Regrets

Regret is something I know too well. As I grow and change, I find it more prevalent in my mind than ever before. There are the little things, like gnats that buzz around, and then there are the big things that make me want to curl up into a ball and never see a human face again. I wish I could shout to the world how much I’ve changed. How much I regret–there’s that word again–all the stuff I’ve done before, even stuff only a few months ago. If my life is a piece of paper, it’s like I’ve spilled a can of hot pink glue on it. Hot pink because it represents tackiness to me. Tackiness and immaturity.

I was immature. I didn’t treat people they should be treated. I interrupted a lot. I talked too much. I was whiny, self-pitying, and always needing to be the center of attention. There are so many other things that I would add, but of course I won’t go too much into specifics, because a.) that would take too long, and b.) I don’t even want to think about it anymore.

The last thing I want to hear is, “Oh Abigail, it’s been so long, you haven’t changed a bit!” Even if it’s a well-meant statement. Because I have changed–maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. I feel like a completely different Abigail now, in a lot of respects. I’ve learned to comply a little more; at the same time, I’ve learned how to stand up for myself. I’m more in touch with my pensive self. I’ve learned how to shut up when I need to, and when to speak out. My interests are different. I find myself not caring about the stuff that used to fascinate me. No, not in a depressed sort of way–it’s just that my focus has changed. My hobbies are different. I think a lot more. I journal a lot more. I take walks, I read, and I write. I write!

Time comforts me. The more time I can put between the present and the past regrets, the better. Things become less and less relevant later on, I feel. But time does not erase. Time fades. Bad mistakes will always be bad mistakes. Hot pink will always be a part of my piece of paper now. I hope–no, I know–that something beautiful will come of it.

I can’t take back all the old failures. I can only apologize and learn from them. So maybe, just maybe, regretful feelings can fade as well. We all have terrible things we want to forget about. One thing I’ve been trying to learn is that half of them aren’t even in people’s memories anymore. Nobody remembers that time in seventh grade I almost walked into a dumpster while I was adjusting my glittery hat. Nobody remembers that time I accidentally sang too loudly in my Troy Bolton voice. And then there are the things that I’m sure people remember. Those things are what get me every time. I guess, as I said before, they’re just a part of me now. Ruminating will get me nowhere, so maybe I’ll just put on a nice dress, go outside, and dance like life loves me back.

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Why I Quit Tumblr

Recently, I’ve made the decision to leave tumblr. No, not forever. I’m just taking a hiatus, and hopefully a long one. Before I go into my main reasons, I should say that a major factor in my coming absence is the need to get myself together. Certain areas of my life need tending to, and they are paramount. Additionally, I have other things I’d rather be doing–running, reading, journaling, etc.

Another thing before I go into my list: please leave me alone if you don’t like what I have to say. Of course, you can always argue me, as that’s your right, but I won’t respond. It’s not that I’m trying to be rude or uninformed; I just want peace. That’s what I left tumblr for. Peace.

In no order:

