July 11, 2022

>mood:

This is my first entry on this site—something I've been putting off writing for a while. Now I feel comfortable enough to divulge my issues for the world-wide web to see. But hey, it beats lobbing it over my friends on some random social media platform.

This past weekend was nice; I spent some time with some old friends. We played games and watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre (the 1974 version, of course). Overall, a fun experience.

Though this past weekend had a mollifying effect on me, I still feel empty. I'm not sure why. I often find myself in a sentimental mood; I guess I can't help it. Some have indicated that I'm never satisfied with anything—as if I voluntarily choose to be like this. And, I don't know, maybe I do.

July 12, 2022

>mood:

I feel like I'm half-alive. What's that one quote from Bataille about human existence being like death living a human life? That's how I feel (I know that isn't the point of the passage, but let me have my soapbox). I'd rather spend all day sleeping than face it, but we can't force reality to wait for us. Fate leads the willing and drags the unwilling, right?

Oftentimes, I doubt myself and my own abilities. "I'm not smart enough. I definitely haven't read as many anthropology/religious studies lit as the the person sitting next to me. I must be stupid for not getting things right away." Y'know, tortuous thoughts like that. But I'm perceptive enough to understand that these emotions are illusory guides. My peers generally value me; they often seek me out and ask for my opinions on things. Even my professors think highly of me. My Historical Archaeology TA—she's so sweet—told me that my Quaker burial site paper was "conference-level material." It was some of the best praise I've ever received in my life. She also gave me some valuable constructive feedback. Nevertheless, sometimes I doubt the sincerity of her acclimations. Undergrad papers are usually garbo, so I shouldn't get too excited. But even if her approval was just her way of being nice, she still must've liked it on some level.

So maybe things aren't that bad. I'm just a bit depressed is all.

Anyways, I've been warming up to the thought of reading again. I had to stop because it was hurting my brain. I'm the type of person that gets too obsessed with "figuring everything out" to the point where I just collapse from all the strain. Typical burnout. Maybe I should accept the fact that I'm not a dogmatist. Okay, perhaps I have some definite beliefs, but I can't conform to every minutiae of doctrine. So next time I approach theology, I'll do so without any grasping or clinging.

July 13, 2022

>mood:

TW: mental health issues, anxiety, depression, self-harm, and religion

To start, I am going to go on a spiel on how popular conceptions of religion suck. The diagnostic category of "religion"—a once-and-for-all label that relegates all manner of faiths, customs, and teachings to an apparently timeless, immutable abstraction—is unhelpful in actually understanding religion as something historically contigent. Additionally, seeing it as a self-isolating realm of human activity is just naive. Religious institutions and bodies are fields in which complex relationships of power percolate. These dynamics of power, along with the subject-formations, symbols, and rituals that accompany it, are susceptible to change over time. Plus, the attitude that religion is "harmful, reactionary, and barbarous" is just plain presumptious. We in the West have crafted our knowledge of "religion" around certain post-Reformation Christian assumptions, such as the clear delination between faith and politics. We even apply these concepts anachronistically, projecting our contemporary prejudices into the past. This is also quite frustrating when discussing the religious practices of the Other, or those that are not us. So, religious bodies are not static entities that we can heap ALL manner of blame on for our societal ills. That being said, religious authorities are indeed capable of incredible harm, and the latent capacity for abuse is always there. This capacity, however, is something that exists in all institutions. Okay, I'll stop geeking out now.

