Questions from Inside the Actors Studio.

Have you ever seen Inside the Actors Studio?
At the end of every interview, there is a series of questions asked.
It's 10 questions based upon the Proust Questionnaire, which had more than 10 questions. I may answer all of those questions later.
But for now, I'll settle with the basic 10 questions.

1. What is your favorite word?
1. Liquor. But not for the reasons you may think. Just for how it sounds. It sounds beautiful.
2. What is your least favorite word?
1. Creamer. 
3. What turns you on?
1. Intelligence, a sense of humor, beards. 
4. What turns you off?
1. Cruelty. 
5. What sound or noise do you love?
1. The laughter of a baby or child.
6. What sound or noise do you hate?
1. An alarm clock.
7. What is your favorite curse word?
1. Goddamitsomuch!
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? 
1. Executive assistant, midwife or mortician. 
9. What profession would you not like to do?
1. Slaughter house.
10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
1. Ha! Told you I was real, bitch! Anyway, get the fuck in here. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

The way I was wired

Sometimes I have these moments during the day when I have to stop. It's not cause I'm stressed out or have too much to do but rather I can feel my depression tightening its grip on me.
And I feel I'm never going to be good enough for anything or anyone. It's stupid and futile to keep fighting the inevitable depression that is constant in my life.
And I have to stop.
I have to stop whatever it is I'm doing and remind myself in a very real and literal way that I matter. I am good and I'm doing just fine. And everything is going to be okay.
I wish I didn't have to take the time to stop and remind myself that I have worth, that it'd just be inherent and obvious to me all the time.
But that's not how my brain was wired.
I was born with a defective brain in the sense that I have to make the conscious decision to push against what my brain is wired to do.
Because of the way my DNA decided to line up, my brain's default mode is depressed. I mean this in a very real way. I am always depressed. I have to push myself, force myself out of it and fight against my very nature in order to feel happy. It doesn't always work. And some days are harder than others.
A few weeks ago, I was really happy. I was happy every single day of the week. I didn't feel depressed and I went to bed without any despair. I could focus on my work without having to stop and push down the feeling of hopelessness that is always kept at bay. I felt joy in my interactions with others and didn't feel like it's all pointless. I felt like real connection was possible. That's a very odd thing to happen for me. It was an abnormal week for me.
I wish it could always be like that. I have so many things to be happy about and I know I should be happy. But, like I said, it's just not how it works for me. And so I have to constantly fight to get happiness in my life.
I don't know why I'm telling you all this.

Love you.
Mean it.

Withdrawals

I've written about this before, my attempt to not be on medications anymore. Since the the last time I've written about this, I've gone down to just taking two medications— a big improvement from the six I was taking a few years ago. And even the dosage of those medications has reduced drastically. But now I'm trying to go from two to just one. And it's not easy.

The trouble with taking a medication for nearly 10 years is your body is used to it so much so that when you cease the input, your body hates you. I've experienced withdrawals before and they're just horrible. I'm currently experiencing them again though not as intense as they can be. There are no cold sweats. I'm not shaking uncontrollably. I'm still slightly sensitive to light and sound but it's not too bad The only thing really bothering me is my head is killing me and my body feels weird, like I'm not sure it really belongs to me. I'm trying to take it easy over the next few days till my body readjusts itself.

My decision to stop being on medication primarily comes from the very fact I've been on them so long. I don't really recall a time when I wasn't on them. I want to see if I can function without them.

I'm not saying medications are bad. In fact, I'd claim the opposite. Medication and therapy definitely have their place. I wouldn't have gotten through the shit I've been through without them. The decision to go off them is a personal one and should not be judged by anyone.

I'm sorry if this post doesn't make any sense. My head is throbbing and the screen light isn't helping.
But I wanted to explain what was going on and why I'm doing it.

Love you.
Mean it.