  1. Tumblr spends time arguing about things that just detract from the main issues. There are so many users who, instead of talking about real issues, are busy bitching about stuff that isn’t really a thing outside of tumblr. Arguing over whether demisexuality is a real sexuality (not being sexually attracted to someone until after you’ve gotten to know them well). Arguing that using the word “stupid” is a slur (even removed from an insulting context). Arguing about otherkin (believing one is not human). Arguing that it’s wrong for non-Native Americans to own dream catchers. Arguing about Frozen not having any PoC. Is that really worth arguing over when there’s human trafficking, starvation, government corruption, slavery, and brutality?
  2. You have to go along with their opinions.  For instance, most of the tumblr population believes that it’s okay to diagnose oneself with mental illnesses. They deny that doing so promotes stigma. They say that “psychiatrists use the same checklists published on the internet!” and “it’s ableist and classist to not support self-diagnosis, because some people can’t afford professional help!” I totally disagree with that point, but if I was ever to voice that, I’d be under fire.
  3. There’s very little real debating. It’s ad hominem, all of it. If you don’t agree, you’re homophobic, racist, sexist, classist, ableist, etc. etc. etc. Of course there are people on tumblr who really are those things, but many of them just have different opinions on stuff. I made another post about tumblr earlier that goes into that.
  4. Special snowflakes. They hate that term, but I think it’s fitting. Everybody wants to be oppressed. I even saw a list, from least to most oppressed, groups of people/populations. How about trying to eliminate oppression instead of arguing over who has more? They’re making mountains out of molehills, which sort of goes along with point #1. Some of these tumblrites–and I’m saying so in the most respectful way I can–need to go outside and breathe in the fresh air of reality.
  5. Tumblr gives social justice a bad name. I am a feminist–yep, here come the gasps. Being a feminist means you believe in equality regardless of gender. Of course, there are conservative feminists, radical feminists, and many shades in between–but it all comes down to that fundamental principle. Many tumblrites have twisted and corrupted feminism to the point where it’s hatred of males. “Drinking male tears” is something I’ve seen often. I’ve also seen “white males cannot be feminists” and other crap. Tumblr should not be the face of social justice, but I’m sad to see it becoming so.
  6. I don’t feel safe on tumblr. I guess this is an umbrella for my previous points. Tumblr claims to be tolerant, but they aren’t. They’re only tolerant if you have the same opinion–if not, you’re “a piece of shit.” You know what? Tumblr is full of bigots. Bigotry. Blatant bigotry. I want to seek true equality, where everyone accepts everyone. I just want that. Think about it. On a website of “tolerance and acceptance,” I don’t feel safe reblogging, let alone writing, posts that express my true opinion.That’s screwed up on so many levels.

In conclusion, I don’t recommend tumblr. Yes, there’s the humor. Yes, there’s the body positivity and encouragement. But that can be found elsewhere. I decided it just wasn’t worth it. At this point in time, I’m just going to leave that cesspool alone.

Faith and God and Religion and Stuff

I’ve been a believer since three. Three. I was a sweet little girl who would believe anything, if you told me enough times. And so I believed in God. I prayed, read my children’s Bible, kept prayer journals, went to Sunday school, drew pictures for God, and so on. When I was ten, I went to church camp and experienced God in a whole new way (charismatic Christianity). That made him real to me. I kept going back year after year. Summer before freshman year I reached the age limit, going to camp for the last time. My relationship with God was at its peak at that time, and the few months before (spring/summer 2013). Around November, things started to get really bad. I became extremely depressed and didn’t get better for several months. Life went on after that, as life always does. God spoke to me on very, very rare occasion, but I still continued to believe in him. I chose to commit, to hold strong, tune my ear to his voice, be confirmed, hold strong, hold strong, hold strong. I believed that he worked through what helped me—like medication, for instance. He never talked to me. It makes one weary, praying and never being answered. Praying, having your life fall apart, and never, ever, ever being answered. I remember screaming toward the heavens multiple times–really screaming–and pleading him to work in my life. Please God, heal me. Please God, heal my family. Be near to us. There was never any response.

A lack of response led to a sort of spiritual apathy, which quickly led to anger. I hate God. I’m not saying this in a fleeting moment of emotion, or while I cry on my keyboard. No. I am calm, and I can honestly say that I hate God. Contrary to what I believed all my life, he let me down. I’m sick of hearing the typical platitude Christians give: “God didn’t let you down! He just has a different plan, because he knows more than we ever could! He knows what’s best!” That doesn’t make any sense to me. If I feel like I’ve been let down, I’ve been let down. He refused to respond to any of my advances. So even if his all-superior heavenly logic knows what’s best, I honestly don’t give a fuck, because I’m not submitting to some deity’s plan for me that involves a longstanding pattern of suffering. “Oh, but sometimes God is silent because he wants to teach you something! Use this suffering to get closer to him!” Absolutely not. There’s a point where my patience runs out. Eighteen months of nothing? That’s not love. Love is not silent. How would you feel if a friend or family member gave you the silent treatment for over a year, but everyone kept telling you that (s)he loved you? You wouldn’t believe it, because it wouldn’t be true. Or, in the case that it is love, I don’t want any part of it. I won’t “sing to the silence,” or whatever the hell that means. I feel like I’ve been stood up on a date–not once, no–over and over and over again. “God has no obligation to respond, as he is holy and above all humanity!” Cool. If he has no obligation to respond, then I have no obligation to converse. Easy.

