Looking at what happened in my childhood is never something I liked.
I've mentioned the abuse when I first went to school - I haven't gone into what happened from there very much.
I was moved out of the school I was abused in when I was about 7. After lots and lots of various complaints about me, and a stay in a hospital, it was decided that I was under too much stress at the school I was at, and should be moved away. Now I'm not sure about you, but the concept of a 7 year old being under too much stress at school should surely trigger a warning sign.
I was moved to a different school, (Winns Avenue School, Walthamstow, London), and got a social worker for a period (that was just weird, I got to go to a particular place once a week, met with a woman, and all I can remember about the various times I met with her was making sugar mice.)
It was then that the bullying started. I joined mid-year, so all of a sudden this new girl comes into the class. All the initial friendships had cemented, and I was a shy, reticent girl, too scared of mentioning anything about the abuse. I must have had "target" written on my forehead in large, flashing, neon lighting.
So, it started with simple ignoring, I was on the edge of any playground activity, never really invited in. I suppose then I started to be the butt of jokes and pranks. I had been told that I couldn't tell my parents about the abuse, or they'd get angry with me and throw me out. This seemed to get attached to what happened at the new school as well.
After a while it became physical. The person I sat next to in class took delight in continually kicking me in the shins under the table. Despite having bruises all up and down my leg, the teacher told me it wasn't happening. This just let everyone know that I was acceptable to bully.
It got to the point that during play-time I wandered up to a particular bench, and used to lay on it, watching the ants come and go in the cracks between the wall and the ground. I can't remember what I thought, but I know that somehow watching them calmed me. The weren't trying to hurt me.
It was also there where I first tried to stand up for myself. There was this one girl, I can't even remember her name, but she was one of the bullies. She wasn't a main one, I can remember that much. She was more a hanger-on, someone who would watch and laugh, and on occasion take part in. Not the leader, but a willing follower.
She, and a group of others, came up and started the verbal pre-attack. You know the sort. Where they start to taunt you, to get your emotions up. Giving them the chance to allow themselves to believe that what they are doing is acceptable because the group they are in is in agreement.
I was very pissed off that day. I must have been. I didn't wait for them to get to the point of violence, I pre-empted. I remember grabbing the girls top by the collar. Putting one of my feet out, and pulling her towards the wall. She tripped over my foot, lost her balance, and came crashing into the wall face first. She broke her front teeth and got quite a few cuts and bruises.
If you are the person who I did that to, I humbly ask your forgiveness. I know some people who would say that the bully was asking for it, and that I did the right thing in standing up for myself. I know several who say that acting like a bully is wrong, and what I did was just act like a bully towards another person. I know several people who would say "so what". Personally I feel upset that it happened.
I'd love to say that I enjoyed it, and perhaps part of me did. Overall, however, I felt that I had somehow managed to fall down to the level of the bullies. I felt bad about what happened, and I still do.
I can't remember what the teachers did, but I don't think it was much. I seemed to get the opinion that bullying was acceptable, that the teachers didn't really care provided it didn't happen during the actual lessons, and that they wouldn't look out for anyone. Perhaps that is not what the situation was, but I can't remember much.
However, your time in a school comes to an end, and you move on to another one. And some of the people move with you. I was a target in one school, and enough of the people who felt they could take advantage of that move with me that I became a target in the next school.
The bullying I suffered at William Fitt school was extreme. I am sure that many people have been bullied, and that many young lives are scarred by it, but I'm also not sure how many people have almost been killed by a fellow school-person, then heard that person brag about it to their mates, and have the teachers only response to move the bullied person out of the way of the bullies.
During my time at William Fitt, I was thrown to the ground and kicked by a group of children until they ran away laughing at least twice, I was lifted up against the railings while a boy slapped my face for about 2 minutes. I was targeted on my way to and from school to the point that I started to vary my route randomly to minimise the attacks.
A particular school holiday sticks in my mind. At the start of the holiday, the teachers gave the usual spiel. The would not accept any problems, if anyone stepped out of line their parents would be called immediately, and they would be sent home.
So, the first meal of this holiday (think adventure style camp) we were told that we would only have one portion of food. I get my food and sit down where I'm told. I turn away and hear "let's pour salt over her food" and turn back in time to see the empty salt container being shaken over my meal.
Being the person I was at the time, I accepted this as part and parcel of the whole 'school' experience. I'd never had anything other than tricks, pranks, and abuse when I was at school, so I felt this was normal. I went with my meal to the teachers and asked for another one. When I was told no, I pointed out what was done. They looked at the now innocently looking people around where I had sat, and had a brief discussion. I think now that either one of them gave up their own dish, or they all cut their portions, but another meal was provided for me.
The next day we had the wonderful job of digging the cess pit for the week. A group of about 6 of us were set to do it. We were given spades, shows the relevant area, and told to go to it. After a while, the others noticed that I was being the good little girl I had been trained to be (too much stick, no carrot), and started slacking on what they were doing. When I didn't complain there was a discussion "let's let her do it all", and they stopped digging altogether, jumped up to the edge of the pit, and started to talk amongst themselves. This went on for a while until a teacher noticed that the people who were told to dig were just sitting there. They came over and saw me in the hole, digging away, and the others just sat their. I think at this point I was told to stop digging, and the others told to finish the pit. I can't remember.
Another part of this holiday we were given boats to row. I'm sure you understand the concept of row-boats. If not let me enlighten you. You have to sit facing the direction you have come from, not the direction you are going (makes making sure you don't hit a sand-bank difficult). You also have to use the same amount of pressure on one oar as on the other, otherwise steering is very hard. Good rowers are more than able to use different pressure to guide boats well. The girls I was in the boat with were definitely not good rowers. They kept trying to face the way they wanted to go, and were not able to get the whole pull at the same time right. Suffice to say we ended up far to near the shore. At this point the cute boy appeared. Despite having a crap childhood, the pulls of the young heart did not pass me by.
I liked this boy. He was cute, and quiet, and best of all, he'd never hurt me. I can't even remember his name, and I doubt he ever knew the feelings he raised in my young heart. But in one way he was my first love. Given my age most people would say first crush, and possibly that was true. But the actions of the two girls in that boat with me, have burned in my memory, forever putting the feelings I had for that boy in a place in my heart.
They said "let's say Sarah got us here", handed the oars over to me, and proceeded to let the boy know that it was my incompetence with rowing, rather than theirs, which had foundered our boat. Although that was fairly mild bullying; not up to the level of physical violence that I faced every day; it is still the one thing which can bring tears to my eyes these many years later. Making me look small in the eyes of someone I felt affection for; that was the worse thing that happened to me.
A while later, we were canoeing on the same river. I was wearing one of the tight canoe sleeves which make sure the water doesn't get in the canoe. However if you capsize then getting the sleeve off becomes rather important to allow you to get out of the canoe. You can use your oar to push you back up-right, provided you remember to keep hold of your oar, and you have been trained in it - to this day I can't remember what happened to the oar. I can remember feeling my canoe hit from one side, it turning in the water, and me suddenly being under the water, dark, cold, and not having any air.
