The number on the scale.

I officially started Weight Watcher's on Tuesday, but I signed up last Sunday night and I tracked my points on Monday. I made no effort to watch what I ate on Monday and I went out with a bang. As promised, I ate a donut and I even polished off a few Girl Scout cookies as a way to say goodbye to being able to stuff my face. I mostly tracked my points on Monday to get a feel for where I was "going wrong" with my food choices and to see whether a few of the things I ate daily, that I thought were fine, were really unhealthy. They were, just as I had suspected.

Starting on Tuesday and continuing through the rest of the week, I stayed well within the amount of points I was allotted daily. It wasn't easy and I had to make a very conscious effort to do so. It was difficult because I have such poor eating habits but the real challenge was on the weekend when The B-Man was home from work. His eating habits are absolutely terrible and he's a horrible influence on me. I used my daily points much more quickly when he was around and I had to use a lot of will power to shut down some of his ideas. He's got great taste in what tastes good, he just has no concept of what's healthy. He's a big boy and he can eat whatever he wants, but it takes a lot of effort on my part when what he wants sounds good to me too.

All week while I ate healthily and worked out, I kept wondering how much I weighed. I have made a choice not to expose my weight on my blog. I don't want to for several reasons, which I will not discuss here. However, my first weight loss goal is 11 pounds and I just knew that all of my hard work and diligence had to be paying off throughout the week. A couple of times I jumped on the scale and I was never disappointed. I am losing weight, so I know that what I am doing is working.

However, every time I got off the scale I had to remind myself of a few things. First, I should not expect to reach my first goal in the first week. I should just work to reaching my first goal without stopping and without getting discouraged. Second, Weight Watchers requires that I do weekly weigh ins for a reason. A person's weight fluctuates a little bit each day and therefore weekly weigh ins will give me a more accurate idea of my progress. Third, just because the scale is showing me what I want it to this time doesn't mean it will next time and it also doesn't mean that I should reward myself with a Twinkie.

The only times I weighed myself were in the first couple of days. I didn't weigh myself yesterday on purpose. Since I signed up for Weight Watchers on Sunday, today was my first weigh in. Even though I ate "normally" last Sunday and Monday, according to my tracking software I should have been on the program for a full week as of today. Sunday weigh ins are fine with me anyways because they will allow me to go into the week with an idea of a short goal and some perspective of how I can achieve it. I feel like if I weighed myself mid-week, I would overwhelm myself and possibly create some setbacks.

Today, the day of my first weigh in, I was pleasantly surprised. I have lost 5.8 pounds since the weight I entered in as my starting weight. I know that 5.8 pounds in a week is a lot to lose, but it's the kind of start that will inspire me to keep going. I don't expect to lose nearly six pounds per week from here on out. I would be happy if I lose 2-3 as long as I keep losing and am doing it in a healthy fashion.

I still have a long way to go, but I loved the number on the scale today. The number on the scale today made me look forward to seeing the number on the scale next week. The number on the scale today made it worth it to have ignored last night's craving for chocolate ice cream. I am really glad that I had an orange instead, now that I have seen my progress.

I am so proud of myself and the best part is that I earned that feeling. I earned that happiness and that pride in myself. I earned it by paying attention to what I ate. I earned it by planning meals and anticipating my next move. I earned it by getting on the treadmill and being active almost every day. It wasn't easy for me. There are a million things that I would have loved to eat this week that I didn't (in fact, I watched my husband eat several of them). I could have watched T.V. shows that I enjoy and napped when I instead chose to run on the treadmill. I worked hard for that 5.8 pound loss. I earned the right to be proud of the number on the scale today and I will be proud of the number on the scale next week, even if it isn't a 5.8 pound loss. I will be proud of that number because I will have earned it as well.

Evolution.

Yesterday was the five year anniversary of the day that The B-Man and I started seeing each other. We spent a very low-key evening at home. We ordered in and watched our shows together and just hung out. Around 7, when I was getting off of the treadmill, I started thinking about how much has changed in the five years since we started our relationship.

Five years ago we were drunk. We were young and we were doing exactly what the majority of people our age were doing. We were partying. The next year, we went to a really fancy dinner and stayed at a hotel for our anniversary. We were young and in love and we wanted to do something special. The year after that, I was pregnant and The B-Man was in Pensacola doing training for his job with the Navy. Last year, the Navy sent him to Key West and he missed our anniversary for that.