Jealousy is the cousin of greed

There is this song, "The Curse of Curves" by the band Cute is What We Aim For. It has a line that says, "Jealousy is the cousin of greed." Since lyrics are open to interpretation, I've taken that particular line to mean that jealousy is closely tied to greed, meaning you don't believe you have enough in your life and you desire more.

I've always like that. I thought it was pretty poignant.

But I've never really had a problem with jealousy. My entire life, I've never been seriously jealous of anyone. Even when I went through the worst of the worst of my depression, where I hated my life and hated my existence and pretty much hate everything, I never really felt jealous of anyone or their life. I don't know if this is because I was too caught up in my own despair or I figured everyone's else's life is fake because they couldn't accept that life was meaningless. Whatever the reason, I was never, ever jealous of anyone else's life.

But recently, I've found myself encountering feelings of jealousy more and more, lately.

And it's weird. It's a new feeling. And I don't know what to do about it.

I see people on Facebook and they're building houses, they have enough money to build a house. And I get jealous because I rent a small, one bedroom apartment.

I see people going on trips to Spain and England and Europe and I get jealous.

And even simple things make me jealous.

Like I see my ex-boyfriend. He and his current girlfriend have moved in together into a small basement apartment.

And I got jealous. I have NO desire to get back together with him. That'd be awful. I mean, we definitely broke up for a reason.

But I jealous. Not over him but over concept that he had someone and they were living together and they were happy.

I see groups of friends together, laughing and joking together. And I get jealous because I don't have that here in Logan. I have a few acquaintances here and there. But I don't have a solid group of friends, which is frustrating. And so whenever I see a group of friends and that camaraderie, I get super jealous.

I don't know how one handles jealousy. Again, this is a completely new emotion for me. I cannot remember a time when I was this jealous all the time and of everybody.

It's kind of stupid. It's like I'm jealous of  every single person I encounter.

I'll admit that I'm having a hard time here in Logan. It's not because of my job. I love my job. I absolutely love my job. But it's because I don't have a social life, I don't have that feeling of community or connection or a place where I belong or a place where I'm accepted. I don't have those people I can call up and hang out with or a place where I can go where people love an accept me.

I think no matter where a person goes or what they do, they need to have a sense of belonging, they need to have friendship. Otherwise, what's really the point of everything?

My life revolves around my work. And I'm not saying that like those people who work 60+ hours a week. I mean, there really is nothing else in my life except my job. I get up. I got to work. I do my job. Then I come home and try to fill the remaining hours in a day. I have hobbies, yes, like cross stitch and comics. But, as Norman Bates said in Psycho, "Hobbies are suppose to pass the time, not fill it."

The trouble is I don't know how an adult is suppose to make friends. In the past, I've had church or college. Both served as a jumping off point to form friendships. Since I no longer have either of those in my life, I don't know what to do.

I've been trying to be brave and put myself in situations that scare me, as in going out by myself and try to interact with people. I know I come off as awkward and weird. I try not to be but I'm pretty sure that's all I am nowadays. But the point is I'm trying. I'm trying to go out and meet people and make friends or, at the very least, not feel so goddamn alone, even if it's only for an hour.

I guess my jealousy is closely related to greed. I do want more in my life. I want more meaning. I want more purpose. I want some place where I feel like I belong. But maybe it's not such a bad thing, to be greedy. I mean, it's easy to want more when you have nothing.

Love you.
Mean it.

You get what everyone else gets...

I recently found out that a friend from high school died last week. She was in a car accident and had a seizure. Her funeral was on Saturday. I only found out cause an old boyfriend of mine thought to text me about it.

It really shocked me. She was my age, recently married, happy. She and I were bridesmaids at our mutual friend's wedding back in 2009. She had her whole life ahead of her. She didn't deserve to die.

People react to death in a number of ways. My reaction was shock and then anger, real bloody anger. I'm an atheist but if there was a god, I'd punch him in the face for pulling this type of shit.

