I never miss Sunday Mass.
I can count on one hand the times I've been too sick for Mass on Sunday or a holy day of obligation. I feel so guilty. I could call in sick to work for days and never feel the slightest twinge of guilt, but I never miss Mass on Sunday. Just one more indication that I'm not quite as stable as I'd like people to think.
Although long time readers of this blog most likely know that fairly well by now anyway. I have a lot of issues. My late night phone call with my sister confirmed that once again. I wish I was as good a writer as say Heather King or that Max guy - evidently they got it all figured out and can write about it. Me not so much - the longer I live the less I understand. The idea that "it gets better" is so far from the truth for me. I mentioned that once to another author and she seemed to disagree - that Christ makes everything better - that healing works, everything gets better. One may hope. It sounds like
prosperity gospel stuff to me however. It's light weight theology to me. Just wait until they grow up.
I like to tell the story of a nun - I've found out from informants that I shouldn't use real names - especially of religious - because it may reflect badly on the community. Sometimes religious people really annoy me. Anyway, Sr. C. suffered from depression - severe depression, and she was on medication all the while I knew her. She was a difficult, touchy personality - which caused her a great amount of suffering - since she knew exactly how she was and what a burden she could be to others. To make a long story short, after countless doctor visits, meds, prayers, and going to healers and their healing services, she never got better. Until just a few days, before her death. She told me on her deathbed that the Lord had lifted the cross from her and she was no longer depressed, no longer suffering, that she no longer cared about the respect of men. She was cured. She died a few days later.
My point here is that for some of us we may never be healed of the wounds this life has imposed upon us, likewise, these wounds may be re-opened from time to time, and become more fowl and festering than ever, renewing our suffering and causing others to suffer as well. God is merciful, but we may only have brief respites from our suffering, fleeting glimpses of the lustrous blue sky behind the clouds. We may be left with all of our faults and foibles and inappropriate behaviors our whole life long, carrying them as best we can, maybe even falling more frequently than the others, who seem to have survived similar setbacks better than ourselves.
I should have known not to answer the phone.
At one point my sister suggested a reason as to why I have always avoided the family, her family and our parents and siblings. It was an obnoxious theory, one based on a lie about me, and spread around the family - unbeknownst to me. I asked her why she had never asked me about it, but I knew there could be no answer. In short course I tried to explain to her what kept me from being around the family, why I had left home in high school with no intention of ever returning. Shame.
Asked what I was ashamed of while still a kid I tried to explain. Our parents pretty much inculcated shame into us, at least they shamed me from birth. My mother called me a bastard because she had been divorced and remarried outside the Church. I always recall being made to feel ashamed - even as an infant, I have memories of being shamed for soiling my diaper. Therefore the shame wasn't just about the choices I made in life - it was more about the dysfunction at home - on so many levels. Although later, it appeared to be based on the choices I made which indeed kept me from my family. One chief reason being, my parents smeared my name to every family member and bar friend they came in contact with. I was outed before I even knew what the word meant. As for my sister's family, my parents convinced her husband that I was lowlife and he in turn declared he never wanted me in their house again. Yet my inebriated sister was accusing me of something else as to why I never tried to develop a relationship with her family. Co-dependent shame - is there such a thing?
It was good for me to be afflicted however. I gained a clearer understanding that all the guilt I've carried around about not being closer to the family was in reality not my problem.
Anyway, if you aren't following me here, I found some good stuff on shame and attachment loss, in a review of a book written by Joseph Nicolosi. It speaks to the type of shame I'm discussing - a shame which is not based in sexual identity or internalizing societal disapproval of homosexuality, as gay pride theory asserts, but in something much more fundamental. To understand what I'm saying, read the review
here. It's in PDF form so I'm unable to copy and paste the content.
Comments are closed for the time being because I'm unable to monitor them due to illness. If I stay sick you maybe can look forward to other insightful posts...