I am at a point in time where there are things I am thinking about, hard.
There are things I miss, things that I cannot give voice for the fear of dismissal from the one who it would actually (…?) matter to. The constant thought of it just makes me feel like I should just be done with the whole thing.
I miss feeling that deep, spiritual connection with things. People ridicule this feeling, but it has always, always been a part of my life. Even when I didn’t feel a connection to any specific tradition or denomination, I felt the need to feel connected to something.
And it is hard to shake off the feeling that something is wrong with everything when the person who I’m spending so much of my time on it… well, doesn’t.
Confession time—for a long time in my life, I wanted to be a priest.
(No comments from the peanut gallery on how that might be influencing my writing.)
I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking, “this is it,” until I found out that only men could. Turns out that you lose your religion fast when you find out you aren’t welcome where you want to be.
I’ve since found ways to get that deep connection, but… what does one do when your other thinks it’s bunk? Not necessarily the practice, but the entire concept?
I miss being able to share that part of my life. And the more I think about how I’ve had to keep it quiet from, well everyone, the more isolated it feels.
It influences everything. It contributes to how I enjoy the things that I do. To be met with a roll of the eyes—or, in the case of family, “you’re going to Hell”—to call this deflating would be putting it lightly, but I don’t have a word for what it does.
I have things to think about, and I don’t know where they’re going.