I had a very long talk with a friend of mine a few weeks ago where I admitted that I usually have a hard time defining who I am and what my priorities are, what I want out of my life, etc. But then I told him that there’s one thing to which I’ve always been true: my atheism.
My life story isn’t a pretty one and it’s definitely not an easy one to tell; I can feel my heart pounding even now as I relay it. And before I say anything else, I want to say this: I am not sharing this story for sympathy or attention, though I anticipate I will receive both (and I will receive them with gratitude); I am sharing this story for the purpose of awareness, of insight.
When I was thirteen, following the death of my grandfather, I was diagnosed with clinical depression. When I was fifteen, one of my best friends attempted suicide. When I was sixteen, a friend and mentor was killed in a massacre not even five miles from my house. When I was seventeen, one of my friends died in a car crash. When I was eighteen, I attempted suicide for the first time. Later that year, I was raped. I was trapped in an emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive relationship for almost a year. When I was nineteen, I attempted suicide for the second time. Throughout all of this, I turned to self destructive habits as a means of coping. I used to wake up every morning, look in the mirror and say to myself, “I hate you.” I cried myself to sleep every night for months (and there are still nights that I do). I faced years of struggling with my self image, switching between anorexia, bulimia, and bingeing. I started cutting myself when I was thirteen; I have over two hundred self-inflicted scars on my arms and legs.
It’s not uncommon to hear stories of people who turn to god/religion/faith when facing one of these major life crises for the first time. Born-again christians frequently cite near-death experiences, a death in the family, a failed suicide attempt, and other similar things as justification for their newfound faith. Not to mention, the vast majority of believers place their faith at the top of their sources for support and comfort. Take Jenny Sanford, former first lady of South Carolina, for example. Where does she turn in times of crisis? She says, “I look to my faith, I look to my God, I look to my friends, and I look to my relationship with my family.”
But what do I turn to, as someone holding steadfast to my atheism?
JT Eberhard, Campus Organizer at the Secular Student Alliance and author of the well-known blog What Would JT Do?, remarks on his own personal experiences:
When I was in the hospital in the grips of serotonin shock, I was never once tempted to pray for it to stop. When my plane almost crashed, I found myself annoyed at the people crying to god instead of invoking any prayers of my own. You want to be brave? Stare down what frightens you instead of turning your head and pretending it isn’t there. Trust in the power of human beings to fix problems instead of resigning our sagacity for empty hope at the drop of a hat.
I could not agree with his proclamation more; it’s important that we focus on realistic sources of support and comfort. With that in mind, let’s see how I can revise Jenny Sanford’s statement to apply it to myself. First, let’s bump up friends and family to the top. Next let’s switch out faith for science, and ‘my God’ for ‘my therapist.’ This is what we’ve got: “I look to my friends, I look to my relationship with my family, I look to science, and I look to my therapist.” I have never once prayed and I revel in understanding the science behind my mental illness. I value the respect that my friends and family give me in trying to understand my condition without invoking supernatural concepts.
But there’s one other thing that I want to add to my statement: myself. Albert Camus is quoted saying, “Au milieu de l’hiver, j’ai découvert en moi un invincible été,” or, “In the midst of winter, I found there was within me an invincible summer.” And so I did. When I was laying on the floor of my bedroom, a rope tied around my neck, half a bottle of cough syrup in my stomach, and blood pooled on my legs, I had reached rock bottom. I found the strength within myself to gather the pieces of a broken person and put them back together; I discovered new passions in my life, singing, painting, helping others. I see what the future has for me because of what I want out of it: a family, a career, happiness. And I’m going to get all of those, and I’m going to do it without prayer.
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Rose, while we are on the subject, you should know you are an amazing person. You didn’t help the W&M secular group, you made it. And now we get to see more of you and excited about that future. Remember, just like JT you have a network of friends that you can call any time of night for advice or encouragement.
PS: Hurray for Albert Camus references!