I tried to keep my composure. I slapped my hands on the boat, as I was taught. I grabbed the piece of webbing attached to the sleeve to pull it off the boat and allow me to get out, and nothing happened. I began to panic. I slapped the boat again, and pulled at the strap - nothing happened. By this time I was running out of air. Everything when blank...
Then I was out of the boat, my hands around the canoe using it as a float. To this day I don't have any memory of actually getting out of the canoe. I can still remember the panic though. Sometimes I get so afraid of water that I don't even want to get in the bath. The next day, I heard the person who was paddling the canoe who struck mine that he had done it on purpose.
Having read the above incidents you may feel that while quite bad, they must have been isolated incidents. I'm afraid I would have to disillusion you on that point. All five of the above incidents occurred in the same week. And what about the spiel the teachers had given? Despite them knowing some of what happened, especially about the latter incident, nothing was done to the bullies. Instead I was moved out of a tent in common with the bullies and put in with a teacher, as that was the only way they could guarantee my safety.
This was the kind of thing I dealt with every day at school. Sometimes it was better, sometimes worse, but it was always there. I started reading as a way of escape. When I was reading a story I was the main character, or watching them. I found the one ring just as Bilbo did in the Hobbit. I was one of the people who founded Isaac Asimov's foundation. I was part of the revolt that happened in the lunar penal colony in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. These, and many other stories, became the real lives I lived, instead of the pain and sorrow of my real existence. Even now when I get upset I escape to a book.
I also started living a greatly varied fantasy life. I was the scientist who had discovered a way to create a shield against nuclear bombs, and rather than allow the nuclear war to destroy the world, I'd placed these shields to save humanity. I was a star ship captain, who was actually a secret hero. I was always the person who sacrificed part of themselves to save others.
So, I have this picture of me, walking to school while reading a book (I don't know how I did it, but I manged to walk to school concentrating more on the book I was reading than the situation around me. I'm partly locking out the outside world to allow me to concentrate more on the book, but also to give me the small element of peace that I might get if I was small enough to be not noticed. I can't say it ever worked, but it gave me some help.
The next school I actually developed something akin to friends. There were people I went round with, who didn't always try to lose me. It was also at that school that my signs of bi-polar start. I was something like 14 to 16. It was also here that I met the worse teacher I had ever known. Others I'd had had done the minimum to protect me. One had actually joined in the bullying. This one tried to destroy me.
Ok, it probably wasn't that bad, but I found him to be the most annoying, angry, upset little man I've ever had the misfortune to meet. We hated each other almost from first sight. I'd love to say it was all on him, but I can't. Looking back, especially at his last comment to me, makes me realise that he found me hard to deal with.
I was bright at school (yet another reason other children didn't like me). I was looking forward to getting more than 4 'O' levels for a start. One of them was in physics. I did maths, physics, chemistry, English language, English literature, geography, history and French. The only reason I did geography instead of biology was because I couldn't face the thought of having to dissect a rat (we used to keep them as pets). The first physics teacher we had probably had a job on the ark. I still remember with great glee that when my mother and father were presented to him as we toured the school together, he pointed at my mother, said "I taught you", and proceed to run to a cupboard and pull out her report cards. Now that's something your mother doesn't want to happen, especially if she was a bit of a tear-away.
A short time into the year, he was replaced (I'm still not sure if he was forced into retirement or not). The new teacher was young, enthusiastic, and came across as he thought he was God's gift. I'm not going to name names, let's call him Sandy. Sandy told me I'd get a C on my physics O' Level. He told my parents I'd fail. He was most put out when I got an A.
At this point my teachers put me forward for 4 A levels. This was a big thing. Walthamstow Senior High was a local state run school in a borough of London. Getting into the 6th form was a big thing. Actually doing more than the standard 3 A levels was very rare. I went for maths, further maths, physics and chemistry. It was also at this point that things got somewhat better due to the pastor of my church becoming the head of the chemistry department in the school.
So, Sandy gets upset I passed my O levels (this is the story from my point of view. I admit it's biased and probably totally wrong in some places, but this is my blog. If you know who Sandy is, or are himself, then feel free to respond if you wish). He seemed to take it as a personal affront.
I get in his class, and he starts to find fault with almost everything I do. When I hand in home-work on time, he apparently marks it down. I checked the records at one point, I was the only person in the class who had never got an A on the homework. After a period I just stopped handing it in. I will admit that, along with all the other classes I took, I tended to be reading a fiction book all the way through the class if I was bored - and I was bored most of the time. The fact that I always got the questions right when asked seemed to annoy him more.
At one point I can remember him in my face, telling me that I shouldn't be taking 4 A levels, and saying that he was going to make me drop Physics - bad move. If you know me, you'll know that I can be as stubborn as a mule.
However I do remember getting my own back on him. And although I shouldn't feel good about this, I can't feel anything apart from the fantastic feeling you get when your greatest enemy slips and falls flat on their face in the mud at the point which should be their best.
The school inspectors were coming round. They were going to be sitting in on some lessons, and the teachers were warned in advance if they were going to be disturbed (I'm not sure this should have happened, but you try and stop teachers gossiping). So we filed into the physics lab, and were duly informed by Sandy that the inspectors were going to come in. The lessons would continue on, in exactly the same way that it did always, and we were to ignore the interruption. This he said standing at the front of the classroom where he always taught from.
So, we were studying the various interactions of the random billiard balls that atoms are represented as, and the door opens. In walks this solemn group of what I remember as two men and a woman. All in suits, holding clip-boards, and with a slightly superior air about them. Sandy moves from behind the desk, welcomes them in, and moves round to the side of the lab.
He sits up against one of the walls, relaxes himself into a "I'm just one of you guy" poses, and starts to ask us some questions on Boyles law. I know they were not fantastically easy, but I also know for a fact that at least one of the other children in the class knew the answer. He asked for the answer, but no-one was willing to put their hand up. He then turned to me and in a partly resigned, partly annoyed voice said "Go on then Sarah."
Let me review the scene. There he was, lounging against the side of the lab. We were sat, rather unusually looking away from the door, and behind us were the inspectors.
The time for my revenge was upon me. The inspectors couldn't see my face, so they didn't see the great big smile I gave that self-puffed up imbecile of an excuse for a teacher. I smiled at him, and in a sickly sweet tone of voice said "have we covered this sir?" It was glorious. He couldn't do anything against me at that point, because the inspectors were there. They were my insurance at that time. I still feel wickedly pleased with myself about that. Saying to me I'm going to drop a class because he didn't like me! Ha!
Anyway, much of the above has come out recently, for one reason or another. However I can't seem to emotionally accept much of it. I seem to have this glass wall between me now and me then which I can't penetrate. I can't even see how me now came to be. I decided that I need to get some counselling on processing these past issues, and I can see that that is going to be a long and nasty road to travel, but I've been there before, I've suffered at the hands of petty minded teachers, and ignorant children. I've already survived the experience once. I'm certainly not going to let it continue to have power over me. All I have to do is find the right counsellor.
Monday 16 June 2008
Tuesday 10 June 2008
An Introduction to Jerk
Jerk Chicken that is (or turkey in this case).
My husband had never until tonight had jerk chicken. Having lived in London, I'd sampled it's delights from a friend at church who happened to be from the West Indies. It's great, if a little warm.
