Porn is victorious all over

Porn.  You don't know the trap you're in.  I don't care if you haven't looked at it, ever.  You're in that trap.

Because it's all around you.

Men have a reputation for pornography addiction but women, you know it's attractive to you even when it's one of your own getting abused as hell.  And it's not hiding anymore.  It's coming out to make huge bucks on VALENTINES DAY.  Good Lord help us if that's what we think is romantic.

Suddenly it's there in front of you.  I was listening to music on Spotify the other day and an ad for "Forty Shades of Grey" played – and whatever godforsaken noise came through my speakers at the end of that thing horrified me.

And my curiosity was snagged.

And you know it doesn't make sense.  I don't know what you saw that first time but then you were curious.  You had a thought, you followed it.  And then you looked it up again.  And then again.  And I don't care if you're in a culture that thinks porn is great – you had to be kind of disturbed with what you were seeing at some point.  You were a kid afraid of getting caught looking at your uncle's magazine stash or you were anxiously glancing at the door hoping your buddy wouldn't come in just then.

Or you had a moment that said, "I would never let this happen to myself…" … to my sister, to my daughter, to my friend, to my brother, husband, cousin….  I don't just want to be sexually active.  I want somebody I can really talk to and understand and love.

And if you haven't thought that, it's okay.  You're part of the generation that still wants those things but doesn't believe they happen.  But you still kind of melted over that photo of the couple who have been together for 50 years and still flirt with each other, hold hands on the sidewalk, read to each other at night.

Perhaps at this point, you've realized you can't stop.  Even if you wanted to, you couldn't.  Because even if you decided that what you're doing is wrong (and lots of non-religious people who are sexually flexible are beginning to realize there are real ethical issues with pornography), you get a thought that is fully supported by the beginnings of a desire and before you really know what you're thinking about, you're looking at it.

And five hours go down the drain.

Your girlfriend texts you to say, "Hey wazzup?"

Homework, you say.  Hanging out with the bros.

Your mom calls to know if you're coming home this weekend.  "Yeah, sure, mom, but I gotta go – I'm kinda busy right now."

Let me tell you something, even if you make all kinds of resolutions for yourself at this point – "I won't look up anything having to do with _______; I won't even use YouTube this week; I won't spend more than just this one hour…" – you're lying awake, early in the morning and you think, "Huh, I wonder if…."  And you're lost before you knew you were in the woods.

There's hope.  I'm told there's hope.  Survivors of porn addiction tell me they've regained a lot of control.

They've learned how to say no.

But if you don't know you're already in the trap, you have no chance getting out.

And for sure, it's hard.  You think it's innocent fun.  You think you need to see to understand.  You think it's just this one thing – it's not a big deal.  But what is it teaching you?  What are you learning?  And have you noticed the habits your body is picking up?  Those things are hard to shake.  And memories, especially the ones you don't really want to remember suddenly, they're on the bookshelves of your brain for a long, long time.  And if you think it hasn't touched you yet, it could still choose you.  Don't get cocky.  It's infiltrating everywhere.

But you're not destined for death just because the trap has you hanging upside down.  It's not going to be easy.  You can't replace porn with real sex, or dating, or friends, or candy.  Porn is far more pleasurable, and the pleasure is more readily attained.  It's easier.  And it's more or less custom made.

"Not hard enough for you?  Well now I'm going to do this."

You're cleaning your room….  You're thinking… thinking of… and then… "I know I said I wasn't going to look at it but… I've got to!  I'm already thinking it!  Might as well.  And I'm only going to look at this page.  Okay, I'll check this link.  Well, that description sounds strange.  They can't really mean–  I'd better check it out real quick.  Well I just want to know if they have…."

You know.  You know.

Come on, man, you've got to break free.  Girl, don't just look at it because a feeling inside you wants satisfaction.  You can turn down pizza in favor of a salad – turn down porn in favor of something better!

Porn addicts and ex-porn addicts can attest – pornography messes you up.  Whatever problems you had before, porn doesn't make it better.  And people are starting to realize that porn can have negative medical repercussions as well.  Negative sexual repercussions.  Negative relational repercussions.

There will always be people in the industry who claim they love their work – women and men who claim they love the sexual drive they experience from being abused and humiliated.  There will always be people who claim that pain is the only thing that truly makes them happy.  I'm not sure why we've gotten to a point where we can say, "Well, you mean that sexually, so it's okay.  You're making money from it so it's okay.  It's liberation."

How happy must be the lucky few who are thus liberated.

Thousands more could attest it is not liberation.  But they've been told it is.

