15

Now... how to begin. Today I choose self-confidence as my subject. Though necessary for daily emotional function, it seldom actually chooses to stick around long enough to pursue anything of value. Lack of self-confidence so often results in a myriad of other emotional ailments and perhaps spinsterhood, known to us 21st century, meme-obsessed internet shut-ins as being Forever Alone, a condition I half-jokingly attribute to myself all too often on another blog. But it is precisely these blogging avenues that prevent a complete and utter collapse of self-confidence.

While no one, and I repeat absolutely no one, expressed any interest in being within a 15 mile radius of me this weekend (and I will go right on ahead and take most of their lack of interest to be a blaring statement of disinterest in me[refer to emotionally volatile bear to understand this internet-driven hysterical hyperbole]), the internet is here, enveloping me in its cool glow, warming me with the overheating of my computer, comforting me with its ability to take in all of my complaints and offer little to not criticism in return. True, if I were more popular on the internet I would probably suffer some anonymous abuse from internet trolls... but alas! I am forever alone and saved from this ugly fate. Regardless- I am given carte blanche to express my anger, sexual frustration, sadness, angst and all other emotions that lack an appropriate outlet, however pleases me. The greatest part is the actual posting on the internet. The effort one takes, however great or little, in creating a post dedicated to some facet of their emotional well-being immediately gives one the satisfaction of self-importance. This post will linger on forever on servers, encoded forever in a multitude of scripts. Immediately, you are worthy of being read because you have "some blog". Immediately, the building blocks of self-confidence are already there for you to work with and with each post, you are laying on another brick. Of course this all shatters when you emerge from your cavernous bunker you call home and join the real world. I need only a mildly successful interaction with a human being to send me home blogging incessantly about how awesome I am until I achieve the paper-maché mountain of confidence I need for the next human interaction, of course this being all the more significant in some form, only to be myself and hyperbolize all of my qualities until I am a caricature of what I consider to be cool and a week later I am indoors blogging about it without any messages on any social networking site or phone and realize the consequences all too late.

But everything is okay because I am blogging about it now and pretty soon I'll convince myself I really am that pretty, smart, important and worthy of breathing air and the cycle will continue once again.

14

Tonight I allow curiosity to conquer all politeness to explore the topic of religion... and since I am alone at this dinner table of a blog, I should have the freedom to do so I imagine.

I myself life without religion. While it is the central element of my intellectual pursuits, Christianity in particular, it is the far away from any personal or spiritual attachment to me. Not entirely an atheist and not necessarily an agnostic and certainly not a nihilist, religion is simply absent from my life. Given that the existence of a higher power concerns no one until our number is up, it seems that it should hardly concern us until that very moment, should it not? Listening to human arbiters is not the same as listening to a higher power and since men are entirely fallible, they hold no higher wisdom about the nature of things than I do - especially if we are equally learned in doctrine and simply differentiate upon faith alone. However, I distinctly remember having two boyfriends who were "extremely devout". One of which gave me a copy of the New Testament when I was fourteen years old. His later actions, as you can probably guess, were highly unChristian as it were. The second also gave me a few books on the subject of Christianity. One book in particular, Blue Like Jazz - a memoir of a Christian attending Reed College in Oregon (renowned for ... well ... everything but devotion to any organized religion), was highly lauded for presenting Christianity nicely to a group of godless twenty-somethings. I read it and thought it was okay. By okay, I mean that it was garbage. The beginning of our relationship was prefaced with "We try to not to force religion into your face" and perhaps given that I was indeed a heathen by definition, the family was extremely accepting of me and I repaid them their acceptance with acquiescing to sitting on a porch during the peak of my hormonally driven libidinous rage at the age of 17 and 18 as well as attending a huge number Church services. Religion was, of course, forced into my face and the idea that many believed that we would live happily ever after was laughable given that I was practically an atheist and he suffered greatly from Catholic guilt more than he was religious. But my point is.... is that while Religion was being stuffed down my throat, never once did I give him a book that logically explained that god or gods simply cannot exist and that this idea is not a novel one. Never once did I laugh at their misplaced piety and hypocrisy and yet I endured the endless berating of politicians and celebrities that were not of their creed. A cab driver once asked me if I was religious. I replied that I grew up with a Catholic background but I did not care an ounce for religion. He shook his head and told me that one day when I grew older that I would understand. Why so patronizing? The only thing that occurs when I get older will be the increasing anxiety over my limited years which would explain for any frantic outcries to seek assistance from beyond this realm to extend my stay on this earth to selfishly pursue all that I wish. Every person I have come into contact in the past six months have almost all posted on their Facebook that they are Roman Catholic and yet majority of them are almost always pursuing premarital sex more than anything else.