So, I saw a pack of jerk seasoning in Tesco, and decided to buy it to go with the large amount of cheap turkey we picked up at the same time. One coffee grinder, a lemon and some tomato paste later I had serious chunks of turkey marinading.
The packet said marinade for 2 hours. I did it overnight (the flavour really gets to the centre of the meat). I then put together some kebabs (about 11), consiting of jerk turkey, cherry tomatoes, peppers and mushrooms. Heat a grill, put them under, and turn occasionally until cooked.
My husband found them very nice, they were a bit warm for me, but nothing sticking my tongue into a couple of pots of Muller Light wouldn't cure.
The other person in our household who hasn't had jerk til today was Tabitha, our small cat. (Fermat, the large one is a hunter, Tabitha is a scavenger.) She smelled meat, she saw us consuming something, and assumed that it was meat, and required her portion.
Have you ever seen a cat who has suddenly realised that she's eaten something which is a tad too warm for her. I swear she was pushing her tongue out of her mouth just to get it less hot. The look on her face was good too - pity I didn't have a camera around.
Currently she is sitting just to the right of my husband's keyboard and trying to snatch the food from the remaining kebabs which he is demolishing quite quickly. Obviously it wasn't too hot.
My husband had never until tonight had jerk chicken. Having lived in London, I'd sampled it's delights from a friend at church who happened to be from the West Indies. It's great, if a little warm.
So, I saw a pack of jerk seasoning in Tesco, and decided to buy it to go with the large amount of cheap turkey we picked up at the same time. One coffee grinder, a lemon and some tomato paste later I had serious chunks of turkey marinading.
The packet said marinade for 2 hours. I did it overnight (the flavour really gets to the centre of the meat). I then put together some kebabs (about 11), consiting of jerk turkey, cherry tomatoes, peppers and mushrooms. Heat a grill, put them under, and turn occasionally until cooked.
My husband found them very nice, they were a bit warm for me, but nothing sticking my tongue into a couple of pots of Muller Light wouldn't cure.
The other person in our household who hasn't had jerk til today was Tabitha, our small cat. (Fermat, the large one is a hunter, Tabitha is a scavenger.) She smelled meat, she saw us consuming something, and assumed that it was meat, and required her portion.
Have you ever seen a cat who has suddenly realised that she's eaten something which is a tad too warm for her. I swear she was pushing her tongue out of her mouth just to get it less hot. The look on her face was good too - pity I didn't have a camera around.
Currently she is sitting just to the right of my husband's keyboard and trying to snatch the food from the remaining kebabs which he is demolishing quite quickly. Obviously it wasn't too hot.
Sunday 8 June 2008
My beliefs... Part 1 of ?
My husband read my last post and said he got bogged down in the rather short paragraph where I outline some of my key beliefs without going into further detail. I did link some of them through to various Wikipedia pages, but even so.
Couple this with my thoughts of writing an explanation for various parts of some creeds, and you get this first out of, hopefully more than one, posts.
I'm going to start with the first line of the Apostle's Creed. All the links, btw, will go to various Wikipedia pages for you to view.
There is more than one 'version' of this. I'm going to use the one from Common Worship, which is:
This is a good place to start any Christian apologetic, so let me see if I can explain what I mean by God.
If you ask certain theologians, they will describe God as 'the other'. By this they mean that there are things and persons we can see and touch. Thee and me for one. We can easily communicate in a common ground. I think both of us understand the concept 'yellow'. For some blind people, they don't have a concept attached to the term 'yellow', and for them they can discuss it as a philosophical idea, but have no way of attaching it to something they can grasp.
God is a bit like that. We have a name for him - "God", but we can't actually see what that is. We don't have the ability to actually experience God as God, so we can only approximate what he is.
So, how can we know God? We know him because he has revealed himself to us, firstly by the calling of the Hebrews, then by the giving of the law, then through the prophets, and 'in these last days through his Son'. Over all of human history God has been speaking to us, becoming more and more personal as he does so. And it is through his speaking that we have come to understand part of who he is.
We only know about God what he has told us about him. I'd like to use an approximation here, but it is important to realise that when talking about God, approximations are all we really can use, and also that all the approximations that we do use, fall flat in relation to the actuality of God Himself.
It's a bit like having a pen-pal. Unless your pen-pal sends you a photograph, you can only imagine what they look like. You can get letters from them, giving you information, perhaps they like to ice skate, and you can build up a mental image of someone ice skating, but the image you have in your mind is not the actually picture of your pen-pal skating. In fact there could be huge differences (you imagine in a rink, they actually do it on a glacier). So, despite having written text from your pen-pal about themselves, until you actually get a photograph of them ice skating, you don't really comprehend them.
Is God our pen-pal? I think that sitting down and writing letters to God on a regular basis, like a pen-pal, could be a rewarding experience (even if you don't believe in him). I'll not say anything about him responding, in either direction, but if I did it I would start to pour out my heart to him much more than I currently do.
God is, however, someone who we can only know by what he as written to us. If you read the scriptures, the Old and New Testaments, then you can get to know a bit of who God is. I've heard more than once the fact that the God of the Old Testament is a cruel, heartless taskmaster who punishes the least sin, compared to the God of the New Testament who is loving and forgiving.
I would point people at the story of Jonah for a look at how forgiving God can be (not in his actions towards Jonah, but in his actions towards the people of Nineveh - a nation of gentiles). There are other parts of the Old Testament which talk about his love. Almost all the prophets tell of God's love for his people, how he loves them like a bridegroom loves his bride, like a father loves his child. And in the New Testament we have Jesus making a whip, and overturning the tables in the temple, whipping the people to make them leave. That's not exactly the common view of an all-loving god.
I use these two different points to show that God is complex. That is one of the most important things to have in mind. Humans are very complex. I don't always know what my husband is thinking, and sometimes I get responses which are so far out of what I was expecting that I realise again how complicated a man I married. (In a good way here). God is every more complex than that.
God is not a turtle
Humans have invented some words to describe the attributes of God. A preacher once stated that God is omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent, and eternal (at this point in a sermon a small child piped up and said to the preacher "God is not a turtle", hence the start of this section).
What do those omni-words mean. Omni- is a prefix which means all, so omnipresent means always present; there is no-where you can go to get out of the presence of God.
Omnipotent is always potent, or able to do stuff; there is nothing which is too difficult for God to do.
Omniscient is always scient? What is scient - well we get the word science from the same root. It means knowledge, so omniscient is all knowing; God knows everything (thus disproving Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, and saving cats everywhere from being cruelly put in boxes and either being killed or not).
Omnibenevolent, all loving; God loves all his creation. This is the one which tends to have all the rationalists pointing their fingers and saying "what about then?". Just because God loves you, and is able to stop something bad happening to you, it doesn't mean he will stop it. Him not acting a particular situation in the way people want him to does not say he (1) doesn't exist (2) doesn't know about it (3) can't do something about it (4) doesn't care about it. He just knows a lot more than we do, and perhaps he has a reason we can't comprehend. Yes, I know that those rationalists are now pointing the finger and saying "cop-out."