Realize that you are stuck.  Realize that you think it's good for you and that it's actually not.  Realize that you can get free.  Realize that it is not easy.  Realize that a growing number of people are in your boat – and it's getting ready to sink.  Row that boat to shore singlehandedly if you have to.  Think about all the negative consequences of porn and how much you don't want them.  Think about all the things greater than porn and that you want those things.

Then go be that person.

And realize that ultimately, you're okay.  It's not your fault that that material was published.  It's not your fault that people got into the pornography industry.  It's probably not really your fault that you saw it for the first time.  It's not your fault that you have bodily desires, and those desires aren't bad.  Confusion, addiction are part of the human condition.  And while it's not okay to be addicted to pornography, it is okay to be struggling with the addiction.  And it is okay to not be perfect right away.  It is okay to be you.

Don't give up on you.  Other people like you have already paved the way.  This is not impossible.  You are worth it.  You can make it.

Why you should not home school your kids

Home schooling has become a trend for numerous reasons.  One of the reasons is quality of education.  Some studies have shown that home schooled children are generally above average against their public school peers.  Some of these public school peers have the potential to be bullies or sell your kids drugs, so you want to keep them home and let them have more control over who they mingle with, subject to your approval.  And speaking of your approval, you approve the texts and the reading and the instructors and the experience of religion.  Not to mention you can sleep in and go to bed at a reasonable time.  And, if you so choose – and many do – you can utilize the same classes and programs offered to all the other kids.  You can send your kids to the public school for P.E., or to a local college for some of their high school classes for credit that they can use later to skip unnecessary years towards a degree.

Some individuals and governments resist the home school trend.  Families that come to the U.S. specifically for the freedom to give their children an education risk deportation.  They come here because America does allow home schooling, albeit begrudgingly.

Maybe the U.S. is so cranky because they're concerned for the children.  They wouldn't want your kids to be at a disadvantage when they get to college.  After such a good education at home reading Shakespeare and Frost and writing a dissertation on Plato, the first year or two of college is a review of middle school.  Home schooling means risking brain damage when your children bang their heads repeatedly against the wall of their dorm rooms.

Sure, not every home school is excellent, but why take that chance?  Don't risk raising your students to be too smart for college at the undergraduate degree level.  Think of all the money you'll spend on those first two years – maybe three! – of college before everyone catches up with your little scholars.  Think of their strong, healthy brains slowly turning to mush day after day, going through the motions of writing ten page papers that are so hard they can't wait to get to graduate school.  Just think!  You're setting your children up to spend years of their adult life in universities before they are finally satisfied with the challenge they find getting their doctorate in English.  You're raising your children to be academics!

Let's face it.  College will only put a strong hand on your budding child's shoulder and tell them, "It's time to conform, son.  Bwahaha we've finally GOT YOU!"

Right when your kids thought they were ready to fly, too.  You set them up to think that college is the time to soar mentally and academically and, of course, the reality is that college will teach them to slow down and match everyone else's mediocrity.  Please spare them that cruel punishment.  Spare them the pain of that horrible adjustment and protect them from haunting questions like, "What am I doing with my life?  Why is America so dumb?"  And that of course leads to anarchy.

So if you love your kids, do them and your country a favor.  Don't teach your kids to be smart and love learning.  We all know it's a dead end after high school, and the hill to interesting courses gets steep.  Why would you raise your kids to question the status quo?  You'd lead them to disappointment and disillusionment and despair.  They'll have to realize sooner or later that they need money and no one will stop to listen to all that advanced knowledge they accumulated.  There will be no circles to sit in and discuss Nietzsche or C.S. Lewis or Alex Haley.  Home schooling teaches your kids that life is smart.  Life is not smart, it is dumb.

Could be you'll be a lucky one and your home schooling will be mediocre, or your child won't be set on fire to learn.  But when your kids are at stake, you probably shouldn't take the risk.

Sherlock and Sociopathic Behavior

Lately, something has been on my mind a lot.  Sociopaths.  Gosh, Sherlock makes it look like so much fun.  I mean, if you watch closely, you notice that John Watson often wants to give it but good to Sherlock, but mostly we laugh and find the highly functioning sociopath highly amusing.

Fortunately for John, Sherlock shows hints of redeeming qualities – occasional compassion and willingness to go to great lengths for his friends.  But if you are caught in a relationship with a sociopath, you might find it a lot less endearing.  You might find it terribly dismantling.

