I Am Not a Good Person (And That's Okay!)

The desire to be seen as a "good person" has always been huge in me. In the world of religion, I wanted so badly to believe that I was good. I wanted to believe that my background as a Christian missionary with no criminal record and a life of service would make me a good person. That started to erode when I realized that there were issues that I had trouble believing. I even began to question my own religion. While I have moved past the idea of beliefs and questioning, I feel that I can never return to the thought or fantasy of being "a good person."

What is a good person? Perhaps that is the question that I wrestle with. For years, I thought it was staying away from criminal activity, not taking advantage of people, being helpful, honest, and giving back. I have done all those things in life, but I don't think that makes me good. In fact, after my last trip to Spokane, I was troubled by thoughts I had. I had never imagined myself hurting someone before. Yet, there was a lingering moment when I wanted to so badly. I found myself consumed with hate like I’ve never felt before. When I read the book Confessions of a Sociopath, I found out that I was not alone in this, nor was I alone in the reason. She stated that when she was made to "feel guilt," she felt rage in her. This was the same rage that I felt in me.

I was always so turned off by how religion used guilt to control people. For a while, I saw churches as machines that used guilt to get money and service from those who were a part of it. While this is often partly true, I don't think it paints the whole picture. Some people enjoy giving those things. Some people find joy in giving back and being a part of something. In short, it is good for people to give, and in some ways, I was wrong.

Yet I came back to the whole good person thing. If I was good, why would my former job "ghost" me? Fellow employees said I did good. Elo, the manager who blocked me once said to me "you have a beautiful soul." Yet, such feelings do not last. They change like the tides at any given moment. I also am slow to believe compliments, knowing just how rapidly people can change.

What was it about me that turned people off? I could wrestle with that forever, but I am learning not to care what others think of me. If I cared, I would not make this blog nor would I share it with others. Yet, during my phase of wondering, I felt a similar rage that I felt with my family. I imagined, fantasized, over and over again, about a huge tsunami hitting and destroying the entire Washington coast. Killing thousands, destroying Queets, sinking and obliterating Kalaloch Lodge. I can't deny that fantasy felt good. In fact, it was incredibly therapeutic, and I often found myself returning to it over and over again when I felt anger about how it all ended.

While I would be sad to hear of an actual tsunami hitting the coast, I realize that it's no different than any disaster hitting anywhere else. The only difference is that it happens to hit those whom I felt anger and sadness over. In a sense, my mind may see it as a form of karma, almost deserved. That's why I can't imagine that I am a good person.

My Mother's Forced Abortion

Also, if I was good, my family would have been more accepting. Yet, that was not the case. I was "unlovable since birth." That's a shame. Now, here's the deal: My mother may have a reason for this line of thinking.

My mother was pregnant with another child before I was born. She was still a child, and her parents cared deeply about what the community thought of them. She was forced to undergo an abortion. She resented that her entire life. I think she still does. I think that still eats at her to this day.

My mother resented the fact that her parents, the same ones who doted on me, forced her to get rid of her first child. She probably imagined how wonderful life would be with that child, and they took that away from her. When I was born, the same parents who took that one thing she loved from her gave me their complete affection. For that reason, she could not attach to me. In fact, she was probably disgusted. And I was the object of that disgust. No wonder she said she’d "wait to have another child" to set the scales, so to speak. This would be a child on her terms. It all makes complete psychological sense.

In short, I was the follow-up to the child that my mother was forced to "murder." I never fully understood that when I was young. I had no clue. I just knew that my mother resented me. It got to a fever pitch when I was in high school and she was obsessing over abortion footage on the internet. She would spend hours looking at pictures of aborted babies and crying. It was during this period that our relationship hit its lowest point.

Giving People What They Want in Life

I have since left my family because of the flat fact that I am not wanted there. I won't pretend that it's the case. I saw that completely the last time I visited. It could not have been more clear. I promise that I will never again speak to the members of my family. They can pretend that I do not exist.

I used to believe that giving people what they wanted in life was the mark of a good person. Good people care about how others feel. It would be obvious for me to give people the one thing they want: me being gone. But human nature is not so cut and dry. Instead, humans don't always know what they want. While it’s obvious that my family wants me out of the picture, their egos tend to get hurt when the thought is "he chose to close the door on us." No, I did not choose to close the door on you. I gave you what you showed me you wanted year after year. I believe strongly that they now have it, and I hope that they can find it within to be grateful.

I was taught in church that "there is not one good person, not one." I now am inclined to think that. If I am not good, I should not cry or lament. No one is good. We are all wayward beings who go through life making mistakes and causing our own flavor of harm. And trying to be good, as I saw in others (especially in the world of religion and with some members of my/my wife's family), only leads to insecurity and a need to prove one's self at every turn. It's not healthy and it leads to all kinds of issues. Like my mother, the harm we cause isn't all our fault. It's a tapestry of choices brought on by many people throughout time. The worst actions often come when we are forced to be or act a certain way. When people are pushed into a corner, they lash out. Terrible things happen, as my sister could have found out. Luckily for her, she'll never have to deal with me again. That, to me, is a true mercy for all of us. 

Maybe there is an ounce of good in me after all.