This year, we sat in our living room. We were surrounded by toys and the messes that come from having a young family. I ran on the treadmill, we ate dinner, we read bedtime stories and gave baths, and none of it was disappointing. Five years ago, we never thought that this was where we would be. We each thought that the other was attractive. We enjoyed one another's company. We had similar interests.

Now the same holds true. We still like to be together and we still find each other attractive. Now we have even more interests in common, which I think is normal once you have been with someone for a while. I also think that it's normal when you have a family with someone. Clearly we are both interested in our children.

Over the past five years, I have had my share of moments where I began to worry that things were changing too much. I have had fears that maybe we have veered too far from where we started. We used to go out dancing together almost every weekend. Now we are lucky if we get to go dancing a couple of times a year. Those changes scare me sometimes. I'm afraid that The B-Man will get bored and that he'll decide that this isn't the life he wants. Being surrounded by diapers isn't exactly glamorous and it's definitely not sexy.

Every time I have had these moments of fear or worry, I have mentioned it to him. I think that if we are going to make it another five years (and more), it's important that we discuss our fears and apprehensions about our relationship. He's always very good about reassuring me. The B-Man always tells me that he loves me. He loves our life. He likes being married to me and he likes where we have come. My husband loves being a dad. He's good at it and it brings out a good side of him. He tells me that he can't imagine his life without me and the family we have created. I always walk away from these discussions with a good feeling. I walk away feeling loved and appreciated beyond what I feel every day. I think that's amazing because he makes me feel loved every day no matter what.

When I think about it, I think that my doubts are normal and I think it's amazing that he is able to ease my mind so well. I love my husband very much and I can't imagine my life without him. We have a great time together and I would never hesitate to describe my life as "fun." I think it is normal that my fun has changed. I've grown up and so has he. We have evolved from the careless 19 and 22 year-olds who could party until noon the next day. We now enjoy doing things that make our family happy. We have fun watching T.V. together and talking about our shows. Our love hasn't diminished as it has evolved, if anything it has grown.

I've come to the conclusion that I should not be focused on where we are in life. I should only be focused on whether or not we are in the same phase at the same time. I think that as long as we are in the same place, we will enjoy each other and continue to thrive as a couple. I make a conscious decision, every single day, to wake up and love my husband. I wake up every day and remember how lucky I am to have him and how much he makes me laugh and after that I decide that I want to do the same for him.

I know that over the next five years, my relationship will continue to evolve and grow. I will continue to change and so will The B-Man. It is my hope and my plan that we will go through this evolution together. Maybe we will not always be in perfect sync, but I think that if we decide we want to be we can be in the same phase most of the time. I've realized that relationships are about evolution and making the commitment to spend the rest of your life evolving together.

Lessons on Awesomeness.

There was a time in the past when I didn't know the things that I know now. I didn't really have parenting related opinions or convictions. This is sad because I should have had them, because I was already a mom. Sadly, however, I did not and I parented like someone who had no real opinions on motherhood, children, or parenting. The Molly of today will tell you freely that parenting without conviction is not the ideal way to parent. Parenting is a lot more fun when you feel like you know what you are doing...or at least, that's the case for me.

I am not arrogant enough to think that what works for my family will work for every family. I think that losing that whole, "I'm right, you're wrong and it's my way or the highway attitude," was a part of my transition to adulthood. Certainly there are times in every one's lives when they are right and they know it, but as a general rule I like to live by the motto "different strokes for different folks." It's one of many mottoes I like and try to apply in my every day life (I am basically a walking bumper sticker).

All of that being said, I still find myself surprised from time to time when I am talking to someone who I consider an intelligent human being and I find that that person makes parenting decisions without giving them much consideration at all. These people simply do things because it was easier, their doctor said so, their mom did it with them, or because everyone else was doing them and I find that shocking. I hate to sound cliche, but I find myself tempted to say, "If your mom had thrown you off a bridge, would you do it to your child too?" As previously stated, it shocks me when I find these things out but the fact is that it shouldn't because once upon a time, I was that parent.

But, and there is always a but, I got lucky after a while. I just so happened to join an online community for moms where I just so happened to see people have big, vicious internet fights about things like circumcision, vaccines, breastfeeding, cloth diapers, baby wearing, co-sleeping, and pretty much anything else you can think of that you have to make decisions about as a parent. I read these arguments and I found that if I looked past some of the angry, ridiculous, or all-out crazy responses there were women on those boards who gave out some very good information. I would read the information that they gave and then I would go off and research on my own. I think that anyone who knows me probably knows where I landed on many (if not all) of these issues, but that is totally not the point I am trying to reach.