I do try to be accepting, understanding and above all things, polite. I have neither the right nor the place to criticize or mock someone for their beliefs for their journey is their own. But why they must constantly insist on criticizing my beliefs, and believe me - they seldom take the time to explore what those beliefs actually are? It is becoming more and more difficult to be accepting and open minded towards those who time and again prove to fall into this stereotype defined by hypocrisy.

I cannot help but feel as though I am now looked at as some corrupting hussy. I laugh about it but it troubles me that while I tried my darndest to put my claws away, I will be blamed for the momentary ruin of some young upstanding gentleman simply because I live without religion. I live a quiet and perhaps selfish life but I harm no one and I am happy. What greater felicity is there than to see another human being exist successfully for a moment - without the depression of mortality weighing upon them? Is it because they believe it is the wrong kind of happiness? That one should subscribe to guilt and shame and become so insecure about the truth that they lash out at anyone mildly observant who notices their guilt and shame? How can they live their sordid lives behind closed doors, walk out the door and zip their fly's and cover that perfume with more cologne so that they may look condescendingly at a pair of red pumps on a young girl's feet and then snore soundly at night? How can they talk to me in a bar, buying me drink after drink, saying that they are religious when they have only one thing in mind when the bartender gives them my alcohol-laden cocktail? Why not simply accept their "fallen" state rather than reject it, inevitably indulge in it, and then hate themselves for it? What sort of existence is that? There is no shame in being human.

13

For some time, plenty of thoughts and theories have been swelling in my mind but it resembles a beehive more closely than anything else. Burdened by illness, I have resulted to spending majority of my time on the internet and inevitably skulking around the dark spaces that should be off limits to anyone exiting a relationship - no matter how much time has passed. Facebook, that great evil that keeps people connected for the most improper reason, revealed to me and reminded me of an existence that I had ignored for so long now it seems. What occurred, or reoccurred, was that same seething anger I had felt five months ago. Almost exactly the same. I entertained violent thoughts and was filled with a deep sense of regret that I possessed and continue to possess some semblance of composure and etiquette. While the memories scamper off into the corners of my mind and my heart, when they are recalled to the surface, though less frequently now, they burn with the same intensity.

Now it hardly seems real anymore and therefore the anger feels much more irrational. But when I remember everything in summation and that no responsibility, no accountability, was taken... I realize whatever I feel is entirely warranted. Each emotion is its own beast in large doses but anger seems too great to cage and analyze while the sloth of sadness almost beckons to be studied as it languidly takes over your life. Anger, though entirely rational, causes one to mutate into something entirely unknown. I frown upon violence, my feelings about it are always made vocal. I think it imprudent and an immature way of resolving conflict. Not to mention, it is tiresome in the most useless fashion and rarely produces anything but more trouble. That being said - I have been plagued by waking dreams of allowing anger to completely envelope my limbs until I lose control of them and they make contact with the face of the intended. I imagine the deepest feeling of satisfaction arriving at the notion of a woman triumphing physically over such an individual. In reality, I am sure I would only feel shame and regret in addition to facing assault charges but I cannot help but imagine these moments. I regret controlling my anger that evening and ending the night on such a high note and sending such a positive message when one was never deserved. I regret that I was never cruel. I regret that I never took the opportunity to be the femme fatale I know I could be. I regret that ignorance and irresponsibility probably continues to rule. Heaven forbid that life should continue without me; and that it should be a happy existence not filled with self-loathing is only more maddening.

Perhaps this is part of a process. Once, I felt poetry but now I realize how pathetic that was. Nothing poetic could have ever been produced from that situation. Once, I had wished him on his merry way, hoping for the best. Now, I realize the improbability of the best actually occurring but that still does not hinder me from wishing the worst... just in case. My greatest regret is that I cannot supervise the worst while it occurs to make sure that it does. One day, I will regret this anger and these bitter sentiments. I will regret the cruelty that resides in my heart. One day I will harbor little to no ill will. One day, I will only feel pity for someone who probably deserves that more than anything else... but not today. Not with the memories and the stories that often result in others pitying me for my time served. I don't regret that time in the least, especially since it seldom feels like it actually happened anymore. Better now than never and better to know the nature of the beast before it was too late. This is all part of a process. It is all so surreal.