It's funny how when people encounter a death like this, a seemingly random, unjustified death, they begin to ponder their own mortality and question their own belief system. I did something similar to that but it didn't really change anything. I mean, I'm still an atheist. I don't believe there is a god out there and even if there were, this type of occurrence proves he doesn't give a shit about us.

If anything, it only reaffirmed my belief in being a good person. This life is all we got. It really doesn't matter if there is something after this existence or not.

This life is all we get to do as much good as possible, to change as many things for the better. If there is a god and an afterlife and such, then we'll be rewarded. If there isn't, we left the world a better place than when we found it. Unless you're an insufferable prick, shouldn't that be the ideal to strive for?

Who knows how long we have on this "pale blue dot?" Faith and religion have nothing to do with choosing to live your life for goodness.

As Neil Gaiman put it, "You get what everyone else gets—you get a lifetime." 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Old bedroom

Right now, I'm laying in my old room at my parents' place. I'm not even laying on a proper bed, just a sleeping pad they've thrown on my old daybed frame. There is no other furniture in the room & nothing on the walls. It's really strange being in here once again. This was my room for over 12 years. It was the only place in the whole house that was truly mine. I wrote some of my first creative works in room. I talked & texted numerous boyfriends & crushes. I prayed fervently to a god I'd later realize doesn't exist. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I'd like to remember. I hurt myself, cut myself in this room in an attempt to make all the pain & depression go away. I read countless books in here, falling in love with each one. I cuddled with pets that have since passed away & have felt the loneliness when they are gone. I live my life in this room. It was mine & it experienced the best and worst of my life.

But it's no longer my room, not really anyway. My folks plan on turning it into a guest bedroom for when us kids come to visit. They're going to repaint over the baby blue I begged them to let me paint the walls. After that, it really won't be my room. It will only be memories, good & bad.

Love you.
Mean it.

Hope I'm not bothering you

I always figured that no one wants to hear the lonely words of a depressed girl. Folks have enough shit to deal with in their lives that adding a deluge of melancholy emotions to it is just going to be a waste of their time. Not to mention, depression seems so common these days. You can't throw a rock without hitting someone who's having to deal with feelings of depression. It's nothing unique. There's nothing remarkable about being depressed so really, what's the point in sharing those thoughts and emotions with people?

I always figured that if I really needed to share my lonely words, my depressed thoughts, I have to at least make them beautiful, albeit in a tragic, heartbreaking kind of way. That way I'm adding a bit of beauty to this work, even if it's a bit dark and haunting. It's not just me trying to get attention or just being depressed in the same kind of way everyone else is. No one cares about one more depressed person. I've got to try and make something out of this depression. If people are going to read my depressed and lonely words, at least make them feel something real.

Sometimes I succeed and I create something I'm proud of later. Those words that I put down are created solely out of desperation, a desire to stop feeling so bad, to get all that badness and heartache and haunting out of me and into words. I force all that badness into something devastating yet beautiful. And then when I look back on those words when I'm not trying to dig myself out of a pit of darkness, I fully appreciate what I have created.

Sometimes it doesn't work and I make something that's pathetic, trite and a waste. Like I said, depression is common. There's nothing new or refreshing about it. And I'm not the first one that's tried to create something out of it, tried to force some beauty into it. Unfortunately, it's so easy to make depression a cliche, to turn real human pain into something expected and dull. And no one wants to read that.

I guess what I'm trying to say is making beauty out of my depression is the most effective way to get rid of it. But those days when all I can make is shitty cliche tripe, it's just better if I keep it to myself, for everyone involved.

Love you.
Mean it.

Please save me from the monsters

I sometimes send out late night texts to certain people. I'm sure everyone has done something similar. We do it for various reasons. Me? I'm just looking for someone to talk to, even if it's through communication's most empty form.

I hate the night. Facing nights alone is almost unbearable.

When you were really little, you believed monsters came out at night. Monsters always come out in the dark. That's why you were so afraid of the dark. When you got older, you stopped believing that because you were too old to believe in monsters anymore.

