Happy

"Would you like to wake up every morning with happy, positive thoughts?"
So asketh the Jehovah's Witness tract we found on our front porch.

"I'm in-right, out-right, up-right, down-right happy all the time!"
So sangeth the wee children's church kids, myself included.

Is it any wonder, then, that depression was the unnameable? It wasn't just that I was taught to "pray through it"; it went more to the core. Depression was a failure of God in my life, and therefore, unacceptable. Not that I ever actually spoke the word, or admitted to myself that it was what I was struggling with...but I still knew how to "deal with" depression. Pray it away. Be happy all the time.

A few weeks ago, I read an article on happy being the only acceptable emotion. The context was contrasting attachment parenting, where children are generally allowed to express themselves, with hyper-conservative parenting that frequently results in children too terrified (of being spanked, frequently) to show any emotion that isn't positive.

I definitely wasn't raised in that latter camp. But the same mentality showed up in my children's church, and is still being heralded as the cure-all that Jesus will bring. "I've been set free; he has made my life wonderful" was an unspoken refrain of my growing-up years. There wasn't a category for depression. The answer was always: Jesus.

No, Jehovah's Witnesses whom I'm glad we weren't home to have to deal with. Dialoguing with you, or more, attending the conference with "a live play" that you want me to, will not make me wake up happy every morning.

"Since Jesus Christ came in, and cleansed my heart from sin, I'm in-right, out-right..." That one didn't work either.

And you know what? It's okay. Because at least it isn't fake.

Refresh

Few things are as healing - even when I didn't know I needed to be healed - as spending time with fellow LGBT-ers, ranting about conservative family, and then being at a housewarming party where someone refers to V and I as his "absolute favorite lesbians, which means you rank even higher than Rachel Maddow."

This weekend away feels so wonderfully refreshing. I'm almost in shock.

Claim

Growing up, I heard a lot of "If you were at gunpoint, would you stand for Jesus or would you renounce him?" We all pledged that we would be like the missionaries and high schoolers who chose death over denunciation. We were told that we would never know unless the moment happened, though.

I still think about this a lot. The thing is, though, my brain has replaced "Jesus" with "wife." We live in a decently liberal city in a conservative state; I still live on edge sometimes about being gay. The scenarios in my head aren't usually life or death, but it's the same principle. If a police officer stops me for speeding and asks where I'm going, do I mention I'm on my way to pick up my wife? To the wrong person, that could be me asking for trouble.

It frequently occurs to me, since I love to be so vocal about having a wife, that I could be asking for my food to be spit in, or my speeding ticket marked up to the next price bracket, or, more casually but still hurtfully, would-be friends and acquaintances to walk away. It's always a risk.

I read once, I don't remember where, about how for LGBT people, holding hands on the sidewalk is never just that. It's so true; it's true of so much more than holding hands. One word could change anything and everything.

Despite all the stress, I'm glad the word isn't "Jesus" anymore, though. I'll take my wife, any day.

Roulette

I'm in the middle of Jessica Valenti's fabulous book The Purity Myth, and so much of what she talks about, especially in regards to abstinence education, rings familiar. Being homeschooled, I never went through a formal sex-ed class, but as she's talking about the metaphors and catchphrases, I know it.

"Relying on condoms is like playing Russian roulette."
Yes. V actually had a conversation with an old boyfriend, talking about sex, where she said something about not risking the consequences. Of course I'd wear a condom, he said. I know, she said. That doesn't matter.

"Stephanie and Drew want to save sex for marriage. Stephanie is super affectionate and dresses in tight clothing; Drew is finding it harder and harder to wait."
Yep, sorry Steph, but it's all your fault. All your responsibility, too. Stop looking like such a slut, and maybe he'll be able to honor your mutual promise to wait.

"If I take this velcro and stick it to to everything, pretty soon it will lose its stickiness, and it won't be able to cling when it finds the other half of the velcro."
Evangelicals don't often go for subtlety, I must say. Also, it sucks to find out that my self-worth and sexuality is on par with a fairly unreliable method of adhesion.

I hate that it's all so familiar. I hate that so many people could say the same thing. I hate that so many more don't see anything wrong with that.

Fundamentals

Every now and then, I run into an issue where the twins' mom and I are just coming from totally different angles. It happened last night, and I'm trying to figure out how to operate within her parameters, while still sticking to what I believe.

The issue is supervision. Last week, the kids played downstairs for an hour together, without fighting. I was near the top of the stairs and could always hear them, but they only came up once or twice to get me.

Yesterday, they played with Laura and Danielle, back in the latter's playroom, for an hour. Every now and then I heard giggling, talking about how they were having a party, or other chatter, but they never came out and never seemed to have a problem.

I'd mentioned both of those things to Patrick and Lilly's mom, and last night she sent me a text (or rather 6) about how she expects that I'm with them almost all the time, and she and her husband don't leave them unsupervised, and they're only 3, and she understands fostering independence, but...

And I had one of those moments of realizing we operate from different original mindsets. For me, I want the kids to be able to do their own thing. I see it as progress that they can play by themselves. I hear times when usually one would look at me to solve the issue, but instead I hear them figure it out. It especially makes me happy when they can play with friends for such a long time. I feel like I do so much hovering, because yes, I interact with them lots during the day, but I also always try to push them to entertain themselves.

My theory is that their mom doesn't spend as much time with them, so she's very involved and very much entertaining them. I support that - but I wish she also had the perspective that one day, she's going to want them to be able to go off and do their own thing! (She doesn't even know I've let them out in the backyard and I've stayed inside. I don't know what her reaction would be to that one.)

Anyway, it's frustrating. I promised her I'd be more on top of them, and I will, but I'll also just learn to edit my notes to her. I want to respect her parenting; I also want her kids to grow up with a sense of independence.

Lazy

This weekend has been good for me. We've done next to nothing: V is in between summer sessions, the dishes are in the sink, the drying rack upstairs is still full. I've laid on the couch, fighting PMS cramping, reading about the ingredients in a twinkie.

We let a friend's dog out this afternoon, and stayed at their house watching TV for awhile. Serenity was on; I haven't actually watched the movie in years (it's non-canon. bad things happen. i deny it.), but it was good to see all the old friends. I probably annoyed V by quoting lines a few seconds before the character.

I'm still in emotional recovery. V and I have been brainstorming about ways to get me out of it. I just feel deeper than usual...in a way, I feel like I did before ever starting on meds, and that's a Bad Sign. That sort of vague "meh" feeling about life, punctuated by occasional bursts of light.

Next weekend, we are off to visit friends. It's a much needed trip. It can't come soon enough. Of course, once we're there, I'll probably want nothing more than to be home. Damn me.

Well, this wasn't supposed to end on a sour note. Welcome to my sucky state of mental health? Sorry for the unintended tour of my brain.

Alone

Patrick and Lilly played downstairs today, with their art stuff, for an hour and a quarter, by themselves, without needing me or fighting! The kitchen is at the top of the stairs, so I could hear them; my favorite was Lilly exclaiming "That looks fantastic!" Patrick came up once to ask for a piece of tape, and occasionally they'd yell up to me or I'd yell down to them. But overall, it was peace. I can't believe they got along that well for that long.

Maybe they're finally growing up some?