Take a parent who has a young child. He loves his son, and wants the best for him. He knows that sometimes the son should do things he doesn't want to - say tidy up his room (don't come to our house and look at *any* of our rooms without giving us 1 months notice). So, he tells the child to tidy up his room. The parent now has to leave it in the hands of his son to do the actual tiding. He can come in and tidy the room up on his own, he certainly has the power. He can see the state of the room from the hallway. The fact that he leaves the actual action to the son doesn't mean he doesn't exist (he's in the hallway). That he doesn't know (he can see the room). He can't do (he can easily step into and do). He doesn't care (he does, that's why he's told the child what to do).
Eternal (not a turtle, although turtles are nice). Some people use the term self-existent. They have similar results. It means that God always has, and always will exist. We live in a universe governed by time. We get up in the morning, and go to bed in the evening having the day in between those two points. We have a birth, a life, and a death. The universe, according to some theorists, has a big bang at the start, an expanding universe at the moment, and the ultimate heat-death of the universe to come (don't worry about that, unless you are going to be around for the next ten billion or so years you'll still be able to live on the earth precluding anything serious happening that is). God doesn't have any of that. He was, he is, and he is to come. Some people say God is outside time. Others time is inside God. I think time is irrelevant to God - it doesn't apply to him. It's a bit like saying the laws of how to drive in Britain are irrelevant to people driving in America. Doesn't mean people don't drive in either country. God can do stuff in time, and he can do stuff outside of time. In fact it's all the same to him.
Conclusion
Do I have one? Well yes. God is someone which the stuff which applies to us, doesn't apply to him. We are limited in where we are, what we can do, what we know, how much we can love (people, cats, budgies, whatever), when we are (I'm writing this now, you are reading it now - however those 'now's are very different). God isn't. We are human, he isn't. We are same - he is other, which brings us back in a nice circle to the great theological conclusion that you can't understand what God is, he is other.
Couple this with my thoughts of writing an explanation for various parts of some creeds, and you get this first out of, hopefully more than one, posts.
I'm going to start with the first line of the Apostle's Creed. All the links, btw, will go to various Wikipedia pages for you to view.
There is more than one 'version' of this. I'm going to use the one from Common Worship, which is:
I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again; he ascended into heaven, he is seated at the right hand of the Father, and he will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.Taking this in chunks, I'm going to look at the first part only - I believe in God.
This is a good place to start any Christian apologetic, so let me see if I can explain what I mean by God.
If you ask certain theologians, they will describe God as 'the other'. By this they mean that there are things and persons we can see and touch. Thee and me for one. We can easily communicate in a common ground. I think both of us understand the concept 'yellow'. For some blind people, they don't have a concept attached to the term 'yellow', and for them they can discuss it as a philosophical idea, but have no way of attaching it to something they can grasp.
God is a bit like that. We have a name for him - "God", but we can't actually see what that is. We don't have the ability to actually experience God as God, so we can only approximate what he is.
So, how can we know God? We know him because he has revealed himself to us, firstly by the calling of the Hebrews, then by the giving of the law, then through the prophets, and 'in these last days through his Son'. Over all of human history God has been speaking to us, becoming more and more personal as he does so. And it is through his speaking that we have come to understand part of who he is.
We only know about God what he has told us about him. I'd like to use an approximation here, but it is important to realise that when talking about God, approximations are all we really can use, and also that all the approximations that we do use, fall flat in relation to the actuality of God Himself.
It's a bit like having a pen-pal. Unless your pen-pal sends you a photograph, you can only imagine what they look like. You can get letters from them, giving you information, perhaps they like to ice skate, and you can build up a mental image of someone ice skating, but the image you have in your mind is not the actually picture of your pen-pal skating. In fact there could be huge differences (you imagine in a rink, they actually do it on a glacier). So, despite having written text from your pen-pal about themselves, until you actually get a photograph of them ice skating, you don't really comprehend them.
Is God our pen-pal? I think that sitting down and writing letters to God on a regular basis, like a pen-pal, could be a rewarding experience (even if you don't believe in him). I'll not say anything about him responding, in either direction, but if I did it I would start to pour out my heart to him much more than I currently do.
God is, however, someone who we can only know by what he as written to us. If you read the scriptures, the Old and New Testaments, then you can get to know a bit of who God is. I've heard more than once the fact that the God of the Old Testament is a cruel, heartless taskmaster who punishes the least sin, compared to the God of the New Testament who is loving and forgiving.
I would point people at the story of Jonah for a look at how forgiving God can be (not in his actions towards Jonah, but in his actions towards the people of Nineveh - a nation of gentiles). There are other parts of the Old Testament which talk about his love. Almost all the prophets tell of God's love for his people, how he loves them like a bridegroom loves his bride, like a father loves his child. And in the New Testament we have Jesus making a whip, and overturning the tables in the temple, whipping the people to make them leave. That's not exactly the common view of an all-loving god.
I use these two different points to show that God is complex. That is one of the most important things to have in mind. Humans are very complex. I don't always know what my husband is thinking, and sometimes I get responses which are so far out of what I was expecting that I realise again how complicated a man I married. (In a good way here). God is every more complex than that.
God is not a turtle
Humans have invented some words to describe the attributes of God. A preacher once stated that God is omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent, and eternal (at this point in a sermon a small child piped up and said to the preacher "God is not a turtle", hence the start of this section).
What do those omni-words mean. Omni- is a prefix which means all, so omnipresent means always present; there is no-where you can go to get out of the presence of God.
Omnipotent is always potent, or able to do stuff; there is nothing which is too difficult for God to do.
Omniscient is always scient? What is scient - well we get the word science from the same root. It means knowledge, so omniscient is all knowing; God knows everything (thus disproving Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, and saving cats everywhere from being cruelly put in boxes and either being killed or not).
Omnibenevolent, all loving; God loves all his creation. This is the one which tends to have all the rationalists pointing their fingers and saying "what about
Take a parent who has a young child. He loves his son, and wants the best for him. He knows that sometimes the son should do things he doesn't want to - say tidy up his room (don't come to our house and look at *any* of our rooms without giving us 1 months notice). So, he tells the child to tidy up his room. The parent now has to leave it in the hands of his son to do the actual tiding. He can come in and tidy the room up on his own, he certainly has the power. He can see the state of the room from the hallway. The fact that he leaves the actual action to the son doesn't mean he doesn't exist (he's in the hallway). That he doesn't know (he can see the room). He can't do (he can easily step into and do). He doesn't care (he does, that's why he's told the child what to do).
Eternal (not a turtle, although turtles are nice). Some people use the term self-existent. They have similar results. It means that God always has, and always will exist. We live in a universe governed by time. We get up in the morning, and go to bed in the evening having the day in between those two points. We have a birth, a life, and a death. The universe, according to some theorists, has a big bang at the start, an expanding universe at the moment, and the ultimate heat-death of the universe to come (don't worry about that, unless you are going to be around for the next ten billion or so years you'll still be able to live on the earth precluding anything serious happening that is). God doesn't have any of that. He was, he is, and he is to come. Some people say God is outside time. Others time is inside God. I think time is irrelevant to God - it doesn't apply to him. It's a bit like saying the laws of how to drive in Britain are irrelevant to people driving in America. Doesn't mean people don't drive in either country. God can do stuff in time, and he can do stuff outside of time. In fact it's all the same to him.
