used to buy swimsuits in an attempt to cover up as much skin as possible. Now there are ominous strapless dresses looming in my future and the repetitious "no tan lines!" echoing in my head, so I'm stuck emailing Liz pictures of me in the dressing room with the caption "what the hell is the difference between swimwear appropriate and slutty??"
3) I don't actually like the word slutty. I don't like slut-shaming, and the idea that women, and how they choose to dress, are responsible for the actions of men. Slut-shaming is a very short step away from victim-blaming, and no matter what a woman is wearing, she's not asking to be raped. Let's put our focus on teaching boys to respect women and NOT RAPE THEM rather than teaching women how not to get raped.
4) I freaking love Michal Ann, because she sends me links to feminist things, and we talk about it, and it's this huge part of my life that so few people share. Share entirely, I mean. The Interwebs and my brother are huge feminists, and I love that, but Michal Ann is my Christian feminist buddy who sees Jesus affirming the equality of women and loving the way the Bible tells the narratives of women and gives us dignity and sadness and purpose. I want her to stop being in Turkey and start being in Texas.
5) Amy and Liz are having a garage sale tomorrow, and they're selling a bunch of stuff, and this means there is only one more week in which they will be living here. I'm not thinking about this. I'm not thinking about it so hard that I work and sulk and hole up in my room and distract myself with books and schoolwork and TV shows. It's funny how long it took for me to realize that a major source of my flirtation with depression was Liz leaving. But I'm not going to think about that, because denial is a wonderful skillset.
2) I used to buy swimsuits in an attempt to cover up as much skin as possible. Now there are ominous strapless dresses looming in my future and the repetitious "no tan lines!" echoing in my head, so I'm stuck emailing Liz pictures of me in the dressing room with the caption "what the hell is the difference between swimwear appropriate and slutty??"
3) I don't actually like the word slutty. I don't like slut-shaming, and the idea that women, and how they choose to dress, are responsible for the actions of men. Slut-shaming is a very short step away from victim-blaming, and no matter what a woman is wearing, she's not asking to be raped. Let's put our focus on teaching boys to respect women and NOT RAPE THEM rather than teaching women how not to get raped.
4) I freaking love Michal Ann, because she sends me links to feminist things, and we talk about it, and it's this huge part of my life that so few people share. Share entirely, I mean. The Interwebs and my brother are huge feminists, and I love that, but Michal Ann is my Christian feminist buddy who sees Jesus affirming the equality of women and loving the way the Bible tells the narratives of women and gives us dignity and sadness and purpose. I want her to stop being in Turkey and start being in Texas.
5) Amy and Liz are having a garage sale tomorrow, and they're selling a bunch of stuff, and this means there is only one more week in which they will be living here. I'm not thinking about this. I'm not thinking about it so hard that I work and sulk and hole up in my room and distract myself with books and schoolwork and TV shows. It's funny how long it took for me to realize that a major source of my flirtation with depression was Liz leaving. But I'm not going to think about that, because denial is a wonderful skillset.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Why I Like Kids
Okay, real post.
It hit me the other day that I'm getting paid to be a stay-at-home mom (this summer especially, since I'm with the kiddos pretty much all day) and I LIKE IT. Ah! I mean, I guess if I could read theology books and YA books and write a little on the side, I'd be okay with this career move? Also, if my hypothetical future kids are anywhere as awesome as Anju and Ketan.
This is what I like about hanging with kids all the time:
1) They make me think harder. They're always asking why, and I freaking love that game. I will come up with a new and unique answer if it kills me! Only twice in a whole year have I resorted to saying, "Because I said so." Heh heh. Take that, kids, I can totally outlast you. But I'm losing the point. I like having to think through all those steps, but I also like those teachable moments (mostly because the kids are teachable). Today Ketan said Anju was mean, and she got upset.
Anju: He said I'm mean!
Me: Were you being mean?
Anju: NO. I was being nice, but--
Me: Then it doesn't matter.
Anju: What? But I was being nice.
Me: I know. So if you know you were being nice, then what does it matter what Ketan thinks? It's like that episode of Fruits Basket we just watched, right? Haru thinks he's a fool because the cow carried the rat, and he freaks out on Yuki when he first meets him. And Yuki just says, "Well, are you a fool?" and Haru realizes he's not, so he stops being angry.
Anju: Oh, you're right. Okay.
HAHAHAH. I get to use story analysis to teach a ridiculous lesson, and she got it. Best.
2) They love doing annoying things. Anju wanted to go to Whole Foods with me, and she insisted on carrying the basket, and picking out the peaches, and putting them in the scale. Boring stuff! But seeing how excited she was about it made me want to carry the stupid basket.
3) There aren't walls. Kids all the time do and say exactly what they feel. Sometimes this is annoying, like when Anju says, "You have a pimple," and I grit out, "Yes, I do, but remember how I told you people don't like to have that sort of thing pointed out?" And other times it's just endearingly awesome, like when Anju and Alessandra faceplanted the library doors because they were desperate for the place to open. Ketan is right on the edge of gaining self-awareness (bad in this case), so he's coyly sweet, saying, "Well, I don't hate you" or "You were pretty okay at that" which means he loooves me. Both are nice, but I just really love that innocent trust that it's safe to say what you're thinking, and it's okay to do what you want to do. My life involves a lot of flailing because I'm passionate, but far too often I reign in my emotions because adulthood means containing oneself.
