Good vs. Evil and Other Bullshyte

Back on it again!

The New Year is here! I mentioned last time that our whole family was knocked out with the flu, and CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, it got worse?? Not two days later, we spent the night in the ER with our youngest on oxygen and a drip bag of fluids. He’s recovered now, but it was a harrowing night and week and it was not how I expected to ring in the new year—depleted and dry, with my insurance deductible met, all my tabs open, and a knick-knackery of cold medicines and respiratory remedies heaped up on the couch.

We lived through it, though, and I’m glad everyone under this roof is restored to health. Back to something. Not normal, but something.

Earlier this week I shared this old gem on instagram:

(If you missed the historic context for these images, you can always go back to the post I shared about it waaaaay back in 2021). I like this comic because it encapsulates so much of what I feel these days—so like myself, with all my cravings and insecurities and desperations. And all my glories, too.

All my Bullshyte.

Thinking about being Back Onn’t, I sat down and drew a little animation that’s been on my mind ever since I went on that silent retreat last summer. We’re all in cycles of forgetting and remembering—of engaging and disengaging with the various poisons and nectars of life. Here’s that animation, and the thoughts that came with it:

I sometimes find myself caught in a loop—giving in to my best intentions, then giving in to things that distract me from my pain and discomfort, then back to my better intentions, then back to my distractions—on and on.

And sometimes when I notice the loop, I get stuck in a game of good versus evil with myself—the “better” me is always trying to overcome the “wicked” me. I’m victorious when I express myself with order and discipline, and shameful when I ignore my responsibilities or do something indulgent.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved the New Year. As someone who often feels haunted by a multitude of sins, I long for absolution. I want forgiveness—a clean slate, freshly-fallen snow. I don’t want to harm myself anymore, or to allow my self-harm to leak into harming others. The New Year is an excuse to give in to my better intentions, to remember that I have a self who means well and does well.

When I was religious, I had rituals built in that gave me forgiveness from all my wrongs. Breaking bread, drinking water, I couldn’t help but feel clean—once a week, anyway. Now that I no longer participate in religion, I have to claim that forgiveness on my own. It takes more practice, and sometimes I still long for the ritual, the outward show of something shifting inside.

I don’t even know who taught me I needed forgiveness like that—maybe it was the religion, or maybe it was everything else. I don’t think that only religious folks feel guilt or shame or something like sin, so I wonder if there’s a human thing to be learned from it. There’s a longing to be better, to be truly good.

I don’t think I’m alone in this.

But often I get too wrapped up in being “good” or being “bad,” and then I get tired of the drama, the theatrics behind this battle of wills. Maybe it’s the seasonal depression talking, but I think I could use a little less doom and gloom over everything I’m not doing, and find comfort in the fact that I’ll simply cycle around and around. Sometimes I’m present and compassionate and engaged, other times I’m ornery and distracted and desperate for attention or pity or laughs.

Both selves are on the path to each other—the more steeped in distraction I become, the more I long for discipline and good actions. The more I push myself into discipline and action, the more I long for indulgence and escape. Is the loop an evil one, or is it simply nature? I believe in my ability to change, but I also know that I’ll fail and forget and have to find my way home again and again and again.

Of course, you can’t experience the delight of coming home to yourself if you’re never lost. I hope I remember that the next time I find myself back on my bullshit.

I won’t, but I hope I do anyway.

I love you. Please forgive yourself if you need it. Bullshyte and all.

All my love from the haunted library,

📚Becca Lee, Haunted Librarian📚