Superfluous Soliloquoys

Acknowledging that childhood abuse (physical or mental) fucked you up is very different from overcoming it. Everyone approaches trauma uniquely because it is an independent experience. No one can truly understand your trauma because it belongs to you. It is painted in colors singular to your heart and mind, and everyone that views it has their own interpretation.

Some choose to dwell in their lived experiences. They reminisce, prodding old wounds until the scabs fall away and fresh blood pools to the surface. They dig deeper into their misery and the pain that makes them feel alive as if they've forgotten there are other ways to experience intense emotions.

Others may recognize that it exists, but instead choose to ignore its existence. They lock it away, bury it deep, and throw away the key. That is not who they are, nor does it have any significant baring on who they have become.

While some may think the latter option would be the better of the two, it is more like looking at a silhouette rather than a beautiful portrait full of detail and clarity.

Forgetting that you have suffered would be like an architect intentionally forgetting to put lights in the living room. You try to control that room, placing candles in safe places, but the illumination is dim, and some friends and family are more blind than others. They stumble through the dark, bumping into things, accidentally creating new bruises and hurts, breaking things they didn't know existed, never knowing or understanding why.

Sometimes, there are glimmers of understanding. Recognition of what is going wrong, but it is like staring at a leak with no tools, and no knowledge of how to fix the pipes. For those that dwell, rust and water damage accumulates, inviting mold and sickness. For those that forget, the pressure builds at these weak spots until they burst and the damage is too great to simply repair.

Long have I stared at these pipes. I have studied their weaknesses. Patched them with plumber tape, and prepped with towels, but the crux of the matter remains hidden. In some rooms I have candles, and in others the lights are always on, welcoming guests, and like a good hostess, I guide them away from the candlelit rooms. I don't want to talk about those. A trusted few have candles of their own, so that they understand and can better navigate the shadows, but the light flickers, and the glow only extends a small distance.

After all, trust is a different battle all together.

We all live in broken houses. You are not alone in your trauma. You can't undo what has been done. Like a chemical reaction, the change is irreversible. Accept the damage. It's already done. Time to start repairs. You are not responsible for causing the damage, but only you can get your 'house' repaired.

Religion.

I've always had bizarre theories about religion, beliefs, and most importantly--god. One of my favorite things to ponder has often been on the topic of God. Yes, I do believe in god, but that's not the focus of this little jumble of random thoughts.

You see, I find it to be very single-minded to believe that your perception of God is the right one. To believe that God (or any deity) could be understood by our minds when considering the sheer breadth of experiences we are incapable of processing just in our day to day lives is lunacy.

I believe God has many forms. That he is unknowable. I believe that Allah is form of God. I believe that Buddha is another form of God. I believe that the Greek Gods were forms of God. If I am to accept that he is the Alpha and the Omega--that means he is all that is between. I'm always so ravenous to know more about other people's religions, not because I wish to mock or judge--but because I want to know more about the God I choose to worship.

Asking about another person's faith is difficult though, and no one really jumps into the parables and stories that drive their faith. You either know it, or join it. I have visited mosques, temples, and fire pits, and relished the beauty of their faith in action, but I lacked understanding. I lacked connection.

There is a story in the Bible about the Tower of Babel. It speaks to a human race that was one completely united. Essentially God put a confundus charm on the world of men. They could no longer understand one another, and scattered in fear.

Separated and alone, each group moved on to grow and cultivate their various parts of the wild and untamed earth we most of us only see in pictures and films. Their languages translated differently, and they understood the world in a way unique to their budding culture. Who is to say that when God did that, he didn't also remove their ability to understand him as well? After all, it is this persistent belief that God can only present himself as one thing that also maintains the belief that someone is right.

What if they're all wrong?

That left me with three choices:

Abscond from all belief at all, and follow the path of the Agnostic.

Pursue Atheism, and the determination that there is no god (or gods).

Or accept that God exists, and I cannot fathom his depth or potential.

That is why I decided the only way to accept my faith and not incur a certain level of lunacy, was to accept that he was in fact everything.

I think we're on a journey back toward understanding, and the more connected we get, the more potential there is to emerge into a new era. This chaos--I choose to see them as growing pains of a society that is still young in the grand scheme of things.

Penultimate stage. Possibilities yielded. Unnerving Silence

Abortion is such a difficult topic. As times change, so has my opinion. As a child, I aligned with the values of my family, friends, and even acquaintances. Abortion was wrong. No ands, ifs, or buts about it. It was equitable to murder.

Murder is not a pack anyone wants to strap onto their backs. The murder of a child? An insurmountable weight. Considering the alternative was not even an option. 

Time as much as a determination to be open-minded continues to shape and mold my considerations though. Where complete intolerance once existed, I now considered other impacts, such as the death sentence having a child could place upon a mother. Isn’t her life valuable too? 

Today, as I delved into my latest video game obsession (Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey) I pondered the topic once again. Once upon a time, in our long and yet somehow short existence, our ancestors would leave unwanted or disabled children to the elements. We have evolved and yet we haven’t. Abortion is our humane way of saving a child from a life of suffering. 

You’re thinking--not all children suffer. True. And to be fair, I don’t know enough about statistics to spout them, so let us skip to a different approach. How do I define suffering? Is it limited to disabilities, illness, and short life spans? The argument then would be that even in those circumstances, a child could still live a very happy life. 

What about the things we wish for all children and yet fail to deliver so very often. Things like safety, clothing, food, a home, a loving family, opportunities, education, freedom from abuse (both verbal and physical). Really the list goes on and on. 

What does this have to do with abortion you may wonder? How many women are encouraged to have their child and put it up for adoption? But babies get adopted! Which means there are still thousands of children that don’t get adopted simply because they were two years of age instead of an infant. Children that are often thrust into a foster system rife with over-worked, under-paid social servants that fail to truly protect their true client: the children. I don’t believe its intentional, but it can’t be denied that it happens. Children that are abused by their foster family, or used for the income boost, or treated to the belief that because they are adopted--they are somehow less than true child. 

At the end of the day, many people are just cruel. 

So is it better to force a mother to birth a child that will then be cast about like an unwanted White Elephant present, or is it more humane to abort?

But abortion is murder. That’s a life. You’re willfully taking it. That makes you a murderer.

But what if that newly forming infant has no soul? If a soul departs at death leaving a husk behind, then does it not infuse a body with that first desperate gasp for air? Is it murder then?

Of course this random barrage of thoughts focuses only on an abortion performed during the trimesters. Post-birth abortion--there better be some exquisite reasoning for something like that.