Can It Feel Any Weirder Than This?

Weird.

A word often used when I think of myself.

When Tom and I went our separate ways, I could not imagine life without him.

At the time I was practicing Eclectic Wicca with my Coven in LaPorte. I remember that first night, in the basement of my friend Kim's house: on my knees, sobbing, shaking hands lighting candles and incense, through blurry eyes pleading with the God and Goddess to hear my prayers and fix this broken relationship. I begged them to help Tom see beyond the scars of my past. I begged them to free me from the chains of my abuse to I could be a better person for Tom.

Tom said the reason our relationship was ending was because of me, that all of our problems could be traced back to the fact that I refused to get help concerning my self-mutilation and sexual abuse. The only way he would ever consider a reconciliation was if I got help.

I did not make it to the second night. I told Kim the next day that I would rather kill myself--and I had a plan of action in place--than relive my past with some stranger. I loved Tom, but stirring up all that old pain that I had strive to bury for so many years was too much. Luckily, Kim worked on the mental health ward of the local hospital. She had me committed to, what I lovingly refer to as, GOTHICA.

I was there a little over a week. The entire time searching for help, solace, comfort from my duotheistic gods. To no avail.

Nothing. Instead of comfort, it became worse. I learned that Tom was a cheater. He had been cheating on me from the first year we were together. It seemed as though everyone but me knew about it. While I was in the hospital, he was out living it up... and already moving on by sleeping with several people--in order to find comfort. For somehow, I had gone from the boyfriend with unbearable mood swings who was too difficult to live with because he was always fearful of my self-mutilating turning to something worse, TO, the boyfriend who was abusive. He had told people he was fearful of me. It started as emotional abuse and somehow escalated over time to physical abuse.

And there was no comfort to be found. I was learning all this about my "soul mate" while also attending a very rigorous schedule of counseling and therapy. Thank goodness for the medications they were giving me or I think I definitely would have fallen off the edge.

I was a walking raw nerve. An emotional train wreck. And slowly becoming aware of something... no one, nothing, was coming to my aid. No matter how deeply I prayed, I found no comfort. No outside force was coming to my rescue. No divinity seemed to give a crap that I had suffered, that I was suffering, or that I would probably continue to suffer for quite some time.

If there was some greater power in the universe, it felt as though I had been selected to play out some cosmic joke. Molested for the better part of my childhood and early adolescence. A war torn family unit, that seemed to be my fault. Unspecified seizure disorder courtesy of the government. Gay, which in this country is not exactly a blessing. I could not stop self-mutilating. Night terrors. Panic attacks. Low self esteem. Unbearable depression and mood swings. A twisted sexual fantasy life. And now this... my almost eight year relationship ended a week before the anniversary and it was all planned out.

The whole move to Indiana, the changing the locks of the house, the end of our relationship had been premeditated--and I never saw a bit of it until it was too late.

Why?

The only thing I could think of is: I had been living my life in a fantasy world. I saw what I wanted. Believed what I wanted. All in some miserable attempt at happiness. Blind happiness. Blind love. Blind faith. Blind.


If there are gods, where are they? What have I done to deserve this? Why couldn't they protect me? Spare me some of it?

Fantasy. Was that all my life was? Was that all my religious beliefs were? It sure felt that way. It was like waking from a really convincing dream that takes you a few minutes to realize where you are.

So, I ran away. I ran back to Buddha. His path seemed to help me out when I was first diagnosed with seizures. It helped me out when my family disowned me. It taught nothing except dealing with and being present in this moment. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else truly existed except for this present moment. The past no longer was, the future cannot be known. Therefore, live here, live now.

I jumped back into Buddhism with such fervor. It made sense. It allowed me to deal with things in a whole new light. The past no longer seemed that terrible because it had no power over me. The future no longer seemed so overwhelming because it had not happened yet. It all made sense.

It had too. I had reached bottom and there was no where else to turn.