When you reach adulthood, you realized monsters are indeed real and they do come out at night. But they aren't the gouls & demons in physical form that frightened you as a child. No. They are the thoughts that haunt you, torment you, those memories you can't seem to forget. The reality of your mortality is a monster, as is the knowledge of your loneliness and the fear of insanity.

So when I reach out & send those texts late at night, no matter what I write, I'm only saying one thing: Please save me from the monsters.

March 12: Just another day.

It's been two years and two days since the worst day of my life. After that day, I never thought life would be the same again. I was so sure that I had lost everything and that day would haunt me for the rest of my life.

But a funny thing happened. The day, March 12, came and went and I didn't remember it. It didn't even really register on my mind. It wasn't the anniversary of the worst day of my life. It was just March 12, a Monday, the first real day of spring break.

I spent the day applying for jobs then, in the evening, I went to a meeting for the Coalition Against Discrimination. After the meeting, I went dumpster diving for the first time in my life with my friends in the coalition (it's not as gross as it sounds. Plus, free pizza!) then we went back to the house and watched "Fargo" while eating semi-stolen pizza and drinking whiskey. It was a nice day.

I guess this is the best possible thing that could happen in regards to March 12. I am no longer haunted by that day, by what happened, by the thought that I lost everything.

Admittedly, I did lose everything. I lost my home. I lost my sense of belonging. I lost my friends and the family we had created with each other.

But now, everything is different. I found belonging in the newsroom. I found direction in journalism. Ironically, the worst day of my life was the cause of the greatest decision of my life. Funny how life turns out sometimes.

Last year when I wrote about the anniversary of the worst day of my life, I finished it by saying, "Happy goddamn anniversary, Kelly. Maybe next year it'll just be another day." I didn't think it would actually happen. But it did. It's just another day now.

Love you.
Mean it.

Me sans medication

When I was 16 years old, I was diagnosed with a handful of emotional and mental disorders, including ADHD, generalized anxiety disorder, clinical depression, and bipolar 2. At the time, the only way for me to cope with these disorders, primarily caused by chemical imbalances in my brain, was to go on medication. I have since taken various medications every day for the last eight years. A little less than a month ago, I talked to my doctor about going off all of my medications.

This decision was not one I reached easily. My main motivation is I've been on medications for so long that I don't really know what it is like to not be on them. I wanted to know if I could get by without them. While I will never deny the good those medications did for me when I was younger (at the time, it was one of the only ways I could function), I feel that it's time I don't use them anymore.

The trouble is it's a lot harder emotionally than I anticipated. It seems my brain is determined to continue to have chemical imbalances. It's weird. There are times when I experience symptoms of my depression or bipolar 2 and I know that I am experiencing them because logically I have no reason to be depressed or melancholy. The thing is that even though I know that my feelings are illogical and are just a result of my brain not working properly, I can't force myself to be happy. No matter how hard I try, I can't just "snap out of it." And trust me, I try really, really hard.

It's incredibly frustrating to sometimes have no control over my own emotions, to be at the mercy of stupid chemicals and misfirings in my brain. And to know that without medication, this may be a forever type of thing. This may be something I have to deal with for the rest of my life, all because my brain malfunctions for some reason.

Even though it's been hard, I'm staying the course. I'm not 100 percent off my medications yet but by working with my doctor and lowering my dosages, I'll probably be off all of them by the end of the month. And even though I'm determined to see this through to the end, I know that things might get a lot worse before they get better.

Wish me luck.

Love you.
Mean it.

Remember the best.

Two nights ago, I went out for coffee with three friends.
These friends represented three very different parts of my life.

First, there was Ashley, my best friend from high school. We'd been through so much together. We played Helena & Hermia in "Midsummer Night's Dream" our senior year. We had bonded up at Rock Canyon park after our mutual friend's wedding when we finally admitted to each other that we had our doubts about the church. I had been her winglady & protector. She had been my cheerleader & comfort. We had so many memories, inside jokes, stories together.