Common traits of a sociopath include:

• Superficial charm.  Did he seem almost too nice to be true?  A sociopath may seem like a very friendly and outgoing person, nothing to be afraid of unless you're an introvert.
• Isolation and manipulation.  The more she feels that you two are close, the more you will lose the ability to do what you want.  And if they're especially good at being a sociopath, you won't even really notice.  They'll say just exactly what needs to be said and hit you where you are most likely to be persuaded.  You may not be able to talk about it with others because no one else will see what you're experiencing.
• Self-centeredness.  They want something.  They have a right to have it.
• Lying.  You won't notice this at first because you know they are lies.  Listen closely.  Stories of their past may not quite add up or may even conflict, and their friends may have an interesting combination of faults.  They may not have a realistic image of themselves and instead cast their faults onto their "friends."
• Lack of guilt.  They will rarely admit to being wrong.  If they were foolish here and there, it's because of something else.  He will say it's because you were acting a certain way or because she dressed a certain way.
• Shallow emotions.  You tell her your sob story and she seem invested and very supportive.  She may tell you to see a counselor and have all kind of comforting phrases, but it's based on "her own experiences" and it usually lacks the tenderness and tack the situation calls for.  Preaching over sincerity.
• Drama queen.  Whether he's playing telephone or just making a big deal out of picking a movie or jumping into a group and forcing them to do what he wants, he lives off of stimulation and excitement.  Something is boring?  Bring a friend to study time and make them watch tons of crass YouTube videos instead.
• Promiscuity and infidelity.  She may be glamorous to the point of tackiness, or hooks up with boys a lot, even if she sternly warns her friends against such men.  She never seems to learn her lesson.

A major concern for a Christian or Catholic community is that the other members will not see him/her as impenetrable, but rather an opportunity to grow in holiness and help a fellow struggling soul.  You have to be careful that you don't give up on everyone with a few flaws, but in my experience, if he seems terribly concerned about you but tells you way more about himself than he knows about you, watch out.  If she is really sweet and heartbroken after a terrible lesson she had to learn, and then goes back to her old ways with the next breath, back away slowly in as inconspicuous a way as possible.  No matter what you do, a sociopath is likely to spread bad news about you, but you've got to get out.  Sociopaths will manipulate you without a conscience.

Did you wonder, Did you worry?

Robin Williams' death – his suicide – did it rock you?  I'm guessing that it did.  We've been obsessively pulling out videos and stories about him ever since.  Suicide is a big deal.  I hope it rocked you.

His distinctive voice charmed the nation for years and many consider him a comedic genius.  Personality poured out of him with a fluidity unbridled by creative mental strain, some say.  To me, he seemed a person, an approachable person – somebody who was just a somebody.  Since his death, so many journalists, bloggers, commentators, and random people – all who didn't know him – have tried to interpret his life and understand his suicide.

The truth, of course, is that we can never understand.  The biological factors, the psychological factors, the personal experience never tell us how a great man can take his life.  Why wasn't he afraid to end it all?  Did he think he was helping his loved ones?  Did he see the inevitable pain those who knew him would carry for the rest of their own lives?  Was his own pain too great to spare them?

In Orthodoxy, G. K. Chesterton said, "The man who kills himself kills all men.  As far as he is concerned, he wipes out the world."

"Today," says Russell Brand, "Robin Williams is part of the sad narrative that we used to turn to him to disrupt."

Josh Gracin threatened suicide not long after Robin Williams' death.  I'm glad to see that he's, apparently, back in the sing of things.

I read somewhere that depression and the numbers of suicides have experienced spikes in recent decades.  Songs have been written about it.  Books have been published to help loved ones cope.  When I type "suicidal" into Google, it provides a helpline.

But many still misunderstand depression and suicide.

Some called Williams free.  Some wrote long statuses on Facebook about what he meant to them.  Others wrote posts that went viral.  Some felt a twinge of discomfort and compassion, even fear.  Sometimes the right message was said the wrong way.  Sometimes the wrong thing was said the right way.

So here's my question.  Did you wonder?  Did you worry?

I did.

My own experiences with depression have left me sensitive to the possible, hidden experiences of my siblings.  Some of my friends have told me about their struggles.  What if?  What if my best friend decided to end it all?  What if someone decided he was only weighing me down?  What if he thought it wasn't worth it?

If you didn't worry, you should have.  Not everyone is brave enough to admit they need help.

I haven't blogged about this until now because I felt that I could not say anything that hadn't already been said.  And if I say anything at all, I want it to be thoughtful.

But finally, I wonder how many people really understand; and that ignorance drives me to write.

I suffered for years on my own, sure that my pain was my fault.  Why couldn't I just get over it?  Why couldn't I just be happy?  Did I not love everyone?  Was I selfish?

My faith was a crutch.  Crutch – so often a negative meaning.  My faith was my broken leg and my crutch.  I thought I was a terrible sinner for feeling so wretched – that I had no joy because I was not holy enough.  If only I loved God more….  If only I loved my neighbor more….

