I once had a Facebook page and then I deleted it. I was happy for four years. Then, my job said it was “highly recommended” that I have an account. So I created a new one. It was terrible. After a dear friend passed away, I deleted it. I was happy for four weeks. I let people make me feel bad for not having an account so I created a my third account. It’s been one of the worse decisions of my life.
Growing up, watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was a given in my home each December. While the show appears to be an innocent, fun time, it’s really an average story with a terrible message.
As families plan to get together for Thanksgiving and remember the things they are thankful for, they also make plans for Christmas, which is a time to share memories, make new ones, and reflect on the year gone by.
Every day, my Facebook feed is filled with more than a dozen posts related to Jesus and Christianity. The posts tell me that I can’t do anything right in the world without him, that he chooses the outcomes of sports, and that, if I’m feeling down or struggling, I just need to pray. Hey, that’s great, if you believe such things. However, not everyone does.
I sometimes sit and think about the heat death of the universe. In 10100 years, or a googol, I won’t be here to see it, but I think about all that will be lost when that happens. All the evidence pointing toward our existence will be gone. Documents about what we tried to do here, our triumphs and tragedies will disappear. Whatever living things that are left will be gone. Our only possible salvation would be the existence of the multiverse. If the multiverse were real, we might have a chance to survive elsewhere. Yet, it is highly unlikely.
September through December are difficult times for me personally. The end of October and beginning of November are the worst. For thirty-four years, I’ve kept the demons at bay by ignoring them, but they are always close by, pushing for relevance in my life. One year ago, I began to confront them. One by one, they are having less relevance in my life and I am moving a little bit forward each day to find the better me.
Carter Canyon WMA.
The last two weeks have been incredibly difficult to get through. As with any trauma work, there will be good and bad times, progress and setbacks. This past week was one of the more difficult ones, but three friends stepped up to help keep me on track and to be that inner voice of rationality when my own inner voice could not. To them, I am eternally grateful.
As for where I go next, it has to be spending more time offline doing what I love (reading, writing, being in nature) and less online, even though I know that means losing touch with people.
I still remember the dust particles in the air. I remember the trees blossoming. I remember the punches to face. I remember being dragged down a flight of stairs. I remember never having no being taken as an answer.
The phone rings, echoing throughout the dining room. “Ugh,” Paul and I say in unison. I feel myself tense up. My heart begins beating in my throat. I close my eyes and try to will the most menacing machine in my house to stop ringing.
“Do I have to get that?” Paul says before the answering machine picks up.
“I can’t talk to anyone right now,” I reply. We decide to let it go. We’ll call back later.
As an introvert, talking to anyone on the telephone is difficult. Yet, I have a landline and a cell phone. I hate them with every fiber of my being.
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