Then there was Sean, my Numero Uno. He was my rock back in Cedar City. He was there for me on the worst day of my life. He let me crash on his couch when I needed to come back "home." He listened to me and trust my judgment when he needed help. He was there for me when no one else was. He was my last remaining connection to Cedar City, to the life I knew I could never get back.

Finally, there was Jeff, my old assistant and my only real friend within 200 miles. He's the only guy who not only could keep up with me but wouldn't let me get away with anything. He'd call me out on my shit and I'd have to backtrack my statements. He's the only one I trust enough with my biggest secret and even though he let it slip just one time, I still trust him because I know he's good for it. He's the one I come to now for help or advice or just when I need someone to talk to.

It was odd to see these three people together. It was almost the sum total of my adult life was represented before me in the stories associated with these three people. Each one reminded me of a time and place that I once belonged to.

There's this brilliant quote from Doctor Who that says, "However dark it got, I'd turn around and there they'd be. If it's time to go, remember what you're leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me." I believe this is true for me. My friends have always, always been the best part of my life and even when time goes by & I lose touch, it doesn't mean that their friendship, their influence still doesn't effect me. It's a constant thing. A good friend isn't easily forgotten.

Not that I would ever want to forget them.

Love you.
Mean it.

Grieving for my grandma

My grandmother died two weeks ago. Today was her funeral. I had been to funerals before but had never participated in one. My grandmother's death is the first time someone close to me has passed away, as I have mentioned before. The service was lovely, with my mom and her three sisters speaking on lessons my grandmother had taught them. She was a wonderful, kind, and charming woman who knew no limits of love and charity. She believed in being kind to others, and serving them in anyway possible.

My grandmother's death has been a bizarre experience for me. During these last two weeks, I have felt sad, yes, but mostly I've felt okay. My grandmother wasn't doing too well towards the end and I know she's at peace now. I know she's surrounded by her brothers, parents, and loving husband. I know that. There is no doubt in my mind. The first time I cried was at the funeral today, partly because I saw my mother crying and can never stay dry-eyed when I see her crying. But for the most part, I've been fairly okay these past two weeks.

To give you an idea of how my mind works, here's an little anecdote for you. When my mom came into my room to tell me grandma had died, she said the funeral would be on the 13th. My first thought, in all seriousness, was "What do they do with grandma till then? Where do they keep her? How do they keep her 'fresh?'" This is how I reacted to the death of my grandma, not with tears or heartache but with the very practical technical question of what they do with her body until the funeral.

I've heard there's no right way to grieve. I suppose that's true, even though I do feel odd about not "weeping or wailing" over the passing of my grandma. She was old and not well. Death brought a certain release from that state.

I will miss her. I will always miss her.

Love you.
Mean it.

You know me, I love a good story.

Everyone has stories. A person's life is made up of a series of stories, some joyful, some hilarious, some ironic, some tragic. Some of these stories we tell to a group of friends with comedic precision. Others we keep secret, silent, shared only in the dark, between the sheets. It's these stories that make us human, that help us to connect with others. It's through the exchange of stories we know we're not alone.

Sometimes, all we know about other people comes from the stories others tell about them.  I never knew my granddad. He died when I was a year old. All I know about  Bennion Rhead Cannon comes from stories my family has told over and over. All I have are the stories.

There is a time in my life that I try not to think about. Even though it spanned four years, I avoid thinking about any moment from then because when that time ended, it ended horrifically, painfully. Now when I think back to that time, it brings a terrible mixture of sorrow and happiness.

But lately, I've been thinking about moments, of stories from that time that weren't bad, that were actually quite lovely. Like when I spent the night with Josh and we took shots of rum out of wine glasses. Or when Sean and I would go shooting together. Or when I spent Easter weekend with Sage's family. Or when Brian and I stayed up all night talking about philosophy. Or watching Pan's Labyrinth with Gus. Or any memory with Gus. Those were all wonderful times. Those are all wonderful stories.

