Actually, before I joined the church, I drank my fair share... never beer. Cognac, Vodka, gin (when I got drunk enough that I couldn't taste too much), scotch...
It's brave to pave your own path. It's brave to be willing to let go of what you know. The future: whenever I think about it as an idea, it always seems ethereal, swirling and cloudy... something almost too delicate to be treated with anything but extreme caution, prudence, rationality. I guess I envy the people that can throw caution to the wind, so to speak. And, at the same time, I think it is brave to choose the well-traveled path if... it isn't chosen as the result of some external pressure.
What am I getting at? I don't know. I just don't know if I'm brave enough sometimes. I think my desire to live a straight life really is caused by some sense of external pressure.
It's weird. Feeling this way is so weird. I try to keep my life so balanced and perfect, purposeful. I guess I've tried to treat it objectively-- objectively because I was afraid of facing what I felt. To build a wall, to shut out the thoughts allowed me to accomplish what I've caught myself doing: trying to meet the expectations of others. I was so proud in thinking that I wasn't doing that. I just didn't notice. And then I have this whole experience, and I know that this is in no way meeting any expectation that anyone has for me. It couldn't be further.
And I feel good. I feel weak, confused, happy, devastated, empty, fulfilled, driven, scared. I feel things that I haven't allowed myself to feel for a long time because I was scared of what those feelings would do to me. They're things that expose the qualities that I've fought so hard to hide: humanity, imperfection. I was afraid of people finding out. I want my parents to be proud. I don't want to add stress or chaos or confusion or a reason for them to be ashamed of me. They're proud, and I can see it. They're proud of the things I've done, the person I'm trying to become. My siblings. My friends. I'm so bruised, and I don't want them to see it.
But when it really comes down to it, I'm the one that's ashamed. I'm ashamed of what I am and terrified that I won't be able to live an "ordinary" life. I was thinking about how much I wanted it, even if it meant potentially sacrificing a certain amount of happiness, of living a life that I wasn't truly happy with. I tried to say that it is what would make me happiest, but as I continue onward, I'm not convinced. I'm second guessing.
I told her. It was scary. I felt so weird talking to her after that. Part of me was hoping she'd say she wanted to stand by me and help me overcome this. Part of me wanted her to just let me go. I don't know why I called her. It had been a month of silence. "She deserves to know," I kept telling myself.
There was no magical connection, nothing that suddenly kindled in me a deeper, emotional connection. Is it just her? Is it all girls?
It sparked a desire, though. A sincere desire. It sparked a desire for me to know, to search, to approach the Gospel with this problem at the forefront-- not a "how can I overcome this?" mentality, but a "do I truly want this?" mentality. I have to find out. I have to find out because I can't win this if I'm not convinced. To fight it would require all parts of me to act unanimously... I sound schizophrenic...
But I feel liberated. I'm searching the Gospel with a clearer purpose... with the understanding that it isn't the only option I'm considering anymore. I tried that. i tried for five years to explore it as the only option to a happy life. That's what forced me to shut out the things I felt, to ignore the person that I was and to try to function on a more shallow level. Right or wrong, I'm not scared to leave the church, if it comes to that. I'm not scared to pave my way.
To experience the pain of regret, the fear of failure, the darkness of uncertainty, the volatility of the future... we are, then, forced to examine our imperfections. We are forced to be human. I am forced to be human.
No comments:
Post a Comment