My Kryptonite/Two Faced

Just read my last post. "Not a karaoke girl" would've been a FANTASTIC blog title. I'm tempted. I could at least write a poem with that as a title. Aside from this blog and the plethora of notes I write for my bio class, I've written nothing. And I need to. Badly.

The other thing that caught my attention from my last post was the sentiment that purposefully wearing capris around my SIL made me feel a bit slimy and two-faced. And far, far too Molly.

This blog makes me feel two-faced.

Yesterday I talked about how I passive-aggressively "came out" to my sister. My shorts may not be micro-minis, but they're certainly not garment-friendly. I thought about waiting until my daughter turned eight next spring, but fuck, you know? Tired of wearing capris on purpose around her, around people I'm not ready to tell.

You have to understand, there are and have been people in my life that I consider my kryptonite. Few people.

SIL is probably the biggest one. She has her own history, enough worldly experience. And it isn't within my rights to discuss the details, but suffice it to say she's been through her share. She understands what it's like to go against the grain of the church, and if I had to hazard a guess for her current state of super-mormon-girl, I'd say it was because her oldest is about to turn 12 and she doesn't want him to make the same mistakes she made. So she's, perhaps, overcompensating. We all do to some degree.

That makes it easier to understand, but harder to digest. Because she was so awesome before. And you'd think that fucking up would give you better eyes later. She knows that being crazy only pushes kids closer to the edge (her husband levels her out, but still), but I think she's just really scared.

So she and I were buddies. Like I said, couldn't rip us apart. When she and her now husband FINALLY went on their first date, he complained that all she did was talk about how she missed me.

I had a friend. I had a good, loyal friend who liked me for who I was. I just don't make friends that easily. Granted, I didn't have the same awareness of myself then that I have now (suppressed a few things) and MAYBE wouldn't have told her, but she was the best best friend I'd ever had. We were equals. She trusted me with her secrets. We watched out for each other. That all changed when she became engaged and I, also, to her brother (matching me and her brother was her idea. just happened to work)

When Eric and I first really began to stop going to church so much and really became angry, there were few people I could even fathom telling. His father. His brother (who was on a mission and quite spiritual). My ex-roomie. The girl who introduced me to the church. But most of all, my SIL.

Everyone knows now except for her. At least, we haven't told her yet. The shorts were probably a dead giveaway along with every other clue we've given, but whatever. She just had a baby and it takes her a while to get over the crazy emotional hormones that follow, so we'd wait. It was the humane thing to do. That's what we told ourselves.

It was also because every time I spent some time with her I was beside myself, wanting to go back because I wanted her back. Because every time it was just me and her, it seemed like things were getting back, if only a little bit, to normal.

She is my kryptonite.

She believes in the best of people. She works herself to death in church and as a parent and wife. She wants to be the best person she can be. Sometimes she'll betray herself and express how angry it made her to not even be addressed when the bishop asked her husband how attached he was to his goatee because he was to be YM's president or whatever. She liked that goatee, and they didn't even bother asking what she thought. Even if it didn't matter what she thought. Which it doesn't.

When Prop 8 came around, she told me she wasn't sure. She was leaning toward no. She prayed and prayed and when President Monson sent out that goddamn letter she figured that was the answer to her prayer. That it should be the answer to all of our prayers.

She'd bear her testimony about that experience to me but wouldn't even give me the opportunity to hear me out. I had one too, and it was just as valid as hers. But it wasn't the right answer. It made her visibly uncomfortable (she'd drop her eyes, frowning) to hear me explain why I went against teh prophet.

"You know people are leaving the church over this," she warned me one afternoon during a rare occasion of confronting an issue without my provocation.

"I know," I replied. We hadn't decided yet, but I knew it was rather possible, if not probable.

And I love her and I respect her and, most of all, I miss her. AND I want her to see that though I may not believe anymore, though I may be apostate, I'm still a damn good person. And so is she.

So I am kind and respectful and largely the same person I used to be when I speak with her. I let her tell me about her scripture study, why she won't watch Breaking Dawn if it's rated R (though I would tell her why that's lame--just like I did when she was freaking out about going to Starbucks--what if her YW saw? they wouldn't know she was going for the hot chocolate!). I listen to her talk about how important her callings are and how she doesn't appreciate people making fun of her for that. I don't make fun of her. I have a hard time saying anything bad about her, and I hope to god that's not what it seems like I'm doing here. She's not a bad person. She's a scared person. She wants to be and do her best.

But she's lost herself. And I'm hoping she'll be like her mom and one day chill the fuck out because this isn't headed anywhere good.

I hate how she's changed and fully realize she probably feels the exact same way about me.

I listen though. I ask her about church.

You know?

And while I used to think god, why can't I just go back to church so we can be friends again and I can avoid this apostate crap I don't want to hurt her it would just be so much EASIER I'm getting over it now.

The more zealous she gets the more I realize she's not the girl I used to know. Like I said, she's in there somewhere, but I wonder now that she realizes we're no longer active if she'll crank up the righteous meter even more.

And, to get back to the original intent of this blog post, while I am getting to the point of refusing to wear capris for their comfort, I have to confront the fact that while I am kind and respectful and totally nice about their conversations with me about church, I come here and bitch.

Isn't that a little two faced?

I don't like to think I'm a bitch. If they saw this blog, that'd be the end of a lot of stuff. But both sides are part of who I am. I don't want to be a bitch to their face, so I take it here. I'd initially feel the need to apologize profusely if they ever saw this, but I've gotten better about that. I stand by this stuff, stuff they'd never see past. They'd just say "anti!!!." But hell, I'm scared for my ex-roomie to see this, though she knows--she's seen and read so much. And she's been so amazing. She's my sister. Always has been.

I've always felt a bit two-faced, though. Always looking to make the other guy more comfortable while I writhe in my own skin. And I want to protect SIL from being hurt. That doesn't seem very respectful, to assume someone can't handle the truth. But from what I've experienced, a lot of people just can't.

My stepmom the other day said I should be more open with my blog, remarking "eh, they'll have to get over it." But she, as a tongue-speaking evangelical holy roller Christian doesn't realize that she'd be offended by much of this, too. Just the "agnostic" thing would set her off. I couldn't tell her that it would offend her too. I don't know that she'd just "get over it." My insides can only take so much.

I don't want to lose people any more than I already have. I get it, that I'll separate the wheat from the chaff but it's easier said than done. I also know that often we make a big deal out of nothing.

But I just want to be me.

I know that's ridiculously cheesy, but shit. I'm 29 years old and still can't just figure out how to be me without feeling like the 16 year old girl I used to be who thought the world would have to get the fuck over it and deal with it. I know now with some years of maturity that there's a bit of catering to the masses, playing the game in order to get jobs, network, etc, but I find it so difficult. Maybe everyone does. Maybe I've been spoiled.

I mean, I will play the game, but it makes me feel dirty. And two-faced.