My point is that I became the parent that I am today because I was willing to listen. I was willing to accept that perhaps there was a different and better way of doing things than the ways that I had already been doing them. I learned a lot and a lot of the things that I am most vocal about are a direct result of my willingness to listen and my willingness to learn. It is not uncommon for me to engage in discussions with moms that I know or moms that are friends of other moms about the parenting decisions that we make. It is not uncommon for these same moms to become bristly, defensive, and hostile when I express an opinion that differs from theirs or provide information that encourages parenting differently than they do.

On some of these subjects, I am sure that I am actually right (for example: there is really no argument on whether or not breastfeeding is better than formula. It is. Period.). On other subjects, I am sure that the way that I do it is best for my family but I acknowledge that it may not work for others (for example: I wish I could convince every mom in the whole wide world to cloth diaper, but I doubt I'd be able to. It simply won't work for some people and some simply don't want to.).

It's not the difference of opinion that bothers me. What bothers me is the unwillingness to listen. The unwillingness to look more deeply into our options as parents is really disturbing. I don't know whether it is because these people feel guilty knowing that they may not be doing what's best, or because they feel silly for not knowing their options, or even if they are just so stubborn to look beyond what they think they know. When we know better, we do better so why would anyone not want to know?

If someone says to you, "We used to do that but we started doing this and it has worked really well for us." Instead of responding in a snappy manner and assuming that person is trying to tell you what to do or how to parent, it might be beneficial to think, "Oh, that might work for us to. She's really nice for trying to help and offering a constructive suggestion."

If you want to be an awesome mom, don't worry because you probably already are. If you want to be just plain awesome, open your mind. Open your ears and open your eyes. Open up a new browser window and start googling. It's important to recognize that there is always a different way of doing things and from time to time that different way might be better. It's important to recognize that knowing your options gives you the opportunity to make wiser choices. It's important to parent with your eyes open and not just follow the herd.

Donut Frenzy.

Since about midway through my pregnancy, I started planning on how I would go about losing the baby weight. I decided that I was going to do Weight Watchers and do the Couch to 5k program to work out. I also knew that I would wait til about 5 or 6 weeks postpartum to start doing either one. I wanted to give my body time to heal and I also didn't want to make any changes to my eating habits until I was certain that my milk supply was strong enough to feed my baby and help him grow.

As of Monday, my baby will be five weeks old and I am going to sign up for Weight Watchers. My husband and I bought a treadmill for $140 off of Craigslist and I am going to order some decent running shoes so that I can start running. I have this whole plan in place and I know exactly what my goals are. I even know which milestones I am going to look for so that I can give myself small rewards. My goal is to lose sixty pounds total and I would really like to lose about twenty by the time summer rolls around.

It's going to be really hard for me to achieve my goals. I am not a good dieter, I love food and I have an insatiable sweet tooth as well as being a carbaholic. I love carbs. Bread, pasta, donuts...Yum! I could eat pasta with a side of bread for every meal. I'm also lazy and addicted to the internet. I'm also busy. I have homework (I'm a college senior), a family, and a house to look after. Making time to do my daily runs is going to test my commitment.

I'm not worried though, because I am committed. I am not necessarily concerned with being skinny. I just want to feel good and I want to feel comfortable. Diet and exercise are also very good for my depression and I am determined not to sink into a black hole when my magical placenta pills run out. I think that making dietary changes and exercising regularly will help with that, so that gives me motivation aside from weight loss. I'm in it to win it.

I can already see myself running some sort of 5k and crossing the finish line. I'll have a triumphant grin on my face, raise my arms for victory, and then I'll probably pass out and have to be revived by my husband. The passing out doesn't matter though, as long as I finish the race. I'm really excited about possibly being able to run a 5k and I am going to get there, I just know it.

However, my commitment to my upcoming diet and exercise frenzy hasn't stopped me from thinking longingly and lovingly about the things I am going to have to sacrifice to achieve my goals. Over the summer, Dave and I discovered a place of wonderment located in a neighboring town. It's called The Donut House and it's amazing. They have donuts I had never imagined could exist. Chocolate covered, mocha cream filled donuts, raspberry filled donuts, raspberry cream cheese twists, coffee cake crumble covered donuts, and a whole plethora of donuts that were created to satisfy my wildest, donut related dreams. It's basically heaven for a sweet-toothed, carbohydrate maniac.