Dispensing with all the academic mumbojumbo (I hope I didn't bore you), I want to speak plainly about my own religious experiences—or at least the bad ones. I'm not sure if it was obvious before, but I consider myself to be nominally Christian. Being a cradle Catholic, I attended mass and CCD as a child, but my parents stopped going some time after the death of my grandparents. In high school, I was a big Nietzsche nerd, but I still felt nostalgic for the "meaning" Christianity offered to life, sort of like how Novalis wept over the death of a unified Christendom. When I started undergrad, I shifted around until I started casually studying Theravada and Vajrayana Buddhism. In Spring of 2021, I took a History of Christianity course that covered its origins to the Reformation (though it ended in 1204 with the Fourth Crusade lmao). I learned a whole lot about the early Church synods, Christological doctrines, and even the Filioque controversy. My interest blossomed from a simple academic passion to a firm belief in the Triune God of Creation. In short, I fell in love with Western Christianity. I started praying again, though I wasn't ready to attend mass and receive communion just yet. Over time, however, I became increasingly concerned about doctrinal purity and "orthodox" teaching. Creedal statements and correct convictions were more important to me than the virtues of love, compassion, and magnamity that Christ taught in His ministry. But of course, the temptation to learn about eccentric, potentially heretical beliefs grew. Though I was outwardly a fundamentalist, I inevitably became fascinated with mysticism, Hermeticism, and esoteric Christianity. Reading Paracelsus or Böhme made me scared for the state of my soul. Don't even get me started on how conflicted I felt while reading portions of Agrippa's Three Books of Occult Philosophy. I tended to agonize over why I felt such and such a way, as if I needed a justification for simply doing what I like. In summation, I guess I'm just overbearingly obsessive. I became too attached to specific truth claims to really appreciate how cool studying for the sake of studying can be.

In the coming paragraph, I'm going to dive into the nature of my obsession in graphic detail. I just wanna preface this by saying that the content of what I was not the studying that made me do this; rather, it was me clinging to it and adopting it that did. But if you are not comfortable with the topic of self-harm, please don't read the following:

Coupled with my unstable mental state, I'd nearly think myself half to death. It also didn't help that I'm incredibly anxious all the time. And that I have intrusive thoughts. A violent image involuntarily flashing before my mind meant that I was guilty of something; random sexual thoughts pointed torwards a sinful state of being; and anti-social behavior illustrated how far I was from receiving God's grace. And it didn't help that "trad" internet theologians kept prattling on and on about total depravity and unconditional election to me. That's the Calvinist shtick, I guess.

I even delighted in tearing myself to shreds. To castigate myself for my apparent "wickedness," I resorted to mental self-flagellation. Sometimes, I'd even bruise and scratch myself to stop thinking about sinful things. Eventually, I just ended up abandoning my faith and studies altogether. I still ask why the Lord allowed me to do this to myself. But, if Christ took up human nature into Himself and became man in order to take away the sins of the world, then He also died for my sake. Maybe I should remember that more often.

I am sorry if this entry was too morose. I hope to write more happier ones down the road.

July 16, 2022

>mood:

Happy Saturday to everyone Stateside. And to everyone else, happy whatever-your-day-is.

Another day, another "wah wah" post. I need a therapist. And if everything were fine I'd already have one, but it's difficult being financially dependent on people that aren't comfortable with the process. Sigh. What a tether. But, nevertheless, I'm going to see about asking them for one. For the past 10-12 years, I've struggled with a fuckton of things—bodyimage, eating habits, anxiety, depression, sh, self-isolation, suicidal ideation, etc. As a result, I have a proclivity to go long periods of time without outside human contact aside from the internet.

It's not that I don't have the wherewithal to interact with others; rather, it's more of a vicious cycle of self-isolation, intermittent socializing, and then back again.

My friends routinely try to offer me advice on how to alleviate my situation. It's always along the lines of "Why don't you join a club?" or "Why not try going out to a bar?" It's a well-attentioned gesture and I appreciate their concern. But, I don't think they understand how deep it goes. To put it bluntly: I AM mentally ill. Even if I go out, make new friends, and do all the normal human things, what happens when they stop talking to me? Or when I decide to give up? I go back to isolating myself. Then I find myself back at square one. What I really need is help, not advice.

Anyways, I really want to change. I believe my life is worth living. Oftentimes, however, I just feel stuck and I can't help it. This is just how I act. I don't choose it for myself, it's just what I do.

July 24, 2022

>mood:

Good everning, everyone. Or morning. Or afternoon. You know the drill.

So, the past couple of days have been pretty odd. I've had an infinite amount of depressive episodes at this point. The rigidity and hopelessness of life was just eating away at me. Yet, amidst all of this, I, well, discovered—and came to terms with—a part of my identity that I have been repressing for a very long time.

