“Maybe I’m just angry and bitter, and can’t be fucked to move in a better direction. Yes, I just said “fucked.” Cover up your horror, and tell me that God’s left me because I’m lazy and the thought of going to church makes me tear up as I write this. By all means, connect my health with the state of my relationship with Christ. Or, just continue in your world where being employed or pregnant means you can’t answer the phone, and the only conversations worth having with me are the ones where I don’t share that I cry most days. Yea, I chose to live in Australia, and that means I don’t get to be lonely or lost. I apparently forfeited the right to beg for one little corner of my life to go unchanged when I made the decision to immigrate. I’m 26, childless, nearly friendless, and I lost almost all belief in the God I thought I knew. Apparently, this lack of offspring means I have more than enough time to cater to people who give exactly two shits and three giggles about me, and that I can’t possibly have a full life without being a mother. I won’t arrive, or have a valid word to say, until then, right? I do work 50 hours a week, though that doesn’t really count, does it? Maybe I look at who I was at 18 and know that she’d be ashamed of me. And maybe I just eat to keep myself from screaming sometimes. Or, maybe, I’m too busy making sure no one sees how “less than” I really am to find the time for the treadmill.”
The above was written approximately five months ago. Much as I hate to admit this, it pretty much sums up how I’m still feeling. I don’t go to church; facing the loss of my old life seems to happen most during worship, and my husband is super awkward and makes the whole experience really uncomfortable, so I just stay home. Community has always been really important, vital even, to my life, but I suppose I need to give up that, too. I don’t believe in substitutionary atonement/penal substitution (Wiki it) anymore, and that’s pretty much killed my relationship with God. Woo. I really want to still believe, but I’m just not strong enough right now. I fill the hole with furniture, food, and anger toward my family and husband. I’d love to go back and know the love of God, again, but He seems to have given me all that I ask for and then walked away. “Here you go. Stop your bitching. You blew your chance, and I can’t handle your bullshit excuses, so call me when you’re not a mess” or something to that effect. The only time I’m genuinely happy these days is when I let myself rest in memories of days that will never be repeated, when I had friends who loved and supported me, a church family that wrapped itself around my tears, and a fiance who would never let me talk to him the way my husband does. I don’t tweet, or update my Facebook status very often, because I have nothing of value to share. The JEL girl died, the 20 year old with wanderlust is no more, and the hope I used to so honestly trust is a shadow. No one cares. I put on my happy voice for my weekly calls to my mother and sister, and that’s good enough. My (family member) shredded me into little pieces, and no one seems to understand that they just won’t go back together. I tried, honest I did. No matter. By the time Harli is home from work in an hour, every trace of my tears will be gone, because he can’t do anything to stop them. Lovely.