It dawned on me yesterday on our way home from a family outing that after Monday, when I start my life changing diet, I won't be able to visit The Donut House. I'll have to pass by it on the way to and from the pediatrician, I'll probably still think about the magical creations within, and I won't be able to stop. Maybe somewhere down the road when I've lost some of the weight and I have better self-control, but it's going to be a while. So I did what every girl who's committed to making life changes and committed to impending weight loss would do. I went and bought a dozen assorted donuts. Then I ate two of them (raspberry filled and coffee cake crumble covered). In about half an hour, I plan on eating the mocha cream filled one.

Of course, I am sharing the dozen donuts with my equally donut addicted husband. That means that between late Saturday afternoon and when I wake up on Tuesday morning, I will have consumed six donuts. Maybe that's excessive and maybe you are judging me and my donuts but I really don't care. I wanted to say goodbye to my donut days. I wanted to make sure that I could enter my donut free existence with no regrets. I'm having a last hurrah with donuts. Don't hate. You know you wish you had a Donut House near you so you could do the same.

Bye Bye Donuts, Hello health. It's going to be a wicked ride. Wish me luck.

There's A Party in My Tummy.

Several people have recently mentioned that they went through and read my entire blog. Aside from being in awe of their commitment to reading and baffled by the news that anyone would be interested in what I have to say, I assume that this means that they are aware that I have struggled with depression for years. If you are not one of these committed readers, you may read about my depression here. I have tried a whole list of remedies for my depression that I won't bother going into here. I plan on spending too much time talking about my placenta to bother talking about Zoloft.

Two or three years ago if you asked me what I thought about placentas, I would have told you that I didn't. I knew what placentas were and what they did but I didn't really care. The most I cared about placentas was that I hoped I would never have a problem with one of mine. I also knew that I had never had a problem with one of my former placentas.

I never imagined that I would appreciate a placenta as much as I appreciate the one that emerged from my body one month and one day ago. But, life threw me a curve ball and I love my placenta. I really really love my placenta. It's magical and wonderful and it has changed my life for the better.

When I became pregnant with my one month and one day old son, I knew immediately that I would be planning a homebirth. I also knew that most of my homebirthing friends still had their own placentas in their freezers. Seriously, I know at least four people who have placentas in their freezers. I immediately decided that I would never be one of the creepy placenta-freezer people, partially because my husband would be pretty grossed out by the idea.

I began to weigh my placenta-related options. I could plant a tree on top of my placenta, but we rent and we don't plan on living here for a very long time. That tree would be special and I didn't want to have to leave mine and my baby's placenta tree behind. I'm sure I could have my midwife dispose of my placenta as some sort of bio-waste, but none of my other homebirthing friends had mentioned doing that and I am too much of a follower to have gone against the grain like that. I knew that some people ate their placentas. I think that they cook them up like a steak and have a feast. I like to be off-center, but even I thought that eating a cooked up placenta steak was a little much.

Finally, the golden option presented itself. I could hire someone to dehydrate my placenta, grind it up, stuff it into capsules, and then give it back to me. I could then do as I pleased with these capsules. Initially, I selected this option because the previously mentioned options were out of the question for me. Encapsulation was the only one I could imagine working for us in a logistical sense. I decided to have my placenta encapsulated without having committed to the idea of actually consuming the capsules. I didn't know what I planned to do with them, but I felt good about knowing what would become of my placenta.

As my pregnancy progressed, I began to do a bit more reading about what people actually do with their encapsulated placentas. I read this brief rundown and then I decided it warranted more research. I couldn't believe that it could actually be beneficial to consume your own placenta. It sounded icky and cannibalistic to me. But when I started to think about my crippling depression, I started to give it a bit more consideration. You see, having depression is a bit like drowning. It's not fun feeling like you can't come up for air and many people who have experienced it will tell you that they would do whatever it takes to prevent themselves from experiencing it again. I was just desperate enough to try it.

When I realized that consuming my encapsulated placenta could potentially help me to overcome my depression, I actually became excited about it. And when my baby was born, I was careful to make sure that everyone involved in the birth knew that I was keeping it, with the intention of encapsulating it. The next day, the placenta encapsulator came and picked it up. Two days after that, she brought it back. The next day, I started taking them.

What happened next was nothing short of miraculous. Over the course of the last four weeks, I have experienced only one short period of "baby blues." I am actually motivated to clean my house, keep up with errands, socialize with other humans, exercise, get dressed, wash my hair, do my homework, play with my children, shut off the computer and chillax with my man, and a whole bunch of other things that I had previously had to bribe myself to do. I feel great. In fact, I even thought of myself as "pretty" this morning when I looked in the mirror. That hasn't happened in about three years. Aside from feeling great, I really do think that I look good. My hair is shiny, my nails are growing, and my skin is glowing and radiant.

