Music Matters (or How Music Has Messed Me Up and What I’m Doing About It)

 

If you’ve been following my last.fm profile, you might’ve noticed that I’m currently on a major film score kick and have been for a couple of weeks now. It started with The Hunger Games saga scores. I got two (The Hunger Games and Mockingjay Part 2) over the summer. This week I finally found factory sealed copies of the other two (Catching Fire and Mockingjay Part 1) that I was missing, one of which took me several months of scouring the internet to find. Since I’m trying not to purchase things unless I know I will use them more than once per year, I played Mockingjay Part 1 an obscene amount of times while I made up my mind of whether I would purchase it or not. I finally noticed that I’d played it (at the time) more times than any other album so I went ahead and spent all of my monthly “entertainment” budget on it. 

Why am I bringing this up? Not to (completely) brag about my scores (no pun intended) but because I’ve noticed something that I had already known but has been made clearer in the last couple of weeks: what you listen to has a bigger impact on you than you are probably aware of. I figured that out last year when a particular artist had a negative influence on me (more on that in a bit) but it was permanently cemented in my noggin with my latest experiences.

Now, the THG saga’s scores aren’t all warm and fuzzy. The movies and books are, after all, full of war, violence, and things we usually shy away from. With a dystopian twist, of course. But still, even the more tense songs had a more calming effect on me than other more popular songs out there. Would I listen to them when I’m feeling overstimulated and anxious? No, but I can see myself listening to them at other times. As I write this, I’m listening to the La La Land film score. Before this, I was listening to The Voyage of the Dawn Treader film score, both of which I’ve been considering putting on my wish list. Each has put in a different mood and state of mind. And that’s what music does.

In July, I read Good Music, Sacred Music, and Silence by Dr. Peter Kwasnieswski which was honestly a little hard to get through in parts but, in my opinion, worth the read if simply to make me more aware of how the media I consume can affect me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Again, I had that epiphany before but it solidified my determination to make some changes. Because, honestly, I ended up feeling a wave of shame about what I’d listened to in the last year while I read the book.

Last year, I listened to one particular artist during the peak of my desolation. I felt very angry, betrayed, abandoned, etc. and this artist’s music suddenly became the most relatable thing to me because their albums had a lot of that in them. (Side note: if you remember who my top artist of the year was, you know who I’m talking about). It wasn’t until I stopped listening to their music that I noticed that a majority of those negative emotions were no longer there. When I started listening to their music again, those feelings returned. Not that all their music was full of that but when a majority of it focuses on unforgiveness (even if it’s presented in a “but, really, I’ll get over it so don’t worry about me” platter), anger, revenge, and playing the victim… well, it does something to you, even if you’re not always paying close attention to the lyrics. And, sadly, I’ve seen the same pattern with friends who listen to this artist’s music more often than not.

While not a fan of this particular artist, I also saw how Sabrina Carpenter’s latest album had affected me (on a smaller scale) and friends. The same with Olivia Rodrigo and other popular artists. Their lyrics have further desensitized us to topics which go against the Ten Commandments, particularly the sixth and ninth. Friends who were previously more careful about what they consumed were now nonchalant about songs with these and other themes. And I’m not judging here. It could be that they’re at a point in their spiritual life where they can listen to these songs and have the songs not affect them. But, for me personally, I just can’t do it. I know (and have seen) where my mind will wander to if I consume too much of this and it’s not pretty. 

Unfortunately, it’s the same with books. YA books are my comfort reads… and, sadly, the amount of smut that has crept into the genre has desensitized me (and the younger generation) to these things. Whereas I was once teased as being the “biggest prude in the world” by friends, I’ve gotten to the point where I can watch certain scenes in movies and shows and not be fazed by them. I can go “ugh, why is this necessary?” and even think “this is perverting something that could be good and beautiful” but I won’t  always look away. And, yes, you can argue that it’s because of my age (hello, next decade of life just around the corner) and because I don’t live in a cave… but those images (just like the words I read and listen to) stay in my head. And that can lead to curiosity and become a gateway to corn (with a p). 