I was working on a powerpoint (related to investigating the claims in Hanna Rosin’s talk) and found your video “My response and take on sexism in the atheist community”, click the link to your blog (here), and read this. And I’m like, wow, reading about someone saying she started cutting herself when she was was thirteen, and attempted suicides, and stuff — it’s a bit overwhelming.
But anyway, you were asking for ideas about how an atheist copes with bad experiences in life, when one can’t pray or fall back on religious faith. So I will try to give you a few ideas that have helped me.
One is that, if you suicidal or something like that, whatever situation you feel trapped in, you won’t be trapped in forever. You may have heard the expression “The only constant is change”. Well, it’s true. Life is always changing. It may get better, it may get worse, but it will always change. It’s guaranteed. So if you’re in a bad situation that seems permanent, well, it may be that way for years — high school seems like forever at the time for example — but it’s actually not permanent.
Another idea is what I call “morbid curiosity”. If you kill yourself you won’t know what would happen if you stayed alive — and wouldn’t you like to stay alive and find out? Even if the future involves pain, it won’t be only pain — undoubtedly there will be some pleasurable and happy experiences.
Another idea is to try to be rational about unknowns and things you are afraid of. If you don’t know something, don’t assume the worst — just be rational and say “I don’t know”. If you are afraid, just say “I’m afraid”, but don’t assume what you fear will pan out — the emotion of fear evolved to protect you, let it do its job, but don’t let it consume you. If you can actually calculate, mathematically, the odds of something bad happening, do it — your ‘fear’ emotion may be telling you the odds are 90%, but when you actually calculate it, it might be 5% or something — and you can put your fear in perspective better.
For example one time my parents’ dog got sick, and my mom said, “He’s going to die.” And I said, “You don’t KNOW that. Take him to the vet and see if the vet can find out anything.” And she took him to the vet, and she said, “The vet says he has leptosporosis. He’s going to die.” And I said, “Did the vet say he’s going to die?” And she said, “No.” And I said, “What did he say?” And mom mom said, “He said he is going to prescribe a bunch of antibiotics and a special diet.”. And I said, “Ok, so the dog might live. Let’s give him the medicine and hope for the best.” And you know what? That was 3 years ago, and that dog is still alive.
Anyway, I know you mention stuff where your friends were killed in a massacre or of my friends died in a car crash, and stuff like that is really hard, especially when you can’t imagine they are living on in some sort of afterlife. But anyway, I think being rational can be helpful — the key is to learn to be rational about things that are *unknown* which is counterintuitive. Especially if you have bad experiences like this in your past, it’s easy to assume the worst about the future but learn not to do that and be rational about it instead.
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I’ve heard this before, but I looked it up again and thought you might like it.
It takes a certain level of strength and intelligence to accept the seemingly apparent meaninglessness of life. It requires understanding that despair is not helpful. It is an animal emotion that is meant to trigger the support of others. However, we are often alone. For some of us, nobody is there to give a damn.
I’ve once heard this process described as “falling until you fall through the bottom.” At some point, the suffering and fear may be recognized for its futility and replaced by the joy of feeling one’s inner strength: the joy of dancing on the jaws of death, knowing fully well the inevitable and embracing uncertainty.
Have a lovely day.
I found your video blog on youtube the other day when I was nerding out on atheist stuff. Found a link to your website in the info, and I am now checking it out. I just wanted to say a few things.
1. You are an incredible role-model for women your age.
2. You are beautiful inside and out, and your passion radiates when you talk about the things that interest you.
3. Your posititivy is contagious.
4. I don’t personally know you yet, but my gut feeling is that you have the strength inside to overcome anything. I’d put my money on it.
5. That’s it really. There is a lot of negativity on the internet, especially places where you are able to comment anonymously. Don’t let anyone’s negativity in this world bring you down. You are doing a great thing… minus not answering my question on youtube! I’ll let that slide. Please check out that book if you haven’t read it yet. It is life changing.
Have a good day!