I don’t listen to that “still small voice” or whatever. You know, when you’re sitting there wondering why God isn’t there, and there’s this thing in your mind that says, “Oh, how I love you!” I don’t really accept that anymore. Honestly, I’m just telling it to myself. I don’t care about a voice–I want action, which leads into my next point. It’s not like I don’t believe in a god. I think there’s a god out there. Maybe he even cares–maybe. I just don’t think he gives two shits about me personally. My opinion can be changed–but only by tangibility. No internal voices. I need to hear his voice, see an angel, see a neon sign, have it written in the sky–anything like that. Otherwise, I won’t listen. I’m closed off, to be truthful. I don’t listen. I don’t even want to listen. Unless he shows up–and big–I’m not making any further advances. If he decides to do something, I’ll reconsider. But not now. Maybe I’m even actively shutting God out of my life. I stop myself from praying rather frequently.

“Well Abigail, why do you even go to church?” Because I like the interaction. The people at my church are nice. It’s something to do. During the service, I read, journal, or daydream, but I absolutely talk to people beforehand and afterwards. To me, it’s a social event.

I think I’m tending to the belief that neither God nor the Bible is infallible. That’s the thing. If God heard my prayers and didn’t respond, he’s either a.) an asshole for not interacting with me, or b.) fallible, because he made a mistake, or he’s not omniscient. I don’t know. I think the Bible is a good resource for some things. It’s written beautifully. There’s some good history in there, maybe even some secular advice if you look. I’m sure truth about God is in there, but ultimately, I think it was written by man about God. Like a book of theory. Some is true, some is inevitably not. Again, I don’t know. I’m just trying to sort through my beliefs.

I’m angry at God for making me feel guilty about hating him. I feel guilty for hating him, and I shouldn’t. The sense of guilt is driving me further away. Everything is driving me further away. I need someone to blame in life, so I blame him. It can’t hurt anybody.

And don’t you dare tell me, “It’s not God’s fault; the silence is something you’re doing, it’s something on your end.” That is the worst fucking thing I have ever been told concerning this matter. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. No. I don’t need that responsibility in my life right now. Besides, why? Is it because I’m a measly little human? If I have to be blamed for somebody else’s silence, then I want no part of this faith. It’s not my fault someone won’t speak to me. No, I’m not deaf. God is mute.

In short, I’m waiting around. I’m not listening to God. I’m not reaching out to God. I hate him, and the only thing he can do to change that is to make a billboard appear out of nowhere saying he loves me.
And even then, I might just consider it some sort of psychotic break that would warrant a trip to the psychiatrist. But hey, at least my psychiatrist fucking talks to me.

Concerning tumblr

I like tumblr for its humor and, if you’re looking in the right tags, positivity. But I’ve been getting really fed up with some of the self-righteous “social justice warriors.” I use quotes because I don’t think real social justice tears people down, name-calls, or tramples on people who see things differently. I wrote the following post about something that especially makes me mad.