Conclusion
Do I have one? Well yes. God is someone which the stuff which applies to us, doesn't apply to him. We are limited in where we are, what we can do, what we know, how much we can love (people, cats, budgies, whatever), when we are (I'm writing this now, you are reading it now - however those 'now's are very different). God isn't. We are human, he isn't. We are same - he is other, which brings us back in a nice circle to the great theological conclusion that you can't understand what God is, he is other.
Saturday 7 June 2008
Drawing the line
I'm not sure if I've mentioned before, but I'm a christian. If asked what denomination (or sect, or flavour) of Christianity I follow, then I give a very weird answer - 'non-denominational charismatic'.
What does that mean. Let me give you a glimpse of my life as a christian so far.
Until the age of 12 my family worshiped at a Baptist church. Then we moved to one of the new "house churches." We termed ourselves a Community Church, but since then the term House Church has come to be what covers the vast number of congregations who chose not to follow one of the main sections of Christianity, but instead have their own form of mainly local leadership. The church we were in was a congregation which was part of what was termed the North London Community Church. There were about 6-ish different churches who all worshipped in slightly different ways, but who shared a common leadership team.
After that period I went to University. I went to a 'house church' there, until I realised that I could get an extra 30 minutes in bed by just wandering down the hall to the chapel in the same building where I was housed.
I also fell away a bit at this point. Just no longer having my parents there to drive me into the church, or even having them there to tell me what to do.
So, I went to the local chapel, which was a Church of England (CofE). After I had my first major psychotic episode, and totally destroyed any chance of a degree from there, I returned home and went back to the fold of the community church.
Then my sister had her second child...
My sister had her first child by IVF, specifically by ICSI. This caused a problem, one of his parents is a carrier of a rather rare condition, Edwards Syndrome. Andrew, who is a really happy child, is currently over 10. He has only said 1 word in his life, he is bi-laterally deaf, he can't sit up without assistance, and he doesn't eat, rather he is fed via a tube which goes directly into his stomach. He also has epilepsy. Obviously this means he needs 24 hours a day care, and that's a lot to put on any family.
Then she had Amy. Amy is not disabled, she's not even a carrier. Instead she's a bright, curious, and happy child as well (my sister appears to be a very good mother, something of a shock to both me and mum I think). So, all of a sudden my sister had this very disabled son, and a baby, to look after. Me, mum and dad up-rooted ourselves and moved to Cranfield to be close to them.
There were a number of churches in Cranfield, but we moved to go to the CofE there. A nice church with lovely people in it.
Then I met my husband for the second time (I've so got to put that story up at some point). He lived in Manchester, I lived in Cranfield and worked in London. I loved him, I moved.
I was very ill when I moved, in the middle of a Bi-Polar mixed episode, not fun to watch. I ended up going to a very close Methodist church (it's at the end of our road). Then when I got a bit better I went to a CofE (nice building, average age of congregation probably over 60). That suited me while I got better, then I left.
I tried the local house church. They suffered from the "let's welcome the visitors by giving them a round of applause" syndrome. Nothing makes me want to cringe and run away more.
Then I went to St Johns in Flixton. From the moment I went through the door I felt good. The service was something I was used to, the people are lovely, and the vicar is quite happy to cut out pieces of the CofE official service because they are contrary to the bible. My kind of guy.
I then felt (and still feel) that I needed to get close to understanding what the Catholic Church is all about. I knew that they do not accept the communion of non Catholics, and that you had to join them to be able to take communion with them. I had heard of their other practices (worship of Mary & saints...) but I wanted to know the truth about them.
So I started going to morning mass at a local Catholic Church. There are some nice people there, and they really have made me feel welcome, though I'm not sure whether they are rubbing their hands and saying "great, one more got" (apologies to any Catholics for that comment).
It was while I was there that I saw a notice for a position opening in the local Methodist circuit, which I applied for and got. So now I am a member of a CofE church, I join in morning mass (going up for a blessing) at a Catholic Church, and work at a Methodist Church.
That's how I got to where I am, now what do I believe.
Firstly, I believe that the Holy Bible, in the original language, is the divine word of God. I believe in the priesthood of all believers, (baptist roots showing through there I think). I believe in one advocate, Jesus Christ. I accept the doctrine of fallen humanity, the sinful nature of humanity, the redeeming work of Jesus as both a living example, as well as an acceptable sacrifice for sin. I believe in the resurrection of the dead, the physical return of Jesus to the earth, and the eventual destruction of the universe to create a new heaven and earth. (Sorry for only certain links there.)
How do I feel my faith should be put into practice? Firstly I am very against any forms of representation of Christ. He wasn't a nice tall blond haired blue eyed boy; he was a Jew. He probably had a crooked nose, coloured skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. I'm not sure what he actually looked like, but that's the whole point of not having a representation of him. Any ones we have will probably be wrong, and this will lead us to have a wrong understanding of who he is.
The picture "Light of the World" casts him in a similar vein to Florence Nightingale (though perhaps she got the name form the painting and not vice-versa given the relative ages). But my point is that the picture gives us an idea of what Jesus looks like, and what he does. And I can guarantee that although that may well be part of what he does, it is probably nothing like what he looks, and only a small part of what he does.
This is the same with whatever representations you have. If you have him on a crucifix, you only see him as being on the cross - although that was the crux of his ministry on earth - you miss out on all his other ministries. If you see him in the sermon on the mount - which contains a large proportion of his teaching - you lose perspective about his eventual death. And if you see him in the cradle (don't get me started) you only see the beginning of the story. So, I'm against any form of representation of Christ in a church.
I don't like the stained glass window which only portray the saints as well, or the icons and statues of saints. They can mislead the worshipper to worship the created rather than the creator, they can turn into graven images (although there are enough of those around outside the church).
In the way I try to live my life, I try (and don't always succeed) in making the lives of other people easier. I try to be a friend to all, and to help those in need. I fail miserably at almost all of this, but then I'm a member of fallen humanity. I do the best I can, and trust the rest to God.
I suppose I'm very puritanical in my beliefs. I especially feel the concept of having a defined vicar/preacher should only be there for the purposes of orderly worship. I feel that anyone should be allowed to, and in fact encouraged to, find a way of sharing their faith as part of a service, whether this is by the telling of a story about how God helped in their everyday life, up-to creating and sharing a sermon.
I'm not sure how I feel about the Calvinistic teaching of the predestination and the elect. Sometimes it frightens me. What happens if I spend all of my life, and give all of my love, strength, hope, desires, abilities etc. in the service of God, only to be told at the end that I wasn't actually chosen. Sometimes it comforts me - that despite the fact that my spending all my love, strength... in the service of God, and fail, then it doesn't matter because I've already been chosen, and my failings are taken into account. I know that I don't understand the full doctrine behind it. I also know that God is a God who does change his mind when it comes to grace and forgiveness. See the stories of Jonah in Nineveh and Lot in Sodom for times when this has happened (along with several times when the Israelites were wandering in the desert).