The span of those four years is itself one giant story, one with a tragic ending. But individual chapters or even small paragraphs are good stories, wonderful stories, stories worth remembering.

I can't let the overall bad ending make me forget the good stories in between.

Love you.
Mean it.

Long Nights

I can remember long nights talking to you. It's how we ended each day.
Whoever went to bed first called or texted the other to say goodnight.
I'd try to remember your smell as I struggled to stay awake so I could talk to you for just a bit longer.
I remember you making me laugh in the darkness, even though we were hundreds of miles away.
I don't remember what we talked about. It was probably mostly about nothing.
But I guess, in the end, it didn't matter.
Because all of those conversations about nothing "meant more to me than so many somethings."
I remember those long nights, falling asleep to your voice.

Not everything that happened between us was bad.

Love you.
Mean it.

I'll See You When I See You

You see, the funny thing about growing older is you become more aware of the differences between things that are real and things that are just nice ideas. The biggest example in my life seems to be constantly happening.

People come into our lives for an indiscriminate amount of time. These people can be coworkers, classmates, casual acquaintances, or whatever. They have an effect on you. It may be small, so small you don't even really notice it. But everyone who comes into our lives affects it somehow.

Sometimes these people have a huge effect on us. Sometimes, just sometimes, these people who were once strangers become one of the most important aspects of our lives. Those moments are rare but they are beautiful.

But then, these people, as all people must, leave for some other destination. It may be they're done with school. They may have a better job offer somewhere else. Sometimes people just grow apart.

What makes these moments so difficult as an adult is you recognize the very sincere possibility you may never see each other again. As kids, we were always making vows that you'd be best friends forever, that you'd always stay in touch, that nothing could keep you apart. I remember promising this to a few best friends. I can't remember the last time we spoke. I don't know what's going on in their lives any more. I don't know where they are. I don't know if they're still alive.

As adults, we know people leave and we know sometimes they never come back. When they do leave, they do so without any pretense that we will see each other again. We hope we do but we know it's just not probable. The best we can hope for is expressed in a line we tell each other as we part: "I'll see you when I see you."

That line holds so much pain to me. It expresses the childlike desire to keep our friends close to us coupled with the cynicism and realism of adulthood. It's an ugly line, without hope.

These people were strangers one moment, then they transformed into something so important to us, and then the next moment they're nothing but a memory. I really wish it wasn't this way. I wish saying goodbye and the hopeless "I'll see you when I see you" wasn't apart of growing up. But it is.

When we were young, the idea that you will see each other again made the departure less painful. Now, as adults, we don't have any such lies to comfort us. We know that everyone leaves and very rarely do they ever come back.

Love you.
Mean it.

I Just Ran: A Confession

He was always so sweet to me. He always had something nice to say, always there to make me smile when I was so angry. I gave him hope outside the world he was trapped in.

How did I repay such kindness, such sweetness?

I ran.
I left him in an unfamiliar bar in an unfamiliar town and I ran away.
No explanation. No apology. I just ran.

Don't ask me why I did it. It seemed like the best option at the time.
I sat there, making an effort at conversation, and I realized what I had done. I had led this guy to believe there was something more than friendship between us. I had let him drive hundreds of miles to see me when I didn't want to spend a moment with him. I saw the reality of what I had done and what kind of person that made me.

When you come face to face with the reality of who you really are, you either accept it, go mad or run away. And I ran.

I still haven't spoken to him since. He sends me messages now and then, asking for forgiveness for a crime he didn't commit.

He doesn't understand what kind of person I am. He holds me to this standard I cannot reach, that I have no desire of ever reaching. Maybe he's naive. Maybe I let him be naive. Maybe I let him think I am that person because she's a better person than I can ever hope to be.

I'd like to think I'm a good person, that I'm kind to others and try to think of others before myself. I'd like to think I can attack my problems head-on, talking through them like an adult. But just because I'd like to think this way doesn't make it true.

I'm no good
and given the opportunity,
I will run.

