Tag Archives: happy

Why You Are Better Than Me

The author weaves a story with voices, both in out of the characters awareness. The narrator may bring much to the table, lest the characters exclusively take his role.

Even so, the character’s mind brings more to the scene than we might in our own. Are we the characters in our story? The heroes and champions of our novel like non-fiction? Or are we the writer, putting much of our heart into what happens, subtly manipulating events in hopes to achieve a goal. Do we reach that goal? Or perhaps our audience misunderstands and under-appreciates our efforts, instead casting their own ideas, blanketing all that we prepared. Or. Perhaps we ARE the audience, interacting with this entertaining display to reach our pleasures. Or, perhaps we feel the narrator is more in keeping with who we are someone else dictating our thoughts and impulses, feelings and motivations.

Maybe we like move around. I think people are fluid like that. But even so, when we change from author to audience, how much really changes? Don’t we have something characteristically “us”? Don’t we bring our own inescapable perceptions with us no matter the role?

I’m…. inadequate. I have an inferiority complex. I need to show others why I am smart, and then act humbled when I am complimented on my efforts, ideas, and results. I need that constant validation to remind me that I am who I want to be. I don’t look down on others, most of the time I truly feel that they are worth more than me. When I dissent with people, I am frustrated, but often relent, both because that feels the right thing to do and because they may have more value in this world than I.

An example: We have a very strong-willed and agitated neighbor. She has a couple of children, one of which is autistic. I don’t rightfully know the age of these children, but the autistic one seems to probably be around 3 years old. We ran into a huge confrontation with our neighbor, our yard was continuously being flooded. This was because the water would run in their yard directly from the faucet for hours at a time on occasion. It did not appear our neighbor was consistently watching her kids, seeming to rely on the older child to keep the younger one safe.

During our first confrontation with our neighbor, we did not know the child was autistic though we had suspicions he might have some sort of special needs because of the sounds he made while playing. Finally when we were enduring the immense flooding (our entire yard and spilled across to the opposite side into our driveway, hard to really explain, but it was an extreme amount, not just along the fence we shared) for the fifth time I think I politely asked whoever was out there to keep the water in their pool because our yard was being flooded. My glasses were off because I had just finished setting up a bed frame and was under it, I could not see who was out there clearly but I got a nod and thanked them. When I first started requesting the water be turned off, I had not reached the fence either and was instead assuming an adult was out there watching the child (at the time I also did not know there was another child). So I go inside and say to my fiance I am not sure if that was an adult or an older child, but the water was turned off and I felt relieved that a solution seemed to have been reached.

A few minutes later our neighbor, the adult one, walks up to the fence we share and starts shouting at us, and yes we are inside at this point. She yells about how dare we talk to her kids that way and how they can run water all the way to Japan if they would so like. My fiance went to confront her after enduring a few minutes of verbal abuse and the situation didn’t really improve. I freaked out because I felt like I did something wrong. “How dare I talk to her children. She’s right, I didn’t even CHECK for an adult first. Shit, I messed up.” My brain is stuttering trying to right itself, reminding me that I was extremely polite. “But I really messed up, fuck.” “No, children are just easily intimidated, I you remember being a child right?”

All this time of this panicking and mixed dialogue, my fiance is engaging this wrath. I finally realize that I need to go address and say something, anything. I can’t leave her out there. That’s also messed up. I go out and the first thing I say is an apology that falls apart because I start tensing up again. I try to explain I didn’t know an adult was out there. The situation de-escalates a smidge and we go inside finally. Following day, my lovely fiance delivers cookies and little plush cows, “mini moos”, from chick-fil-a. They seem to be accepted and so we feel our olive branch mended the situation.