On the other hand, when they are hungry or tired, they are pissed. They're smart enough to say, "I'm hungry, so I'm CRANKY" but it's still annoying as hell. And then I act like the hypocrite I am and teach them about maturity meaning knowing when to hold in your opinions and when to let them out.
Alright. So awesome kids are awesome. I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude that the children I nanny are basically my clones, so everything is easy and enjoyable. Most of the time, obviously. So I guess if I were guaranteed to have kids like them, I wouldn't mind being with them all the time. Although would I? Because I'm in school. Eh, whatever. I could probably never for years at a time stay home with kids all the freaking time, but it's not as bad as all that.
(IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm not saying I've thought stay-at-home moms were crazy. I have the utmost respect for them precisely because I thought it would be so stinking hard for me to do the same. Like thinking I would never want to be a pro wrestler, because that looks insane! Now I see that maybe I could, in fact, be a pro wrestler. Er, stay-at-home mom. But I'm still going to study counseling.)
It hit me the other day that I'm getting paid to be a stay-at-home mom (this summer especially, since I'm with the kiddos pretty much all day) and I LIKE IT. Ah! I mean, I guess if I could read theology books and YA books and write a little on the side, I'd be okay with this career move? Also, if my hypothetical future kids are anywhere as awesome as Anju and Ketan.
This is what I like about hanging with kids all the time:
1) They make me think harder. They're always asking why, and I freaking love that game. I will come up with a new and unique answer if it kills me! Only twice in a whole year have I resorted to saying, "Because I said so." Heh heh. Take that, kids, I can totally outlast you. But I'm losing the point. I like having to think through all those steps, but I also like those teachable moments (mostly because the kids are teachable). Today Ketan said Anju was mean, and she got upset.
Anju: He said I'm mean!
Me: Were you being mean?
Anju: NO. I was being nice, but--
Me: Then it doesn't matter.
Anju: What? But I was being nice.
Me: I know. So if you know you were being nice, then what does it matter what Ketan thinks? It's like that episode of Fruits Basket we just watched, right? Haru thinks he's a fool because the cow carried the rat, and he freaks out on Yuki when he first meets him. And Yuki just says, "Well, are you a fool?" and Haru realizes he's not, so he stops being angry.
Anju: Oh, you're right. Okay.
HAHAHAH. I get to use story analysis to teach a ridiculous lesson, and she got it. Best.
2) They love doing annoying things. Anju wanted to go to Whole Foods with me, and she insisted on carrying the basket, and picking out the peaches, and putting them in the scale. Boring stuff! But seeing how excited she was about it made me want to carry the stupid basket.
3) There aren't walls. Kids all the time do and say exactly what they feel. Sometimes this is annoying, like when Anju says, "You have a pimple," and I grit out, "Yes, I do, but remember how I told you people don't like to have that sort of thing pointed out?" And other times it's just endearingly awesome, like when Anju and Alessandra faceplanted the library doors because they were desperate for the place to open. Ketan is right on the edge of gaining self-awareness (bad in this case), so he's coyly sweet, saying, "Well, I don't hate you" or "You were pretty okay at that" which means he loooves me. Both are nice, but I just really love that innocent trust that it's safe to say what you're thinking, and it's okay to do what you want to do. My life involves a lot of flailing because I'm passionate, but far too often I reign in my emotions because adulthood means containing oneself.
On the other hand, when they are hungry or tired, they are pissed. They're smart enough to say, "I'm hungry, so I'm CRANKY" but it's still annoying as hell. And then I act like the hypocrite I am and teach them about maturity meaning knowing when to hold in your opinions and when to let them out.
Alright. So awesome kids are awesome. I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude that the children I nanny are basically my clones, so everything is easy and enjoyable. Most of the time, obviously. So I guess if I were guaranteed to have kids like them, I wouldn't mind being with them all the time. Although would I? Because I'm in school. Eh, whatever. I could probably never for years at a time stay home with kids all the freaking time, but it's not as bad as all that.
(IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm not saying I've thought stay-at-home moms were crazy. I have the utmost respect for them precisely because I thought it would be so stinking hard for me to do the same. Like thinking I would never want to be a pro wrestler, because that looks insane! Now I see that maybe I could, in fact, be a pro wrestler. Er, stay-at-home mom. But I'm still going to study counseling.)
Whoops
Oh no! I forgot to post something yesterday!
And today's post: mentioning I forgot to post something yesterday!
And today's post: mentioning I forgot to post something yesterday!
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Into Darkness
What is it that makes us like darkness? Metaphorical.
I don't like scary movies. THEY FREAKING TERRIFY ME. I can't even watch scary trailers. I can't even listen to scary movies. This used to embarrass me, because I guess watching horror films is a bit of a rite of passage? But now it just seems ridiculous--I honestly don't understand why someone would deliberately do something to scare themselves.