The most miraculous of all the placenta miracles is that I am actually happy. I feel good, I like my life, I like myself, and I feel positive. People....I am clinically depressed. These feelings are totally alien to me. I haven't felt these fluffy, sparkly feelings in years. I almost don't know what to do with myself every day because I am just so happy. Yes, I have an awesome husband. Yes, I have awesome children. Yes, having a new baby is very exciting. Yeah, my grades are good. But all of that made me happy before, I just wasn't able to manifest my happiness because the chemical imbalance in my brain prevented me from doing so.

I credit my magical placenta. I credit the fact that I am using my own body to heal itself. I know in my heart of hearts that my decision to have my placenta cooked, crushed up, and put into pills was the right one. I also know that my decision to consume these pills has changed my life. Mother nature sure knew what she was doing when she designed my placenta-growing body. If she were tangible, I'd give her a hug.

People have had mixed reactions to my placenta consumption. Many say that they don't care that it is unrecognizable in its pill form, they would know what it was and they would never be able to take the capsules. Others say that it just seems icky (which seems funny to me considering the ingredients in modern medications that they probably take without a second thought). Some people just don't believe me and don't believe in the benefits of placentophagy. I respect the fact that some people may not be able to become comfortable with the idea of consuming their own placentas. However, I encourage them to look at it from a different point of view. I encourage people daily to get outside of their comfort zones and try new things and this is no different. How will you ever know how what your placenta can do for you unless you try?

Just ask my shiny hair and my strong nails and they will tell you (or they would if they could speak) that placenta pills are awesome. There's a party in my tummy and I credit my walk on the weird side for helping me get it started.

In the immortal words of Jim Morrison, "Where's your will to be weird?"

Boob Truth.

I can't believe that I haven't blogged in almost a year. I haven't been tempted too either. I just haven't had much to say. I was also pregnant and anything I might have said would have been hormonal and sad.

Pregnancy over the last year means that I have a brand new baby (a boy) who I am currently breastfeeding. My older son was breastfed for 26 months and this baby will be breastfed until he weans himself as well. This means that my body will not be my own again for another couple of years. It hasn't been my own since June of 2007 when I got pregnant with my older son.

I got pregnant the same month that he weaned from the breast. Yes, folks, I have been using my body to help another body grow for almost 4 years. And if Baby Coe nurses for as long as his big brother did, it will be close to 6 by the time I am finished. And for that matter, I am not sure if I am done having kids yet. Time will be left to tell on that one.

Anyone who knows me or has me as a friend on Facebook knows that I post about breastfeeding constantly. If breastfeeding was gangster, I would be an OG. I believe that every baby deserves to be breastfed. The benefits are innumerable and it's an amazing thing. Human milk was designed for human babies and they should reap the benefits of this magical concoction. However, last night something became apparent to me. I need to be honest about breastfeeding.

I posted a link to a preview for a film called "Formula Fed America," and it spawned a good conversation. There was one person who mistakenly believed that formula was only better for six months and after that it didn't matter, there was one who tried everything in her power to keep breastfeeding but dried up between 6 and 9 months both times, and finally there was the one who inspired me to finally blog again. She had her baby the day before I had mine and she has already stopped nursing due to supply issues. This person said that my post made her feel like shit and went on to describe her sadness over the fact that she is no longer nursing her baby.

Very simply put, my heart broke for her. I don't like making people feel badly about themselves and it is never my intention to do so. I also never want to pour salt in a fresh wound. I went to bed feeling like a jerk. The good thing is that I woke up with a revelation. I have not been as honest as I should be about breastfeeding.

I think that I sometimes paint a really rosy picture. "Oooooh, I'm so awesome. I breastfed my son for 26 months and it was magical every second. It was so easy and wonderful. Now I'm doing it again and the magical wonderment has only just begun." Well folks...that is not the case. Even for me, who loves nursing, breastfeeding is work.

With my older son, we initially got thrush. My let down burnt so bad that I would tear up and curl my toes when I nursed. I nursed him around the clock for like six weeks before he started sleeping through the night. My right side always outproduced my left and as a result my left dried up around one year. I nursed for 14 months off of my right side only. As a result, my right breast is about two cup sizes larger than my left. They are visibly different and it's something that burdens my self-esteem. Also, while I was still breastfeeding him, the right was so drastically bigger that I took to putting my hair over the left so that no one could tell. Every picture of me from that time, my hair is over my left breast to hide my embarrassing boob.