What about denominations? Well, I feel that they do serve one very useful purpose - that of having different ways of worship. Some people feel that a heavily structured service, where there are bells and smells, is the right way to serve God, and feel comfortable in that structure (I don't). Others feel that a much more relaxed formula should be used, and there should be the maximum allowance for God to move in the service. For each of these views, and for almost all of the other ones, there is a denomination which will welcome them in, and they will find a good route to worship God in them.
However, they also divide people. There is an old baptist joke about it. (I hope that link stays good). This shows how denominations can cause schisms. I've gone through one situation where the Church where I worshipped split into two based on the actions of one man. It was really hard for me to cope with.
I heard a great sermon once, whose message was it doesn't matter where you draw the line between good people and bad people, Jesus is always on the other side.
So, I feel that when it comes to Christianity, although I'm puritanically in beliefs, I feel able to worship at any church, and try to work to being in unity with my fellow believers in Christ.
So, how do I draw the line about who is and who isn't a Christian according to my beliefs? Very carefully.
What does that mean. Let me give you a glimpse of my life as a christian so far.
Until the age of 12 my family worshiped at a Baptist church. Then we moved to one of the new "house churches." We termed ourselves a Community Church, but since then the term House Church has come to be what covers the vast number of congregations who chose not to follow one of the main sections of Christianity, but instead have their own form of mainly local leadership. The church we were in was a congregation which was part of what was termed the North London Community Church. There were about 6-ish different churches who all worshipped in slightly different ways, but who shared a common leadership team.
After that period I went to University. I went to a 'house church' there, until I realised that I could get an extra 30 minutes in bed by just wandering down the hall to the chapel in the same building where I was housed.
I also fell away a bit at this point. Just no longer having my parents there to drive me into the church, or even having them there to tell me what to do.
So, I went to the local chapel, which was a Church of England (CofE). After I had my first major psychotic episode, and totally destroyed any chance of a degree from there, I returned home and went back to the fold of the community church.
Then my sister had her second child...
My sister had her first child by IVF, specifically by ICSI. This caused a problem, one of his parents is a carrier of a rather rare condition, Edwards Syndrome. Andrew, who is a really happy child, is currently over 10. He has only said 1 word in his life, he is bi-laterally deaf, he can't sit up without assistance, and he doesn't eat, rather he is fed via a tube which goes directly into his stomach. He also has epilepsy. Obviously this means he needs 24 hours a day care, and that's a lot to put on any family.
Then she had Amy. Amy is not disabled, she's not even a carrier. Instead she's a bright, curious, and happy child as well (my sister appears to be a very good mother, something of a shock to both me and mum I think). So, all of a sudden my sister had this very disabled son, and a baby, to look after. Me, mum and dad up-rooted ourselves and moved to Cranfield to be close to them.
There were a number of churches in Cranfield, but we moved to go to the CofE there. A nice church with lovely people in it.
Then I met my husband for the second time (I've so got to put that story up at some point). He lived in Manchester, I lived in Cranfield and worked in London. I loved him, I moved.
I was very ill when I moved, in the middle of a Bi-Polar mixed episode, not fun to watch. I ended up going to a very close Methodist church (it's at the end of our road). Then when I got a bit better I went to a CofE (nice building, average age of congregation probably over 60). That suited me while I got better, then I left.
I tried the local house church. They suffered from the "let's welcome the visitors by giving them a round of applause" syndrome. Nothing makes me want to cringe and run away more.
Then I went to St Johns in Flixton. From the moment I went through the door I felt good. The service was something I was used to, the people are lovely, and the vicar is quite happy to cut out pieces of the CofE official service because they are contrary to the bible. My kind of guy.
I then felt (and still feel) that I needed to get close to understanding what the Catholic Church is all about. I knew that they do not accept the communion of non Catholics, and that you had to join them to be able to take communion with them. I had heard of their other practices (worship of Mary & saints...) but I wanted to know the truth about them.
So I started going to morning mass at a local Catholic Church. There are some nice people there, and they really have made me feel welcome, though I'm not sure whether they are rubbing their hands and saying "great, one more got" (apologies to any Catholics for that comment).
It was while I was there that I saw a notice for a position opening in the local Methodist circuit, which I applied for and got. So now I am a member of a CofE church, I join in morning mass (going up for a blessing) at a Catholic Church, and work at a Methodist Church.
That's how I got to where I am, now what do I believe.
Firstly, I believe that the Holy Bible, in the original language, is the divine word of God. I believe in the priesthood of all believers, (baptist roots showing through there I think). I believe in one advocate, Jesus Christ. I accept the doctrine of fallen humanity, the sinful nature of humanity, the redeeming work of Jesus as both a living example, as well as an acceptable sacrifice for sin. I believe in the resurrection of the dead, the physical return of Jesus to the earth, and the eventual destruction of the universe to create a new heaven and earth. (Sorry for only certain links there.)
How do I feel my faith should be put into practice? Firstly I am very against any forms of representation of Christ. He wasn't a nice tall blond haired blue eyed boy; he was a Jew. He probably had a crooked nose, coloured skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. I'm not sure what he actually looked like, but that's the whole point of not having a representation of him. Any ones we have will probably be wrong, and this will lead us to have a wrong understanding of who he is.
The picture "Light of the World" casts him in a similar vein to Florence Nightingale (though perhaps she got the name form the painting and not vice-versa given the relative ages). But my point is that the picture gives us an idea of what Jesus looks like, and what he does. And I can guarantee that although that may well be part of what he does, it is probably nothing like what he looks, and only a small part of what he does.
This is the same with whatever representations you have. If you have him on a crucifix, you only see him as being on the cross - although that was the crux of his ministry on earth - you miss out on all his other ministries. If you see him in the sermon on the mount - which contains a large proportion of his teaching - you lose perspective about his eventual death. And if you see him in the cradle (don't get me started) you only see the beginning of the story. So, I'm against any form of representation of Christ in a church.
I don't like the stained glass window which only portray the saints as well, or the icons and statues of saints. They can mislead the worshipper to worship the created rather than the creator, they can turn into graven images (although there are enough of those around outside the church).
In the way I try to live my life, I try (and don't always succeed) in making the lives of other people easier. I try to be a friend to all, and to help those in need. I fail miserably at almost all of this, but then I'm a member of fallen humanity. I do the best I can, and trust the rest to God.
I suppose I'm very puritanical in my beliefs. I especially feel the concept of having a defined vicar/preacher should only be there for the purposes of orderly worship. I feel that anyone should be allowed to, and in fact encouraged to, find a way of sharing their faith as part of a service, whether this is by the telling of a story about how God helped in their everyday life, up-to creating and sharing a sermon.
I'm not sure how I feel about the Calvinistic teaching of the predestination and the elect. Sometimes it frightens me. What happens if I spend all of my life, and give all of my love, strength, hope, desires, abilities etc. in the service of God, only to be told at the end that I wasn't actually chosen. Sometimes it comforts me - that despite the fact that my spending all my love, strength... in the service of God, and fail, then it doesn't matter because I've already been chosen, and my failings are taken into account. I know that I don't understand the full doctrine behind it. I also know that God is a God who does change his mind when it comes to grace and forgiveness. See the stories of Jonah in Nineveh and Lot in Sodom for times when this has happened (along with several times when the Israelites were wandering in the desert).