But then I fall off my high horse where serious eff-ed up stories are concerned. I've always been a fan of dark humor, like haha death and stuff! And then when you get into deeply manipulative and well, everything I can think of to describe this stuff involves the f-word. A tamer version that does not capture the power the emotion is: stories that mess with your head.
Those things where you read or watch something and think, "How could someone DO that!?" and it repulses you, but if the story is done well, you've been pulled into the action, and the weird thing is, you do understand.
Maybe that's the sick appeal. Being pulled so deeply into a narrative that you understand someone's actions, no matter how reprehensible. Alright, so maybe not everything. We've all got our limits. It is near freaking impossible for me to accept being in the head of a rapist or serial killer. But there are a lot of other ways in which a person can screw someone over, and I just really enjoy blinking through a story, thinking, "How am I feeling compassion for this horrible person?"
Now that I write it out, it's not such a mystery. I lately realized that my central driving force is the desire to understand (I mean, this was a pretty big self-revelation, and I feel bad that I shunted it to the middle of a blog post on a separate topic). I want to know WHY, and about everything, but especially people. That is why I've always been drawn to literature and psychology and counseling. So of course dark stories are appealing to me; they help me understand the darkness and depravity that people are capable of. And through understanding comes compassion.
It's fair to say that this is potentially dangerous. Well, I GET why that woman cheated on her husband, and don't I feel bad, so maybe adultery isn't always horrible? Right, it's hard to keep a hold of morality and absolute truth when you're confronted with stories outside the norm. And that's true, and I worry about that sometimes. But also...I don't think that's a good enough reason to avoid such things? Not all the time, at least. I want to have the courage to, kind of, metaphorically hold onto the rope of Christ and then jump into the abyss of humanity. Hahaha.
Oh my gosh, I'm not even trying to be coherent anymore. Basically I read a really screwed up story online, and it has OVERRUN my brain, and I know it's an awful story (so I'm not describing it or telling you what it was, because frankly I'm a bit embarrassed I read it), but I can't stop thinking about it. It was SO depraved, but so well-written, and each step taken by the characters was obviously a bad one, but it made total sense within the narrative. It was fascinating! It so accurately portrayed real life, how it's not like we think, "I'm going to kill someone today!" but a series of tiny steps can naturally and subtly progress to something "unthinkable."
Like I said, this thing took over my brain, and I had to process somewhere, so....there's my blog post for today!
I don't like scary movies. THEY FREAKING TERRIFY ME. I can't even watch scary trailers. I can't even listen to scary movies. This used to embarrass me, because I guess watching horror films is a bit of a rite of passage? But now it just seems ridiculous--I honestly don't understand why someone would deliberately do something to scare themselves.
But then I fall off my high horse where serious eff-ed up stories are concerned. I've always been a fan of dark humor, like haha death and stuff! And then when you get into deeply manipulative and well, everything I can think of to describe this stuff involves the f-word. A tamer version that does not capture the power the emotion is: stories that mess with your head.
Those things where you read or watch something and think, "How could someone DO that!?" and it repulses you, but if the story is done well, you've been pulled into the action, and the weird thing is, you do understand.
Maybe that's the sick appeal. Being pulled so deeply into a narrative that you understand someone's actions, no matter how reprehensible. Alright, so maybe not everything. We've all got our limits. It is near freaking impossible for me to accept being in the head of a rapist or serial killer. But there are a lot of other ways in which a person can screw someone over, and I just really enjoy blinking through a story, thinking, "How am I feeling compassion for this horrible person?"
Now that I write it out, it's not such a mystery. I lately realized that my central driving force is the desire to understand (I mean, this was a pretty big self-revelation, and I feel bad that I shunted it to the middle of a blog post on a separate topic). I want to know WHY, and about everything, but especially people. That is why I've always been drawn to literature and psychology and counseling. So of course dark stories are appealing to me; they help me understand the darkness and depravity that people are capable of. And through understanding comes compassion.
It's fair to say that this is potentially dangerous. Well, I GET why that woman cheated on her husband, and don't I feel bad, so maybe adultery isn't always horrible? Right, it's hard to keep a hold of morality and absolute truth when you're confronted with stories outside the norm. And that's true, and I worry about that sometimes. But also...I don't think that's a good enough reason to avoid such things? Not all the time, at least. I want to have the courage to, kind of, metaphorically hold onto the rope of Christ and then jump into the abyss of humanity. Hahaha.
Oh my gosh, I'm not even trying to be coherent anymore. Basically I read a really screwed up story online, and it has OVERRUN my brain, and I know it's an awful story (so I'm not describing it or telling you what it was, because frankly I'm a bit embarrassed I read it), but I can't stop thinking about it. It was SO depraved, but so well-written, and each step taken by the characters was obviously a bad one, but it made total sense within the narrative. It was fascinating! It so accurately portrayed real life, how it's not like we think, "I'm going to kill someone today!" but a series of tiny steps can naturally and subtly progress to something "unthinkable."
Like I said, this thing took over my brain, and I had to process somewhere, so....there's my blog post for today!
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