“Okay. I’ve seen a lot of posts going around saying stuff like “wow, he’s a piece of shit.” And you know what? That’s not okay. It’s not okay to call somebody a piece of shit. Because every life has worth. Even racist lives. Homophobic lives. Sexist lives. Yes, EVERY life. When you call somebody a piece of shit, you’re reducing their very humanness to something disposable, undesirable, and worthless. Would you ever say that? Would you ever tell someone, “Your life is completely meaningless. You don’t matter. If you disappeared from this planet, flushed away forever, not a soul would care.” If, for some reason, you can’t see anything wrong with tossing trash on somebody’s entire identity, at least know that resorting to personal insults indicates poor debating skills. When you are arguing a point, you need to back up your claims with logic and evidence. Insulting your opponent is neither logical nor evidence-based. It’s very disappointing to read a wonderfully convincing argument that’s concluded by a personal attack.

Please, as long as you continue to use that phrase towards other human beings—living, breathing human beings who cry, laugh, and bleed—don’t consider yourself a champion of justice and tolerance.”

I added a follow-up post with a softer attitude.

“Sometimes, when you post or reblog, you may not be thinking about the implications of that post. It might mean something completely different to you—but when you realize its implications, it’s too late. You can delete the post, but your followers—and any other person in the world who was looking at your blog—have already seen it. That’s why it’s important to think before you post. It’s okay if you’ve made these mistakes. I have. I think we all have. You’re a good person who made a bad mistake. Don’t beat up on yourself. Just take steps to improve. :)”

Am I the only one who really has a problem with some of those SJWs? I’ve been a frequent tumblr user for over a year, and recently it’s been bugging me. I used to blindly accept everything, but I’ve really been trying to think deeper and more critically. It’s really eye-opening.

Losing Words

I’ve been collecting a bunch of quotes from my old writings just for fun. Reading some of those writings is a bit demoralizing for me. I wrote better back then than I do now, probably because I spent more time writing. In fact, I spent a lot more time doing other things, too–like reading. The thing is, I’ve lost focus. Getting through two pages of a book is a real struggle for me right now, and I’m trying to find out why. Reading used to be a huge part of my identity, as was writing. What do I do now? Admittedly, I spend a lot of time online. More than a lot. Maybe that’s why I’ve lost focus–everything on the internet is instant. Google a photo, and it’s right there for you. When you read, that picture comes from within and is built upon. Constant internet access, I feel like, can destroy that ability. No, it’s not like I’ve lost my imagination. Far from it! It’s just a bit hard to apply it these days.

A lack of reading sort of leads to a lack of writing for me, and vice versa. My writing has suffered because I just don’t write that much anymore. Why don’t I write? Because I’m on the internet. I’m always on the internet, and I think it’s having very adverse effects on me. No, I don’t think. I know. Sometimes I feel like it’s a trap. I think what really entices me the most is music. I’ve discovered some incredible songs, and they literally draw me to the computer. Sometimes I’m online just to listen to them, and I start doing something else just for the fun of it. Then that “something else” becomes another distraction, and pretty soon it’s just one tangled web! (I just noticed that I used “web” when talking about the internet. Ha.)

I also use the internet, specifically Twitter, to post the poetry I do come up with, though most of it is written really quickly right on my phone. Those tweets may be the only the only things keeping me in the writing world at all. So of course I don’t want to give that up! The problem with that, though, is that it can go out of control. I’m there on Twitter to read others’ poetry and write my own, but guess what? Twitter is on my phone. I end up doing something else or getting too much of a good thing.

So, what now? I desperately want to regain that focus, that love for the art of words, but I feel like the internet is keeping me from the things I really enjoy. I want to be writing, not taking random Buzzfeed quizzes or playing virtual hamburger flipping games! I need to find this motivation from within. If somebody else tries to force me off the computer, I’ll just get bitter. This is discipline. I’m almost sixteen, and I need to learn it myself. But I can take advice! Please, how can I start writing and reading again? How do I resist the urge to go online and listen to that glorious music? I want to get back into what I love doing. I was made for words. I know it. This is my resolution, I guess. I need to find that zeal again.

Sometimes I wish the internet had never been invented.