What about denominations? Well, I feel that they do serve one very useful purpose - that of having different ways of worship. Some people feel that a heavily structured service, where there are bells and smells, is the right way to serve God, and feel comfortable in that structure (I don't). Others feel that a much more relaxed formula should be used, and there should be the maximum allowance for God to move in the service. For each of these views, and for almost all of the other ones, there is a denomination which will welcome them in, and they will find a good route to worship God in them.
However, they also divide people. There is an old baptist joke about it. (I hope that link stays good). This shows how denominations can cause schisms. I've gone through one situation where the Church where I worshipped split into two based on the actions of one man. It was really hard for me to cope with.
I heard a great sermon once, whose message was it doesn't matter where you draw the line between good people and bad people, Jesus is always on the other side.
So, I feel that when it comes to Christianity, although I'm puritanically in beliefs, I feel able to worship at any church, and try to work to being in unity with my fellow believers in Christ.
So, how do I draw the line about who is and who isn't a Christian according to my beliefs? Very carefully.
Wednesday 4 June 2008
Bi-polarity
I think I've mentioned that I'm bi-polar. I'm not sure many people understand what that is. I think that no-one who has not been in a manic episode (or possibly high on cocaine) can fully understand the pull of mania.
Bi-polar is the new name for manic depression. It's uni-polar depression for straight depressed people (most people admit that depression now exists), and bi-polar for people who have mania as well. So how does that affect my life. In short - greatly and in every way.
When I'm manic, I can act inappropriately in public. What that means is make coarse jokes about sex with total strangers, spend money like it's going out of fashion, get angry at people because they don't admit that I'm right and they are wrong (even when I'm wrong that is). The higher ends have be going off into psychosis, where I will start to believe things which blatantly aren't true. My worst episode was when I was about 20, when I got into believing I was the re-incarnation of the goddess Ishtar. My boyfriend at the time didn't know what was going on. Looking back I can totally understand his attitude to me then, and I agree that I needed help. I'm still pissed off at him that he didn't try and push me more to get help, but we were young and foolish (me more than him I think).
However, despite these apparent downsides, I still remember the feeling that came with mania. The feeling that made it all worth while, including the really bad depressions I went into.
Now I don't get it - the meds ensure that. In fact I've been on them so long now that the call of it seems to have died down. I can remember the last day I had mania, it was sometime last year, when, for no apparent reason, I went into a manic day.
It was a great day - everything was right with the world. I was perfect in a perfect day, in the perfect marriage, to the perfect man, and everything was just peachy. That was just the half of it.
Imagine the feeling that you get just after a climax - that rush of adrenaline that fills you with this sensation of completeness. You can also get the feeling from a good workout, or something like sub-space. Now take that feeling and extend it for 24 hours, that's one day in euphoria.
Now, take that day and have it over, and over, again for 6 months - that's mania.
I don't want to be manic anymore. I've got too much invested in this marriage for me to risk it, even for the good feelings. In some ways I feel like I cut off part of me and sacrificed it, but in the long run, I'm getting more and more like a 'normal' person with regard to mood swings; and that is good.
But, one problem I have is the feeling of guilt and shame over how I have acted in the past while manic. They are just small things, things which most people would go "so what" at, but they are totally not what I would do.
An example - at a party taking a swig out of a bottle of baileys as opposed to pouring it in a glass. Now some people would say "yep, I've been to parties like that", but this one was hosted by my parents, and that was just bad behaviour according to them. But I still feel guilt and shame over that. There are other things, but too many to list here.
I've tried a couple of techniques to deal with them, and EFT seems to be working quite well for me, despite seeming to be as mad as a medium sized box of frogs.
Recently I've been pushed into mild mania (no euphoria, just the bad stuff) by PMT. My voice pitch has risen (a sure sign of mania), and I've been emotional and irritable as hell. And I've ended up having to second-guess myself almost all the time. I have good insight into my condition, and if my husband points out what's going on I can tend to temper my behaviour accordingly, but still - try going through a day and before you say anything to someone outside your immediately family having to stop and think is it a good thing to say or not. It's really tiring.
And I now come to the honest conclusion that I don't know how to finish this blog (pun intended).
And so I have a reminder I use on myself when I'm in the manic (or depressive) phase. I'm not this person, this person is caused by changes in my brain chemistry which give me a different personality. This is not who I am.
I'm not sure how accurate that is medically, but it sure helps me get through the rough patches.
Bi-polar is the new name for manic depression. It's uni-polar depression for straight depressed people (most people admit that depression now exists), and bi-polar for people who have mania as well. So how does that affect my life. In short - greatly and in every way.
When I'm manic, I can act inappropriately in public. What that means is make coarse jokes about sex with total strangers, spend money like it's going out of fashion, get angry at people because they don't admit that I'm right and they are wrong (even when I'm wrong that is). The higher ends have be going off into psychosis, where I will start to believe things which blatantly aren't true. My worst episode was when I was about 20, when I got into believing I was the re-incarnation of the goddess Ishtar. My boyfriend at the time didn't know what was going on. Looking back I can totally understand his attitude to me then, and I agree that I needed help. I'm still pissed off at him that he didn't try and push me more to get help, but we were young and foolish (me more than him I think).
However, despite these apparent downsides, I still remember the feeling that came with mania. The feeling that made it all worth while, including the really bad depressions I went into.
Now I don't get it - the meds ensure that. In fact I've been on them so long now that the call of it seems to have died down. I can remember the last day I had mania, it was sometime last year, when, for no apparent reason, I went into a manic day.
It was a great day - everything was right with the world. I was perfect in a perfect day, in the perfect marriage, to the perfect man, and everything was just peachy. That was just the half of it.
Imagine the feeling that you get just after a climax - that rush of adrenaline that fills you with this sensation of completeness. You can also get the feeling from a good workout, or something like sub-space. Now take that feeling and extend it for 24 hours, that's one day in euphoria.
Now, take that day and have it over, and over, again for 6 months - that's mania.
I don't want to be manic anymore. I've got too much invested in this marriage for me to risk it, even for the good feelings. In some ways I feel like I cut off part of me and sacrificed it, but in the long run, I'm getting more and more like a 'normal' person with regard to mood swings; and that is good.
But, one problem I have is the feeling of guilt and shame over how I have acted in the past while manic. They are just small things, things which most people would go "so what" at, but they are totally not what I would do.
An example - at a party taking a swig out of a bottle of baileys as opposed to pouring it in a glass. Now some people would say "yep, I've been to parties like that", but this one was hosted by my parents, and that was just bad behaviour according to them. But I still feel guilt and shame over that. There are other things, but too many to list here.
I've tried a couple of techniques to deal with them, and EFT seems to be working quite well for me, despite seeming to be as mad as a medium sized box of frogs.
Recently I've been pushed into mild mania (no euphoria, just the bad stuff) by PMT. My voice pitch has risen (a sure sign of mania), and I've been emotional and irritable as hell. And I've ended up having to second-guess myself almost all the time. I have good insight into my condition, and if my husband points out what's going on I can tend to temper my behaviour accordingly, but still - try going through a day and before you say anything to someone outside your immediately family having to stop and think is it a good thing to say or not. It's really tiring.