Then there's the reality of what nursing for 26 months really entails. Having a screaming toddler attached to my breast. He would twist, turn, scream, latch and unlatch, and sometimes if I was trying to nurse and do homework he would use his busy little hands to make a mockery of my keyboard. Over 26 months, I felt enormous frustration with nursing. For the first year, I said at least once a week that I was going to just quit. But I didn't.

Now, here I sit. A foot away from a baby who is an entirely different kind of nurser than his brother. This guy isn't a natural nurser. He has trouble getting a good latch sometimes and I have to take him off multiple times and try again. He also spits up like crazy and will sit there and nurse for ten minutes only to let go, barf up his entire stomach contents, and want to start again. Let's add in that we also have thrush which has caused a yeast rash on his bottom as well. On top of that, my left breast had supply issues again. My baby is not quite five weeks old but I have spent that entire five weeks trying to diligently work on bringing the supply on my left side up again. I don't want to nurse off of only one side again. That sounds awful. The baby also has not yet learned to nurse lying down. Which means I am up with him a lot during the night.

In short, breastfeeding is kicking my ass for the second time. It's not easy for me. I have plenty of moments where I think, "God, why didn't I buy bottles and formula? I could just give him to Dave and go take a shower, nap, and do my homework." Breastfeeding is an endurance trial. It's not all sunshine and roses and butterflies covered in glitter. Maybe it is for some, but that is not the case for me. I have to work hard to be a good breastfeeder and I do it because I am passionate about it. I feel badly for having possibly given the mistaken impression that breastfeeding was a wonderland for me.

There you have it. The cold hard truth about boobs. Even some of the most passionate nursers struggle and think about giving up.

Decisions About God.

For a long time, I have been very unsure about where I fit on the spectrum of believers and non-believers. I have always said that I have a great deal of Faith but that I have a unique perspective on God. I therefore always believed that I was best left to relate to God on my own, without any guidance from a church or religion.

It is safe to say that I have never been in favor of organized religion or organized worship. I have always felt that organized religion is where Faith goes to die. I stand by that belief. I do not believe that much good comes out of organized religion. In fact, I believe that much of the evil and hate in the world is grown from seeds sown in churches. Even at the height of my Faith, I believed that churches were for the weak minded. I have always felt that people are attracted to church because they lack what it takes to form meaningful thoughts about God on their own. Regardless of what many "Christians" will say, churches have a tendency to tell their minions what to think and the minions have a tendency to do as the churches tell them. It's a vicious cycle, and one that I have never really been a fan of.

*Note-Recently, I was attending a church in order to attempt to better understand my beliefs. I felt that maybe I could connect with God and maybe I could have some magical moment where I just knew. It didn't happen, and my church going didn't last.*

Until recent years I had never thought much about the bible. I knew what it was and since I was convinced that I believed in the Deity it revolves around I think I might have believed that it was really the word of God. However, since becoming an adult, I no longer believe that the bible is the genuine article. I have a myriad of opinions on the bible, but the most important is that it was written by men, who lie and manipulate. Human beings are not very pure creatures and I don't see how every individual who contributed to the greatest story ever told could have been 100% honest and willing to set forth the story given to them without adding their own flavor. Jesus trusted Judas, and Christians trust the holy book. See where I am going with this? I won't even begin to speak on the multiple different versions of the bible, varying by religion. That speaks for itself on the integrity of the bible.

The more I have grown, the more knowledge I have gained, the more skeptical I have become. At first, I was skeptical of religion but now I believe that I am skeptical of the existence of God entirely. I have come to the point where I know that I am either an atheist or an extreme agnostic. I cannot, for the life of me, wrap my mind around some of the things that God stands for (homophobia being the main problem for me). I also cannot reconcile myself to the arrogance and condescension that seems to be second nature for most of the believers that I know. The bottom line is that I have seen what Christianity does to people, and I don't want any part in it. I would rather be a good person because I am following my heart and doing what I believe to be right, as opposed to doing what a book and a pastor tell me to do. I find that much of the good I believe in is said by that book and those pastors to be wrong, and that concerns me. I'd rather not be a hypocrite. I'd rather believe in the good of people and of the Earth than place my faith in a book and a man perched upon a throne in the clouds. I've made the decision to choose the tangible. I've made the decision to have faith in myself.