Count Fenring

One of the might-have-beens | countfenring@protonmail.com

It is unsurprising, I'm sure, but I really love writing. I'm not really clear on why. I have a fairly boring and unchallenging job in a word factory, requiring that I write all day. But writing on my own is still something I want to do pretty much all the time, whether at work when I should be working (like right now) or once I'm done.

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There's a great scene in The Wire where a supporting character named Walon is talking to Bubbles, a homeless addict who works with the police from time to time. Early in the show, Bubbles dances with the possibility of getting clean.

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Despite coming up in a nominally Christian household, my relationship with Scripture has always been a tenuous one. It was never a big part of my spiritual upbringing, and our not-even-sporadic church attendance didn't do much to change this. As I got older and started seeing more and more of Christianity's public life, there was little to change my mind. More often than not, the Bible was being used as a bludgeon. Meanwhile, I was generally used to doing my own thing, and nothing had come along to make me consider doing otherwise. Plus, when I thought about reading the Bible, it was always with the idea of finding ammunition of my own, and I could certainly find better ways to spend my time.

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Every time I think I have a handle on how my brain works, I learn something new. I keep trying to find some overarching theme, one single metaphor I can use to get a handle on how it's broken. But the problem comes from thinking of mental illness as something separate from me. Breaking an arm doesn't mean it's suddenly not your arm.

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