And I now come to the honest conclusion that I don't know how to finish this blog (pun intended).
And so I have a reminder I use on myself when I'm in the manic (or depressive) phase. I'm not this person, this person is caused by changes in my brain chemistry which give me a different personality. This is not who I am.
I'm not sure how accurate that is medically, but it sure helps me get through the rough patches.
Monday 2 June 2008
Sex and periods
I'm trying to be open in this blog. So here goes - I hate periods.
Not for the pain (I don't get much now), not for the sheer messiness (I tend to have a very low amount of bleeding), but because sex becomes harder.
For a start, my sex drive dips quite quickly over my period. For about 10 days before hand my sex drive goes into over-drive (my body trying to get pregnant I assume), but as soon as my bleed starts - it seems to stop.
On the rare occasions that it starts (and earlier was an example) I just can't consider sex without using a condom. The whole health issue is quite high with me (I think it's linked in with my abuse). So I then have the tricky job of persuading my husband that using a condom isn't that bad, and it is worse than no-sex.
Sometimes this is easy. Today, for some reason, it wasn't. I'm not sure how it happened, but we just seemed to jar where we normally flow. It certainly killed the moment for me anyway.
There is another reason that I hate periods. That is PMT. I do get that, and sometimes for weeks at a time. I've never had a regular period. From when I started till I was about 20 my doctor kept telling me that it would calm down. When I was 20 he asked me when I started, on hearing 12 he suddenly realised that something was wrong, it wasn't going to calm down, and he needed to put me forward for some further examination.
So far they've not been able to find anything apart from a possible sight of PCOS. The normal treatment for this is hormone therapy, but I've also had a suspected DVT, and that kind of stops any change at hormone replacement. So they've compromised on a marina coil. It used to stop my periods all together. But now it seems that they've come back. I wonder if it stopped because I wasn't in any form of relationship for so long, but now that I'm back to having sex my body is responding with it's "get pregnant now" mantra.
Anyway, it's past my bedtime, and I've got work tomorrow, so catch you all later.
Not for the pain (I don't get much now), not for the sheer messiness (I tend to have a very low amount of bleeding), but because sex becomes harder.
For a start, my sex drive dips quite quickly over my period. For about 10 days before hand my sex drive goes into over-drive (my body trying to get pregnant I assume), but as soon as my bleed starts - it seems to stop.
On the rare occasions that it starts (and earlier was an example) I just can't consider sex without using a condom. The whole health issue is quite high with me (I think it's linked in with my abuse). So I then have the tricky job of persuading my husband that using a condom isn't that bad, and it is worse than no-sex.
Sometimes this is easy. Today, for some reason, it wasn't. I'm not sure how it happened, but we just seemed to jar where we normally flow. It certainly killed the moment for me anyway.
There is another reason that I hate periods. That is PMT. I do get that, and sometimes for weeks at a time. I've never had a regular period. From when I started till I was about 20 my doctor kept telling me that it would calm down. When I was 20 he asked me when I started, on hearing 12 he suddenly realised that something was wrong, it wasn't going to calm down, and he needed to put me forward for some further examination.
So far they've not been able to find anything apart from a possible sight of PCOS. The normal treatment for this is hormone therapy, but I've also had a suspected DVT, and that kind of stops any change at hormone replacement. So they've compromised on a marina coil. It used to stop my periods all together. But now it seems that they've come back. I wonder if it stopped because I wasn't in any form of relationship for so long, but now that I'm back to having sex my body is responding with it's "get pregnant now" mantra.
Anyway, it's past my bedtime, and I've got work tomorrow, so catch you all later.
Thursday 29 May 2008
The beauty of cats
We have cats. We currently have two cats, down from one when the smaller one probably sat in the middle of the road one time too many (she had this idea that cars should just drive round here - well, after making this strange hooting sound, most of them slowly inched round her).
Our older cat has just meowed at me. Very loudly and very insistently. She used to be a nice quiet cat, who would come and sit on your knee, demand that you stroked her, or at least stayed there while she took her afternoon 5 hour nap. Then she started to get very vocal. I'm not sure if I can pinpoint it to the time we got the other two, or the time she started to get reduced kidney function. Now she meows a lot. Normally when she knows someone is awake and in the house. Not sure what happens the rest of the time, probably because I am either asleep or out of the house.
She has just insistently come up, stood on my keyboard (beep beep beep beep...) and pushed her head in my face while meowing. Obviously she wants something. Given I've just come in and she's not had anything to eat yet today I correctly assume she wants food. Getting up to get the food bowl immediately rivets her attention on it. When I put it down she stares at me again, as if to say "why has the food not magically appeared yet - get me food now" until I pour her food in.
She will then eat some, and do one of two things, walk away totally (her option just now), or settle down on the router for a bit, then meow at me, and ask for food. At this point I have to take food container, and pretend to pour some more into her already food bowl. If she doesn't think anything has gone in, she will ignore the food there until I put one more piece of dried cat food in. Then repeat from start of paragraph.
I don't understand why she doesn't realise that the food doesn't magically disappear after she has eaten it. I mean - it's still there, if she sniffed it she'd find it, but no, she requires owner to continuously provide new and improved (well, new anyway) cat food on demand.
I think this nicely illustrates the relationship between a cat and his/her owners. Just because we're bigger, stronger, more intelligent, able to deal with long term relationships (well, some of us anyway), it's still the small furry mewing cat that rules the roost.
Our older cat has just meowed at me. Very loudly and very insistently. She used to be a nice quiet cat, who would come and sit on your knee, demand that you stroked her, or at least stayed there while she took her afternoon 5 hour nap. Then she started to get very vocal. I'm not sure if I can pinpoint it to the time we got the other two, or the time she started to get reduced kidney function. Now she meows a lot. Normally when she knows someone is awake and in the house. Not sure what happens the rest of the time, probably because I am either asleep or out of the house.
She has just insistently come up, stood on my keyboard (beep beep beep beep...) and pushed her head in my face while meowing. Obviously she wants something. Given I've just come in and she's not had anything to eat yet today I correctly assume she wants food. Getting up to get the food bowl immediately rivets her attention on it. When I put it down she stares at me again, as if to say "why has the food not magically appeared yet - get me food now" until I pour her food in.
She will then eat some, and do one of two things, walk away totally (her option just now), or settle down on the router for a bit, then meow at me, and ask for food. At this point I have to take food container, and pretend to pour some more into her already food bowl. If she doesn't think anything has gone in, she will ignore the food there until I put one more piece of dried cat food in. Then repeat from start of paragraph.
I don't understand why she doesn't realise that the food doesn't magically disappear after she has eaten it. I mean - it's still there, if she sniffed it she'd find it, but no, she requires owner to continuously provide new and improved (well, new anyway) cat food on demand.
I think this nicely illustrates the relationship between a cat and his/her owners. Just because we're bigger, stronger, more intelligent, able to deal with long term relationships (well, some of us anyway), it's still the small furry mewing cat that rules the roost.
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