Love you.
Mean it.

Thoughts That Will Destroy Me

I'm only writing this cause I can't sleep.

Even as I type these words out, I feel the futility of it all.

I've been trapped in a hollow melancholy lately, the kind that makes anything seem pointless. I've fallen behind in work and school, but lack the proper worry to actually do anything about it. It's more than just "not caring." It's a questioning of why caring is so goddamn important in the first place.

I can't sleep. It feels like too many thoughts are piled up in my head because I've been ignoring them. For someone who prides herself on her quick, intelligent mind, I don't want to think about hardly anything anymore. I know my mind needs a good purge, but I just don't have the effort. I'm willing to let these thoughts fester in my mind a bit longer, poison me for a few more days, thoughts that will destroy me.

Jealousy over a good friend's new found and well deserved happiness
Constant anger towards those I should love
Insecurities and fears growing at an alarming rate
My ever present yearning for real connection juxtaposed against my newfound anti social tendencies
The replaying of poor choices that seem to prove I am horrible

That's just the beginning. It never ends.

I'll try to find my way to morning. No promises though.

Love you.
Mean it.

Where No One Knows Me.

I want to leave this place and go somewhere completely new, where no one knows me.

The trouble is I've lived in Utah my entire life, 82% of that has been in Provo. Everyone here knows me, has a set definition of who I am. And that definition will never change. No matter if I try to change it or not, their idea of me is fixed, immovable. It's imprisoning, knowing you can never escape pre-made ideas and definitions of your identity, regardless if they're accurate or not.

That's why I want to leave. I want to go somewhere I've never been before, where no one knows me. I'll have true freedom once again. When I moved to Cedar City, I didn't know a single soul. There was this constant feeling of release from imprisoning pre-made definitions. People would learn who I was through slow discovery. And I, in turn, let them discover who I was. It was invigorating, inspiring.

I want that again. I want to go somewhere where there can be that discovery again. I want that freedom.

Love you.
Mean it.

Satan Isn't Real

Recently someone asked me if I believed in the existence of satan. I have explained before my view on who/what god is. With this idea of god, I do not believe in satan. To me, satan is a creation of man to help explain why people do "evil" things. The idea of this powerful evil being who whispers in the ears of man, tempting him to do bad things is just preposterous. If god isn't there to lay out what is "good," how can there be a satan to tempt man to do "bad?"

I feel that the idea of satan was created as a strange comfort to man in the sense it made satan the cause of evil instead of man. I believe all the evil in this world (and goodness for that matter) comes from man and man alone. This is an uncomfortable thought for many people. They do not want to believe that evil comes from them, that they are solely responsible for that evil. They created the idea of satan as a scapegoat of sorts.

However, my disbelief in satan does not mean I do not believe in evil spirits or forces. I've mentioned this before that I do believe in the existence of evil spirits who were so evil in this world that they must endure extreme pain, agony, and fear on this Earth before they continue on to the suffering of hell. I do not believe these spirits can harm people; they no longer have that power. But people can feel their presence and the evil that still lingers there.

I hope that makes sense. I'm somewhat in a rush to finish. I'm going camping with my family and I needed to leave about 40 minutes ago. Oh, well.

Love you.
Mean it.

Argument To Stay Cynical

It's nights like tonight that remind me why I should always be cynical.

It seems I sometimes forget that people lie for their own benefit. They manipulate others because they can. And, more than anything, they don't see why this is wrong.

I had my heart broken by a prick tonight. Turns out I'm really good at getting guys who want to 'fool around' with me but never date me. What's really funny is nearly two weeks ago, I had already written this guy off as a lying prick who couldn't be trusted. But then I did something really stupid. I gave him a second chance. Hey, I've been wrong before. Maybe he's not the manipulating bastard I first took him for.

Sometimes, I really hate being right.

I've been trying to fight my cynical nature, trying to find the good in people & trust that goodness.

Well, so much for that.

Love you.
Mean it.