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The Church
Dec. 12th, 2015 07:17 pmI'm sitting here in Wicked Grounds, holding my collar. Been carrying it a lot lately, and even though I bought it almost two years ago I've never managed to put a finger on what it actually means to me. One thing I know for sure is that it's not really something sexual, which makes it rather strange. Somehow, it's felt like a safety token.
Even buying it was a spur of the moment thing, something I hadn't really considered seriously before Dakota convinced me to go over and check out the display with her. Somehow, though, when I saw it, I knew it was mine, even though I had never seen it before in my life. After a little nervous convincing, I bought it, and even ran back a few minutes later to get a few tighter notches added to the band.
Since then, I've carried it on and off, mostly to cons, but more recently it's been my daily companion, hiding in my pocket no matter where I am. It even traveled onto the factory floor in Hungary with me, though I had to take it out briefly every time I passed through the metal detectors there. I say these things to underscore its importance, even though I have not fully understood why it has held that until now. And honestly, the reason is not something I ever expected.
At first, I thought it was about control, about controlling the demons within me that I was afraid of, and that I've written about in the many journals leading up to this one. When that didn't make sense any longer, I thought it was about trust, about giving someone control... but that never quite fit, even as I said the words to myself. What it really is... is a memory, a long lost, and long forgotten memory. It is my deepest dark.
-----
A lot of folks know I was raised Catholic. If you don't, you know now. I went to a Lutheran K-8, a Catholic high school, and attended CCD growing up. Generally speaking, this meant that I had something around 8-12 hours of religious instruction per week, in addition to Mass on Sundays and (while I was at the K-8), a Lutheran service every Wednesday. My household wasn't very religious; you'll find no crosses in our kitchen, but you would have in the houses of my friends. First and foremost when I grew up was God, with a capital G, and I bought the /whole way in/.
Though the schooling was excellent, at the K-8 in particular, the culture was very aggressively conformist, and I never quite fit in. I didn't process it that way at the time, but I was "the Catholic kid" in a Lutheran school, which created pressure (usually around me), but occasionally on me as well. (I still remember and joke about the time I was sent to a half-hour detention for arguing with the pastor about transubstantiation!)
The real message here... the thing I'm trying to convey, is that I believed. I honestly, truly, did, and I was willing to fight for that belief. I took that detention in stride and was proud of it, because I knew they were wrong. If only I'd known how cripplingly wrong I was...
-----
But I didn't believe I was. At least not then.
At that time, I saw only the good that faith had done. I'd never encountered the true history of the Catholic church, nor had any major life event that really brought into question my faith in a more than theoretical way. And so I aspired, then as now, to do my part. I wanted to become a priest.
In theology I saw the same things I now see in science, the quest for understanding, the debates on the nature of the universe, all of it. I thought I could add to that debate, and even more so, that I could be a leader and a force for good within that community, something I still aspire to today, although my path is now vastly different.
That all shattered when I became sick. When the doctors couldn't find the cause, when all their tests were as useless as the medications they tried, I turned to God and asked "Why?". And I received silence. I eventually recovered, but it was science that saved me, that did what little it could and kept trying, no matter how many times the tests failed. It took years for those events to fully settle, but by the time I was confirmed as a Catholic in high school, even going so far as to chose a saint's name, I had lost what I once treasured. I had lost my faith. And in so doing, I had lost trust. Not trust in God, not trust in myself... the fundamental ability to truly trust anything or ever be safe again.
-----
I've been through a lot since those dark days, since the days I sealed those memories as deeply as I could. But now I am confronted with them, because I have found some small semblance of safety, and in so doing, have shattered again. This time, I'm not alone; I have friends I can lean on and ask for guidance, but it's still been rather rough. I've had to remember a lot of hard things, and my faith is one of them. It's not what it was... will never be what it was again, but some part of it remains. Today, I don't believe in a god anymore than I do the flying spaghetti monster, but some part of me wants to. Some part of my child self, hidden and weeping, has returned, and I desperately want to believe again. ...hopefully, this time in something real.
*very slow, very deep breath*
But I'm afraid. I know what it means to be a true believer, and know first hand what kind of damage that can cause yourself *and* others. It is a madness you can lose yourself in, and that I have the potential to lose myself in, again. And so I'm scared. I have a tremendous power in me to inspire, a tremendous power to communicate and level boundaries, and this is the source of that power that I have never acknowledged. I'm scared shitless of what I might do if I lose myself, and so I don't know what to do at all. This is why I freeze up when I feel safe, because I relapse to those memories, deep inside.
Friends and loved ones tell me that I'm not a monster, but that just makes it feel like they don't really know me at all. I'm more afraid than I have ever been in my entire life, even though I've made *so* *much* progress, but I don't know how to even dent this one. I need help, desperately, and I don't know what to do.