Fast forward a couple weeks, the yard is flooded again. HUGE confrontation. Way worse than last time. At this point we are informed by the woman that her child is autistic and this is the only way he really seems to have fun. Although that information is disseminated quite violently and with a great deal of vulgarity. I somehow remained calm, I don’t know how, God gave me some sort of stillness in the moment. Our neighbor seemed to punctuate her insults and exclamations by pounding her hand on the brick wall. She insisted she was pregnant or she would be “beating the shit” out of my fiance. Also if my fiance’s man (that’s me) weren’t here, same thing. I keep trying to return to the issue of compromise. We don’t want to take her son’s playing in the water away, but she will interpret this conversation as nothing else. Amidst her rantings and screaming about how my fiance should be “fucked up the ass with no Vaseline” she laments that she doesn’t have the money to regularly take her kids to the pool.

Rationally I feel that was a deflection, because that water bill can’t be less than trips to the pool. My fiance storms off while I try to calm our neighbor down. But afterwards I felt like I still owed my neighbor something. Rationally I knew this not to be true. Anyway, to shorten the story, I bought summer passes to the city’s pools. $100 out of my pocket to give to this lady who may not even use them. But it brought me peace of mind. I felt I went out of my way to right a wrong, which didn’t even exist. We truly did no wrong. But also, it felt like I was called to do that, as Christian/good person sort of thing.

But in the end, I remind myself, she’s just a person, like me. I laugh about how my neighbor is crazy. And then internally chastise myself for saying (and thinking) that. We are all the same I force the idea on myself, sometimes more easily than others. We are all the same, except that I am a little less.

I am the author, not the hero, I have an active role in the story, but I have no glory. I merely aim to keep the character’s stories alive. I don’t like sad stories, but things often turn to sorrow. It’s the little details that I cherish and make it worth it, the ones that other characters don’t observe or understand. The intent behind the writing, the motivations, not the actions. I aim to fill my heart with goodness and love, and spread that to others. I find myself relying on the author more and more. It’s okay that the characters are better than me, I enjoy this part of life more often than not.

You could not even fathom

Or maybe you could. Bipolar is hard. Recovery, treatment? Often just as hard, maybe even harder. I’ve really always been faithful. I’ve not always been holy or “good”. But I did a lot of things because of how I saw the world.

In high school during lent. I would try and fail to give up masturbation. Or pornography. Heads up, if you knew me in high school, there would be days I did not eat then. Or days I minimized me food. That was fasting. That was my repent. I would try to keep going with the idea of no masturbation.

I think the most I ever made it was 10 days, and you know what? Not during lent. But each day I broke that vow. I paid for it with fasting and prayer. And often I would drift from this during the rest of the year or during tough times. But I never lost my faith. I just kinda grow a bit differently. I see the Truth in other religions, but also know that my Truth is the Truth. It is not for me to judge. I love Atheists, Muslims, worshippers of the spaghetti god freak me out a little, but I can love them too. I mention those two in specific because that is the social or cultural concern, I don’t mean for it to feel as though I am calling out Atheists or Muslims. Just those are some of the things I fear are more common on the list as much as I wish otherwise, but them and all, I can love. I feel that is what I’m called for. Love. And maybe it’s taken a while. But also, if you saw my expected post death words, maybe you’d see that’s all that matter.

But I’ll be damned if I’m not rewarded now for it. My girlfriend, is probably the best thing to happen to me. Or at least hell of serendipitous moment. I prayed. She answered my prayers, or rather she was the answer, no way around that. When someone brings more God into your life when you ask for it, they are the response.

Back to the post title. Maybe you can fathom. The spiritual health I am growing to have. The happiness and well being. Even if I’m not so well just yet. It’s immeasurable, to me, I cannot fathom it, but maybe there’s a lot of us out there, unable to fathom, still raptured with joy and content. It complements my desire to love all that much more.

So maybe masturbation and porn still happen, not proud of that. I succumb to physical and natural things, but at the same time, I will not judge myself for that. I am held to the same standard as every other being. And if I am not to judge others, which I don’t, then also that same favor is reserved for myself. I have to be able to forgive myself. That’s the biggest chore, and truth be told, socially and otherwise, most people will tell you, I’m a good man. It’s not their words that matter though, it’s the impression.