To put it bluntly, I am nonbinary.

I can't really describe it. For the longest time, I never felt like like my identity was circumscribed by my assigned sex (male). I always had a penchant for embracing "feminine" and "masculine" things in my childhood. But it wasn't till middle and high school that I started to notice how I was different from other boys. I had some notably androgynous features, and this created a dissonance between my assigned gender identity and how I perceived myself. Furthermore, around college, I started to see myself as myself—not a gendered person, but just me. It didn't really hit me until now that I am not a man at all. I am nonbinary. Some days I feel masculine; on others, I feel more feminine. Some days I don't find either to my liking. But, regardless, I don't subscribe to either gender identity.

I'm hoping to adopt different styles to fit the gender expression—or lack thereof—that best conform to how I feel in a given day. So I've been really reconsidering my fashion. Ideally, I'd be able to take on masculine, feminine, and androgynous styles. I've also been getting into menhera, gothic lolita, and other Jfashion stuff (it's so cute and macabre!!! I fell in love with this stuff on first sight). I know this seems shamelessly materialistic, but I've always dreamed of having my own look, something unique to myself. It'd look something like this: I'd wear a frilly lolita coord on one day and I'd switch out to a nice carhartt jacket with boots on the other. Or maybe I'd just switch it up on the same day? Who knows!

I'm just so ecstatic. I've never felt this way before. It's so indescribable, really. But I'm infectiously happy.

July 31, 2022

>mood:

This is the last post on my July entries page. I wish I could've used this VA-11 Hall-A layout more (it's extremely cute), but I've been really preoccupied with personal matters lately. I'm touching base with some of my old friends now that I'm back home. Fortunately, despite the fact that I'm a lackluster communicator, they've welcomed me back with open arms. I consider myself super lucky to have friends that deeply care about me; I can't imagine what I would do without them.

I know, I know. Website updates have been a slow-going. A month ago, all I cared about was this site. I used to spend all day and night fine tuning the HTML and CSS; now, I mostly dick around on social media without a care in the world. But, hey, it's fun! Now that I'm free from the arbitrary gender restrictions I used to place on myself, I'm free to curate my online experience in anyway I choose—from viewing hardcore Berserk manga panels one moment to elegant lolita jsks a split second later. TL;DR: I got the algorithim on Insta to work for me.

Up to now, I've refused to discuss my family troubles on this site. But now that I'm living with my parents again for the Summer, keeping everything to myself isn't much of an option. Much of my trauma comes from my parents, who verbally and mentally abused me growing up. It sounds so extreme to put it that way, but it's the truth. Nevertheless, I still interact with them daily and, to them, I'm the only "good child" who didn't abandon them—or, more accurately, the only child who was too submissive to say anything or fight back.

I come from a fervently conservative household: my father berates climate change activists for being "propagandists," and my mother makes gratuitious remarks about LGBTQ+ people. And, of course, when I'm trying to steer the conversation torwards something casual and light, it ALWAYS bounces back to some Fox News platitude about abortion or my generation. Yikes. So yeah, not a great environment for me as a nonbinary person. Then why put up with it? Well, I guess I rationalized it by telling myself that I don't have much of a choice. I'm financially dependent on my parents for my college education. Plus, my older siblings rebelled against my parents, which pretty much left me with the implicit duty of being the "mediator." I despise being in this position and I resent myself for acquiescing to it. It pains me to know that I'm the "good child" in my parents' eyes, not because I want to sow discord or anything like that, but because that's not who I really am. The "good child" me is a constructed, reified image of what my parents demand and expect of me. But I know that I'll always fall short of this illusory "me." Even if I and totally adopt their readymade plans for me and my life, it'll inevitably end in an exchange of blows.

I'm starting to realize that there's nothing wrong with choosing myself over others, especially if it prioritizes my wellbeing. For so long, I've sacrificed my time, energy, and spirit to make others happy; however, in the process, I've made myself exceedingly miserable. I love my parents, I really do. But I can't be with them. I need to live my life, even if that means potentially forfeiting my relationship with them. It sucks. I wish I could just be myself AND have them around. But I can't and I know that.