Please. Someone help. >.<
-----
At the start of this, I began with talking about my collar... but never answered the question of what it is... what it means. It is my deepest dark, a memory more terrifying than anything I have ever imagined. It's the collar of a priesthood I was never able to wear.
Even buying it was a spur of the moment thing, something I hadn't really considered seriously before Dakota convinced me to go over and check out the display with her. Somehow, though, when I saw it, I knew it was mine, even though I had never seen it before in my life. After a little nervous convincing, I bought it, and even ran back a few minutes later to get a few tighter notches added to the band.
Since then, I've carried it on and off, mostly to cons, but more recently it's been my daily companion, hiding in my pocket no matter where I am. It even traveled onto the factory floor in Hungary with me, though I had to take it out briefly every time I passed through the metal detectors there. I say these things to underscore its importance, even though I have not fully understood why it has held that until now. And honestly, the reason is not something I ever expected.
At first, I thought it was about control, about controlling the demons within me that I was afraid of, and that I've written about in the many journals leading up to this one. When that didn't make sense any longer, I thought it was about trust, about giving someone control... but that never quite fit, even as I said the words to myself. What it really is... is a memory, a long lost, and long forgotten memory. It is my deepest dark.
-----
A lot of folks know I was raised Catholic. If you don't, you know now. I went to a Lutheran K-8, a Catholic high school, and attended CCD growing up. Generally speaking, this meant that I had something around 8-12 hours of religious instruction per week, in addition to Mass on Sundays and (while I was at the K-8), a Lutheran service every Wednesday. My household wasn't very religious; you'll find no crosses in our kitchen, but you would have in the houses of my friends. First and foremost when I grew up was God, with a capital G, and I bought the /whole way in/.
Though the schooling was excellent, at the K-8 in particular, the culture was very aggressively conformist, and I never quite fit in. I didn't process it that way at the time, but I was "the Catholic kid" in a Lutheran school, which created pressure (usually around me), but occasionally on me as well. (I still remember and joke about the time I was sent to a half-hour detention for arguing with the pastor about transubstantiation!)
The real message here... the thing I'm trying to convey, is that I believed. I honestly, truly, did, and I was willing to fight for that belief. I took that detention in stride and was proud of it, because I knew they were wrong. If only I'd known how cripplingly wrong I was...
-----
But I didn't believe I was. At least not then.
At that time, I saw only the good that faith had done. I'd never encountered the true history of the Catholic church, nor had any major life event that really brought into question my faith in a more than theoretical way. And so I aspired, then as now, to do my part. I wanted to become a priest.
In theology I saw the same things I now see in science, the quest for understanding, the debates on the nature of the universe, all of it. I thought I could add to that debate, and even more so, that I could be a leader and a force for good within that community, something I still aspire to today, although my path is now vastly different.
That all shattered when I became sick. When the doctors couldn't find the cause, when all their tests were as useless as the medications they tried, I turned to God and asked "Why?". And I received silence. I eventually recovered, but it was science that saved me, that did what little it could and kept trying, no matter how many times the tests failed. It took years for those events to fully settle, but by the time I was confirmed as a Catholic in high school, even going so far as to chose a saint's name, I had lost what I once treasured. I had lost my faith. And in so doing, I had lost trust. Not trust in God, not trust in myself... the fundamental ability to truly trust anything or ever be safe again.
-----
I've been through a lot since those dark days, since the days I sealed those memories as deeply as I could. But now I am confronted with them, because I have found some small semblance of safety, and in so doing, have shattered again. This time, I'm not alone; I have friends I can lean on and ask for guidance, but it's still been rather rough. I've had to remember a lot of hard things, and my faith is one of them. It's not what it was... will never be what it was again, but some part of it remains. Today, I don't believe in a god anymore than I do the flying spaghetti monster, but some part of me wants to. Some part of my child self, hidden and weeping, has returned, and I desperately want to believe again. ...hopefully, this time in something real.
*very slow, very deep breath*
But I'm afraid. I know what it means to be a true believer, and know first hand what kind of damage that can cause yourself *and* others. It is a madness you can lose yourself in, and that I have the potential to lose myself in, again. And so I'm scared. I have a tremendous power in me to inspire, a tremendous power to communicate and level boundaries, and this is the source of that power that I have never acknowledged. I'm scared shitless of what I might do if I lose myself, and so I don't know what to do at all. This is why I freeze up when I feel safe, because I relapse to those memories, deep inside.
Friends and loved ones tell me that I'm not a monster, but that just makes it feel like they don't really know me at all. I'm more afraid than I have ever been in my entire life, even though I've made *so* *much* progress, but I don't know how to even dent this one. I need help, desperately, and I don't know what to do.
Please. Someone help. >.<
-----
At the start of this, I began with talking about my collar... but never answered the question of what it is... what it means. It is my deepest dark, a memory more terrifying than anything I have ever imagined. It's the collar of a priesthood I was never able to wear.