Others see a good man, I see a guilty one. I see lost people, angry people, hateful, and I can forgive them. I can pray for them and love them just the same. But I cannot for myself? Since when do I bear a burden when I have such allowance for others? Perhaps that is the trade. But it doesn’t matter, I can forgive myself, it doesn’t mean I’m enabling or encouraging. I know my goals, values, beliefs, but if I break them, I can pray, I can refocus or make different decisions next time. I can be guilty, but what good does it do to never let an ounce of guilt go.

My girlfriend spoke tonight of being free from bondage. That’s my guilt. Whether it’s deserved or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m new. I’m the same. I love all, they don’t have to believe what I believe. I am a good man. But I am not a better man than any other. I am a servant, even if not evangelical in style. I serve in my own way, I think that is respectable.

She said she did an exercise. And I’m not going to apologize to any of my friends of different beliefs for this, I don’t think less of you, I can not stress that enough. She was told to think and reflect on how would our Savior introduce us to our Father. I’m in tears as I am writing this with a million things clashing in my mind that I can’t even begin to record. The words loyal, strong and caring, if a bit distracted. I guess that’s me.

I am in a place, I don’t think I really ever considered I’d be in. No thoughts of harm. No impending what ifs or strong desire to control and micromanage every bit. Even with my recent health issues, I can lay still at the end of the day and marvel at the life I have, will continue to have. At the gifts I have been given, and a woman who I hope to never stop sharing them with. And that, ladies and gentlemen, can be the power of Faith, but understanding as a man. The two are not mutually exclusive, and I think that’s a great thing.

Writey Write Write

Need to write. Bones tell me. Or maybe the nerves. Or maybe my arteries? Probably not the brain though, that guy’s a jerk.

I’m coming off a manic episode. I probably spent more money than needed. But given that the notion was coupled with the fact I now have a job and that I haven’t had a job for a while. I’m eager to return to some sort of routine. I didn’t spend TOO much. I’m ok. I actually resisted making larger purchases and reasoned out smaller ones. Such as an $8 book versus a $100 game. Or that other $100 game. Though… that other one I COULD get discounts…. Haha.

But I’m good. My wonderful girlfriend seemed to experience something similar and it was amusing. I’m glad she is who she is. There’s still something about her that brings about those pesky butterflies. And beyond that she has shown she’s ready to fight for me. Also welcoming. Just amusing she had something of similar disposition.

Anyway. I got to be up early, but my tired eyes don’t seem too bothered at the prospect of deliberating and writing. My body does feel some weird aches and pains though. That’s unfortunate.

Updates. Updates. I still need to do that thing where I write about being in jail. That’d be good.

OH. Saved a dog from the street on the way to church Sunday. He’s a cute fella. His family tracked me down tonight and they were reunited. Which is good because my neighbor was a b-word regarding the thing. People. Sometimes. I don’t get them.

But I’m glad I got a special lady right now I do get. (At least I hope) And she seems to get me (at least I hope). My education seems to be on the track to delayeds-ville, but maybe that’s ok for right now. One step at a time. It’s really good how good I have been. Just the small things and my outlook are that much greater. I can’t recall feeling this good. I honestly can’t. That’s amazing right? And I will hit a low soon as my cycle goes. And you know what? I got this. My girlfriend helps and let’s face it, my meds are actually working. My lows are not that bad. It’s just a mopey couple of days. I don’t contemplate Man and his fallacy and transform that into why I don’t deserve life. Instead it’s, “man, I’d really like to get around to finishing that book.” Or at best (worst) “I wish I could have finished school. That I didn’t mess it up when I had all that scholarship”.

But that. That is nowhere near the pressure I felt in my lows this past decade. Doesn’t even touch it. Instead I find myself daydreaming more often. What tomorrow might bring. What exciting future lies before me. Even if it takes a while to finish my degree. Or whatever. I’m not getting myself worked up about it. I’m my own person. And damn it, I deserve to be. I can do what makes me happy. And I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. This is what I’ve been fighting for. I have it. I still want more, that’s the way isn’t it? But I have what I need. That’s all that matters.

That’s a lot of vague things I suppose. But I’m content. What more is there to say?