I live in the Bible Belt a small southern town filled with Baptist, Methodist and Presbyterian churches. We ourselves are Baptists, but as I mentioned in the previous post we are extremely progressive. I did go to seminary for awhile and as much as I love God and his words it just wasn’t something that was meant for me. I do enjoy theology and learning about all different types of religion. I believe there are many paths to God so I am a bit alone in my beliefs. I openly support so many things that by my faith standards are unorthodox. I openly support gay marriage, believe strongly there is a gray area in abortions, and find my illness is not a sign of the devil inside me. We were taught at an early age that we don’t air our dirty laundry because of what the neighbors would think. It is a fucked up version of keeping up with The Jones. I tell you all of this for a reason, I by definition of everyone in my small town is an outcast. My husband being a deacon at the church and part of our city council has a strong appearance in the community so every time there is a function of any kind and pop up with my tattoos people stare, they are polite in my face and speak with me even when they don’t know what to say. I openly talk about my illness on my personal social media and don’t understand the problem with openly discussing my illness. If I had any other disease people would wear pins, have a ton of copy and share post (even if I despise them) but all I get are awkward stares and uncomfortable conversations to be polite. Fuck being polite I would much rather you just stay the fuck away from me. I am an outcast because I choose to be. My husband is my biggest fan and that to me is all that matters. He tells people about my crusade to bring suicide awareness, end the stigma on mental health, to make small town America more open to people like me. I want to change the world, but at the same time never lose the weird outcast I am because then I would no longer be me. I am a bipolar outcast.