Mutilation

One of the worst feelings in life is walking out on someone you love; the look of utter despair shimmers quietly below her eyes. But what if the reason behind walking out was caused by another, more devious, more hateful feeling? And, what if that feeling was, in part, caused by "play errors" on your behalf? Really, what can one say when one hears a girl softly whittling silent embellishments into her skin to make herself feel more comfortable whilst in the company of oneself? Well, the first reaction would probably be to walk out on that girl, leaving half of your heart there with her to writhe in agony while the other half feels one of the worst feelings in life.

I don't catch people in lies very often: I am horrible at reading people. So, when I am told something, I take it at face-value as a truth, fold in crisply in thirds, and place it in my billfold (of truth). From then on, I have one additional truth; however, when I later find out that the truth in question was counterfeit—mass produced, serving only to profit off of later in the evening, almost all trust in the giver of the truth is lost quite rapidly.

I heard a Christian song tonight and laughed. The irony was stunning, for as I sped through the night, I couldn't help but think about how churches today face problems like drug abuse, suicide, anorexia, depression, et cetera. It would be horrible for any pastor to talk of the ills that plague society, choosing instead to extol the greats and goods, leaving the unfortunate bads to sit there in the pews, feeling like shit under the dismissive eye of a God who obviously doesn't love them anymore; the topics are covered quaintly and colorfully in pamphlets located near the exits, so embarrassed worshippers never have to confront their problems with anyone. What socially awkward teenage girl wouldn't pick up the pamphlet about drug abuse when she sits at home taking her mother's pain-killers and has her own real-life soma holidays? I am sure the sarcasm is thick enough to forgo any of my "pointing it out".

Although my problem really had nothing to do with said song, it really got me thinking about what society really does to these people, the poor souls who can do nothing but feel the pressure of a perfect world and succumb slowly to the angry glances it throws toward them. As a society based around little pamphlets, why aren't we all cured? Why don't we all love one another, choosing dieting instead of bulimia, talking it out instead of duking it out and coming to terms with our problems instead of removing ourselves from them with heights? Obviously there is something seriously not right here. This is bigger than me, bigger than Christianity and a whole lot bigger than anyone ever could have imagined it might be. The pamphlet approach just isn't cutting it. I'll be damned if I ever have to feel one of the worst feelings in life, but I wouldn't mind facing the pain of an option or a lesson taught when younger.

Just tell me this: Why can't we teach children to be, above all other things, open and unafraid of their feelings, bodies, and emotions?