serotonin sunday: raw thoughts

On Friday I forgot to take my meds, the aftereffects of which convinced me that the only dose change happening in the near future is an increase. The low hits me somewhere between 10 and 30 hours after the missed dose, and it’s an unhappy place to be.

I’ve had a good weekend—fun times at the MTC with a friend, successful cleaning check (I think I’ve checked the sheet 100 times to see the little check mark next to “Pass”), some schedule organizing, inspirational hike with Becca, lovely dinner at Chadders with Becca and Marat, enjoyable Sunday spent primarily outside. Logic tells me I’m happy but the rest of me can’t feel it.

Always with depression comes more intense questioning than usual, challenging the basic truths that are supposed to guide my life. Most dominant among these questions is: why am I here?

I know that theoretically I am here to learn and grow, make and break covenants and suffer consequences and repent and vow to live more righteously. Somehow this 80-year journey is meant to prepare me for godhood and perfection. During it, I am supposed to become better.

The problem is, I don’t feel like I do. I make positive changes—the most drastic being the change from being a secretive child with a chronic lying habit to being a fairly open and almost always honest adult—but I feel like as I kick each bad habit I just move on to new ones and my overall goodness level remains about the same. Some habits have more religious significance than others, but even the ones that don’t get me in trouble with the church cause stress and unhappiness and I don’t see that they are necessarily less detrimental. This makes it hard for me to feel motivated to actively try to improve. I think I’m a decent person as is, and each time I try to eliminate something negative from my life it just seems to get replaced with some other negative—which, though disheartening, seems human. Part of mortality is being constantly flawed.

I suppose the point is to gradually decrease the seriousness of our flaws. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I feel like I’ve reached good human status, and that the flaws I possess now are just evidence of my humanity. I’m good at getting back to good human status when I slip below that, but progression past good doesn’t seem to mesh well with my humanity. So I keep changing my behavior without feeling that I’m making progress towards perfection.

But then I wonder, if I’m not progressing, what am I doing here?

faith, hope, and catherine

I woke up Sunday morning dreaming I was back in Täby, where I came to love this church. Everything about the chapel in my dream was Swedish and familiar, and a family friend named Ingemar was at the microphone speaking on faith. Apparently he didn't get the memo about not using visual aids in Sacrament meeting talks, because he had an entire flip chart full of graphs and charts that he was referencing. The one that I remember was a Venn Diagram with one circle labeled "Faith" and the other "Catherine", thus demonstrating that Faith and Catherine can coexist.

Faith is a favorite topic of study of mine. I reflect often on what distinguishes faith, hope, knowledge, and belief, and wonder regularly what roles doubt and certainty are meant to play in testimony.

In this church we like to tell each other that we know. We know Joseph Smith was a prophet, we know the Book of Mormon is true, we know Christ lives, we know this is his church.

I'm uncomfortable with these statements for several reasons: first, I don't believe them. Second, they're not true for me. Third, the pressure to be certain seems to me to have eclipsed real faith--the hopeful, trusting faith that Alma teaches us in his famous Alma 32 discourse--the kind that is more of a hope than a knowledge.

We're occasionally taught (like in the last General Conference) that faith and doubt can't coexist, but I remain unconvinced. Doubt and certainty can't coexist, but faith, Alma teaches us, is not certain.

The word choice is a cultural thing more than anything. Sure, some of the people claiming to know may really have certain knowledge of the truthfulness of what they are saying, but I think that's the exception. Whatever the case, I tend to feel like a sore thumb when I stand up to bear testimony and say that I believe. There's really nothing I can say I know, although on several points I feel I'm close. There are two things I believe to the point of rarely doubting: I believe in the existence of a God who cares about me, and I believe that priesthood blessings I've received (such as my patriarchal blessing) have been directed by that God. Beyond that, I believe this church is good for me and I believe that scripture study and prayer make my life better. All the rest is hope--I hope these prophets are what I sustain them as, I hope this plan of happiness will really lead to happiness, I hope that with God's help I can be full of charity and faith, I hope that someday this life will be worth the pain and struggle.

I'm not sure whether hope counts as faith, or if it's some kind of precursor, or something different entirely. Mormon teaches about the importance of having faith, hope, and charity, but doesn't specify what differentiates faith and hope. The Bible Dictionary defines faith as "hope for things which are not seen, but which are true" and as "confidence in something or someone" and charity as "the pure love of Christ"; there's no entry for hope, and I blame its absence for how baffling I find its inclusion in the faith-hope-charity triangle.

I think we can still coexist.

twelve angry men

In Pen and the Sword on Friday, we watched the 1957 movie "Twelve Angry Men" which may go down as my favorite movie ever. This is significant because I don't like many serious movies, and I like even fewer black and white movies. This one was a masterpiece: art at its brilliant inspired best.

All but perhaps 10 minutes of the movie are filmed in a single small room where a jury of 12 men is gathered at a table, trying to reach a unanimous conclusion about the case of an 18-year-old man accused of murdering his father. Because it is a hot summer day in New York and the heat makes them impatient, the jury votes before discussing: 11 to 1, guilty.

The 11 are angry at the 1, who explains calmly that he doesn't know whether or not the boy is guilty, but feels that he deserves more than a minute of their time. Then follows a brilliant debate filled with heroes and hate. The acting is superb, the story convincing, the ending ambiguous. We are left not knowing whether the boy was innocent or guilty, but we do know that the jury's final vote revealed each member's their best efforts to be true to truth.

What I took away from the movie was this: first, we are each responsible to think and reason for ourselves. We must not go along with anything just because of peer pressure. Second, all knowledge is personal. Our personal history and our interactions with those we love influences all of our feelings and decisions. We learned a great deal about the men on the jury from the way they saw the case.

Seagulljaap's reply to my post "charity and proposition h8" was expected. We have been discussing this issue in detail and depth for several months. We were chatting when he posted his comment. We continued to discuss it for over an hour, and somewhere along the way, I realized that he and I are both right. We want the same thing: charity for all. Because of our personalities, experiences, and connections to others, we approach the issue from different angles and we express ourselves in different ways. I think we will each be able to help others--but he will help people I can't reach and I will help people he can't reach.

The Lord, the Church, the World all need many types of people. We need different personalities and abilities. From everyone, for everyone, we need charity: sometimes charity expressed through gentle healing, and sometime charity that warns, "sin no more". Occasionally, we may need charity with a whip. We speak of Christ, we preach of Christ, we follow Christ, we love like Christ.

Each in the way we are able.

a post that allows comments

Good morning 2009! Come what may, I'll love this year.

Almost everyone I've given my blog address to has asked about allowing comments.

My first post was a poem. I didn't allow comments because if you allow comments on a poem, people might ask what it means, and I'm not telling. Worse, and more likely, they will feel pressured to say "great poem!" and "you are such a gifted writer!" It is a mediocre poem. I am saving the great ones for publication, sillies.

My second post mentioned my drug habits. While fluoxetine may make me smile, I feel weird talking about the fact that I'm on anti-depressants. (There! I said it!) Hence no comments allowed there either.

Next I announced my intention to give myself a middle name. Here I disallowed comments mainly out of habit.

Popular demand has led me to reconsider. So here's your chance, friends--comment! Tell me why you think I should enable comments or why you like the comment-free format of my first three posts. Feel free to also tell me how you feel about my blog. Is it too cryptic, or uncomfortably open? Does it bore you to tears or seem selfish or vain? Speak up--just don't say anything about my drug habits and poetry.