I packed up all my pagan belongings. Those that held sentimental value I gave away to friends. Those that did not went into boxes that were delivered to the local Goodwill. Along with all the other religious crap I had accumulated over my lifetime of searching. I was stripping my life down, getting rid of all the baggage.

Eventually that would include my past: Tom, family issues, and the childhood abuse.

It has been quite some time since those days. A lot has changed. A lot has not.

Granted, I do not self-mutilate any more. Well, not in the old way. Now I get tattoos and piercings when the urge strikes.

The night terrors have slacked off dramatically. I might have one, maybe two a year. The doctors say that is normal. They will probably never completely stop, but the important thing is that I do not let them gain control.

Not depressed any more. That is this biggest relief. To know that there are other moods out there beyond the torch songs...

My sexual imagination... well, we never got to that. I just keep suppressed as long as I can, and when it needs to surface, I take care of it in my own quiet way. There are some things in life people find hard to express to others in words--this would be that department for me. I use to paint and draw it out, but Tom kept all my art supplies and my artwork. Hopefully he threw it all away with everything else he kept and never looked at or showed anyone else. Not ready to be the next Maplethorp. Not ready to explain it.

My religion... in a word... OY!

I stayed with Buddhism for well over four years. And then I discovered an underside to it I did not like at all: it is an organized religion with all the wonderful trappings I so loathe.

So, I am back to Paganism, again. This week.

It seems I have traded in all that other crap for spiritual crisis. I have my reasons for loving this, and my reasons for loving that, and this again, and that again... why can't I just be happy in one? Stick with just one? Say to myself, "Self! This is the Path I choose. This is the Path we are going to stick with until death do us part!"

A friend asked me what I believed in an attempt to help me figure out where I should be, religiously. That's my problem. I agree with so much of a lot of them, and disagree with just about the same amount. I find just as many flaws in one Path as I do it's pluses. It leaves me, on nights like tonight, on the brink of tears and wanting to pull my hair out.

Kevin has suggested just walking away from all religion. Ugh. I cannot help that I am a spiritually inclined person. Finding that Path seems to be the quest of my current state. A friend Chris says that is the important thing, the quest. But, it is SO frustrating, especially coming from a guy who is so confident in his Buddhist way. Then there are my "pagan" friends. A witch. Her husband, who I have yet to pin down on religious views. A pagan-in-search-of a path. Her agnostic, possibly atheist boyfriend who I discovered has a "darkside" that I feel kindred to. Kevin, who has his own beliefs that don't really fit anything--might be close agnostic, bordering on lethargy. Then I have other friends... Stephen, the Mormon, who wishes on some level I could check my gay sex acts at the door and revel in the ecstasy of his scriptures. Tom, the zen-Buddhist, sometimes Unitarian Universalist, who has a bond to a guru that I have serious doubts about. Ann, the born-again, though she got it right the first time. Dierdre, who attends a church where they speak in tongues. Not sure what that is about. The choices are many...

And I cannot figure out where I belong. Luckily, I know where I do not belong: anything of the Judeo/Christian/Islamic persuasion is out. I like sex, for the most part, when I am not going through my hang-ups and denial phases of it. And, I cannot for the life of me believe that I am condemned, or a sinner, simply based on the fact of who I love. Nor can I believe that books written by men are holy and the final authority on life.

Which leaves very few choices.

And leaves me feeling like a complete basket case because I am constantly wrestling with where I belong. And if I choose one, will I lose all the people that are not a part of the one I have chosen? Will they understand? Will they still want my company? Logic says yes, but there is that little shadow in me that says without those ties they will quickly slip away.

This is so stupid. But there you go. This is how my mind works. And this is just the subject of religion. One day I may endeavour to write about my mind's workings when it comes to my sexual fantasy life. But then again... it's probably best I do not. I am not sure what you can and cannot write on these things. If you decide to get graphic, will they kick you off? I have no idea.

Now I am tired and rambling, but there you are.

I thought this might help. Funny. It has not. Could I possibly feel any weirder?