I may be safe, but safety and happiness aren’t the same thing.

This morning I came downstairs after a very good sleep ready to face the day — or so I thought.  My dad was getting his breakfast together before going off to work, and on seeing me decided it was the perfect opportunity to play bitch-by-proxy.  Apparently my mom can’t speak to me directly if she has an issue to take up; she has to enlist his “help” to talk things over now.

Anyway, he told me he had “a medical concern” to bring up (he’s a practicing R.N. and has been for over 20 years) and went on to explain that my mom was deeply worried that I wasn’t getting my pills properly spaced 12 hours apart.  So I maintained yet another lie, that not only am I taking every single dose, but they are appropriately timed, and although they may not be exactly twelve hours apart, they’re no less than 10 and no more than 14.

I would truly love to be able to tell them that it doesn’t matter how far apart my lies saying I took the stupid drugs happen, because you can’t even easily measure the time between my doses in hours!  But I go for the self- preservation option and feed them the bullshit they want to hear so that I can continue keeping a roof over my head and food to eat so I don’t starve.

As if that weren’t bad enough, up next was — now that I think of it, it was basically a sermon — about what a marvelous spiritually touching experience he’d had yesterday discussing with the 16- and 17 -year old boys at church their excitement and conviction in teaching “God’s will” to their classmates and how they knew all the right things to say when someone challenged them on their support of Prop. 8.  The whole time he’s preaching at me, he keeps pausing and waiting for my approval and admiration, which I’m obligated (at this point) to provide in the form of “yeah… cool…” or “Gee, that’s great…”

I don’t understand how he can completely miss the edge of sarcasm in my voice, how he can be so completely blind to the reality of his own daughter’s life… but for now, I must wonder silently; to question aloud would begin a great unraveling of the fragile threads holding my daily living together.

At any rate, he continued on about various other things, including an attempt to draw some sort of parallel between the Mormon church’s “persecution” in the 1960s over their then-current policy of denying the priesthood to black men.  He carefully omitted the part about how suddenly as things in the civil rights movement started to favor racial equality, there was “a message from God” decreeing that “all worthy men of proper age should now be allowed to hold the priesthood.”

I don’t know if he suddenly realized he was endlessly rambling, or if he clued in to the fact that I didn’t give two shits about his bigoted religious views and didn’t want to stand around listening, or if he just saw the time and realized he had to go to work, but he trailed off what he was saying and then concluded with “Well, there’s your day’s Civics lesson! Glad I could help teach you this morning! Hahaha, heeheee… chuckle… (pause expecting equivalent laughter from me, which I tried for at least…)”

But as I was sitting down to type up this entry, I saw some of my old posts and also my current mood message — “I can handle the low points in life…”, “It may not be much, but it’s my life, and it *will* get better”, “I can be happy knowing that I am doing what I feel I should”, “I’ve been happy in general overall”, and “I’m happier these last months than I can remember being in many, many years”… and I drew strength from my own words and thoughts.  It’s better to be safe and have a stable place to live, even if it means playing these stupid games for now, lying to my family, putting up with stories about how wonderful their church is and how perfect it is that Prop. 8 passed… it’s better to deal with that shit for now than to find myself cut off from the only family I have, out on the street somewhere with nothing to survive on.

Patience is a key asset that I must nurture and develop… it will save me in the end, I think.

Ah yes, I had wanted to mention a quote from my mom, overheard the other day during one of her many lengthy conversations with my dad on Prop. 8 — “So much of what they [opponents of Proposition 8] say makes such perfect sense….. if they just weren’t looking at it from the wrong perspective!”

I’ve heard her elaborate further on that to the effect that all of the points made for same-sex marriage make absolute logical sense, but since it isn’t a logical but a moral and a spiritual issue, those logical arguments are therefore completely invalid — God says so, and He’s more right than anybody on the planet.

How do you surgically remove that kind of Tumor of Stupid from an otherwise perfectly healthy Person of Intelligence?  Is it even possible?  When someone decides that logic can only be selectively applied to the world around us, according to their own choosing, what defense can we mount against them?  Do they get to keep thinking they’ve won the debate simply because you see the futility of continuing in it and walk away?

I think I’ll ask my friend RPJ for input on the matter.  If it’s debate — well-structured, intelligent, logical debate — that you want, he’s the one to find.  Always level-headed and able to separate emotional bias from logical proposals, sophistry from sanity, and a master of wit, I’m sure he’d have some sage advice on how to proceed.  However, if anyone else out there wants to chime in on things, please feel free!  Comments and kudos welcome.


One Response to “I may be safe, but safety and happiness aren’t the same thing.”

  1. Friday Raves & Rants | Σαφικος Σοφια Says:

    […] RAVE: Being able to share company with a whole lot of different cool people recently. There are folks out there who not only indulge me by listening to my puns and quips, but appreciate them and share their own back. People who like hearing me break into song at the slightest reference, and it hasn’t felt like I’m just being used as a party trick to get a few giggles, but that my contributions are genuinely desired and bring heartfelt smiles. It feels weird, but good-weird, and I’m recognizing as I write this that I hesitate to say “friends…” but I think that’s what I have around me more and more often. And of course, as soon as I say that, my brain launches into the thousands of reasons that it’s not really “friends” I have, and the countless things that I still lack. But I’m doing my best to shut that voice up, because, quite frankly, it’s full of shit, and I deserve to let myself believe the good things that I have instead of dismissing them out of hand. It’s work. Hard work. And it’s uncomfortable. But unlearning broken scripts, changing the things I do when they no longer serve me, adapting to what really does bring pleasure… is often an uncomfortable, messy process. But it’s worth it. So very, very worth it. Patience. […]

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