I'm sure many people have recovered from their depression and thrown out their religion, scoffing at it for putting them down.  Actually, my Catholic religion does not blame me for depression, although I didn't know that at the time; and even though it (mistakenly) tore at me, my faith was what kept me going.  I never refused to get out of bed and I didn't coop myself up in a corner of my room.  I did walk around in a despondent state, rarely if ever looking anyone in the eye, giving short and to the point answers, dreading and loathing small talk, hating compliments.  "My hair may be pretty but that doesn't make it better.  I may be a good dancer, but that isn't helping me.  Don't tell my father I'm mature – you don't know me."

My inner faith, mistakenly telling me that I was at fault for how I felt, told me that if I just kept trying and was the best that I could be, everything would get better.  I felt moments of joy and happiness, but as I continued to agree to everything that was asked of me and volunteered silently to do still more, my overall mood was not improving.

I felt happiest when I was making a little boy smile.  I've known him since he was born and we're very close.  His family spent a lot of time at my house and I spent most of that time with him.  I was their babysitter, and I would hold him and hold him until his crying stopped and he fell asleep in my arms.  And I felt content and happy in those moments.

But when I wasn't at peace, I asked myself, "Why don't you kill yourself?"  I thought about it more than once.  But I'd say not more than four times.  The answer I always had for myself was, "What difference would it make?"  No one would care.  No one would know the difference.  They might cry, but they'd soon go on with their lives and not remember.  I felt convinced that I improved the lives of those around me, even though I noticed that they managed to instinctively fill in the gaps when I was out of the house.  But I felt, unseen by all, I was doing something for them, even if they didn't care.  And that gave me a sense of purpose.  And I think it kept me going.

I was also terrified of suicide.  One of the symptoms of my depression was always thinking of the in-depth, personal details.  I was afraid of pain, and of panic like I experienced in panic attacks, and of changing my mind at the last moment when it would be already too late.  I decided that if I were to kill myself, I'd have to use a gun.  We had one in the house somewhere – I had seen the locked safe just once.  But even if I could have found it and unlocked it, I wouldn't have known how to use it.

And already striving so hard to please God, I wouldn't want to make all that for nothing.

I would say that, at the time, I was never so defeated that I was genuinely suicidal.  The question held a touch of humor for me.  It was too serious a thought to be taken seriously.

But… I don't know how I was spared seriously considering it.  No one was there to help me through.  And I don't know that anyone could have helped me.  I didn't want help.

Sometimes I still have episodes of depression – much shorter episodes, thank God.  And recently, I experienced such a deep exasperation that I momentarily did give up on life and suicide became real.  And even knowing everything I do about depression, I still would rather keep it to myself.

It makes you think doesn't it?

Sometimes people talk about suicide as though "if only someone had realized and gotten them help!"  Sometimes that's not enough.  Because suicide is not a question of cure.  You can catch an injury before it turns into a bad case of gangrene.  You can prescribe treatment to a medical issue and heal the body.  You can diagnose depression and try to correct it – but depression is tricky.  It's too complicated for even someone who has experienced it to explain.

And suicide – it's not a disease.  It's a choice.  It's a choice to reject life.

Sometimes depression doesn't go away.  And despite all the efforts of anyone – no matter how qualified – sometimes depression seems inevitable, incurable, and indomitable.  It can lead to a new level of despair that few people know exists.  That despair is what drives some people to the precipice of suicide.  Even if the best help is available to them, some people still choose suicide.

That's the very bitter reality.

It's a sin against life.  It's a sin against hope.  It's a sin against all mankind.  How dare you tell us it's not worth it.  How dare you leave us such a legacy.

How dare you….

How could you leave us alone?

The more I thought about Robin William's death, the more I was grateful for life.  I looked around me and I said, "What if I lost any of these people?"  Even my enemies – would I be able to handle the news?  I was a thorn in their side – or at the very least, I did very nearly nothing to make their lives more worth while.  That would almost be worse than losing a friend.  But if I lost a friend – his or her memory would be like playing catch with a rose bush, unresolved questions of guilt coming in stitches.  And there's the possibility that I could have taken my own life and all those people would have been ripped from me.  By my own choice.

We need to start paying attention.  Depression is a mental illness and as such, a person doesn't have much control over it.  Sometimes drugs help, balancing the chemicals in the brain.  Sometimes therapy helps.  And yet part of me believes that there's got to be something so simple, so fundamental and we're missing it – whether it's a loss of place and identity, or the loss of a deeper meaning, or just a crueler world….  There's got to be a factor, perhaps unmeasurable by science, that speaks to the human person that would cure case upon case of depression.

Perhaps it's just my own lucky experience with depression, but I feel like the solution must be right under our nose.

Because suicide must not happen.  It's the last breath of hope disappearing from the world.