As an experiment, I recently went on AO3 (as it’s apparently seen as a “classier” version of FanFiction and Wattpad) and looked up the fanfics for children and teen shows and movies. I won’t even say the amount of explicit and mature fics written for movies and books like the Narnia series (seriously), Anne of Green Gables, etc. but I was honestly disturbed. I didn’t even have to read them; I saw what the tags were and they were something else. These are young women (sometimes even underage girls) who are writing these explicit stories for media that was originally not meant to evoke these thoughts. But the media we consume (and we’re bombarded by it all day long) will trigger the curiosity in them that will eventually inspire them to write these things out. And some of these fics are based on songs by popular artists as well.

Sadly, I’ve seen this slippery slope happen to friends, especially lady friends who tend to be more active readers and the target of these types of books (and music). I’ve seen them read books (not strictly YA) with some open-door spice and then they get into the more explicit books… and sometimes it becomes a corn (with a p) addiction that they’ll be in denial of. I’ve heard about how that warps people’s minds and how the beauty of what God created is distorted and becomes ugly and perverted. 

And before anyone comes after me for “shaming” people — this is not me shaming anyone. I’m just pointing out how the media we consume can affect us for both the good and the bad — from my own personal experience and what I’ve seen and heard from others. We all make conscious decisions about what we listen to, read, and watch. Examining one’s conscience, we can see how some of these things affect us. And, for those who’ve fallen into the addiction, it can seem hard to give (or even become unwilling to give up) but it’s not impossible to kick those addictions. I’ve seen and heard of women in recovery from these things. I forgot the name of it, but I know Matt Fradd has had a guest on Pints with Aquinas in the last 2-3 years in which she discussed an addiction she had with this and how she now runs a ministry to help other women struggling with the corn (with a p) addiction that was triggered by the literature they read, the music they listened to, and the shows and movies they watched. So, you know, there’s hope for those in the middle of it.

So, going back to music — I’m glad I’m going on my film score kick because I’ve seen the positive changes. This is especially important to me as I’ve finally begun to feel like myself after the summer SAD symptoms have (mostly) disappeared. I’ve always relied on music to provide the soundtracks to my life — to whatever I’m going through at that point in my life — and I think these scores are what I need at the moment. 

I’m also glad that, even though I can easily blow my entire monthly “entertainment” budget on a single album because it’s being shipped from an international seller (both my latest purchases will be coming from Asia and Europe), I know that it’ll be music that will affect me in more positive ways than if I’d simply played roulette with my Spotify daylists. Admittedly, I will sometimes do this in the morning but will only play the songs I’m familiar with and will skip them altogether if they don’t fit with how I want to start my morning.

 As I’ve said in the last year, I’m collecting albums in order not to use Spotify anymore (and that remains true for more reasons than one). I’m still trying to stick to it as a way to control what I do and don’t listen to. Because I get into enough trouble without having music further mess me up. It also doesn’t hurt that music from CDs sound better than streaming because the files aren’t compressed like they are in streaming services. Just saying.

Again, this is all me and what I’ve noticed. Because I am a weak human being (who has only gotten weaker in the last two years; thanks, steroids, for messing up my brain chemistry) and it’s become clear that I’ve had to make these changes and try to stick to them even harder than I had in the past.

Anyway, the La La Land score is almost over so I’ll wrap it up here. Not sure if I’ll listen to my two favorite Tord Gustavsen Trio albums (Being There and The Ground), if I’ll find some classical music to listen to, or if I’ll simply put music on pause because I’m feeling a bit overstimulated this morning with a migraine threatening to join the party.

I hope you all had a lovely week! As always, thanks for reading!

What Being Legally Blind *Actually* Looks Like, 4 Years After Diagnosis

 Hello, everyone! Happy feast of the guardian angels. Long time no update, I know! But, I have a good explanation for it.

In a nutshell, I was hit by the most (physically) intense bout of summer SAD (seasonal affective disorder) this year. I was “out of it” until about a two weeks ago. I had insomnia from June 19th through early September. I was averaging half an hour to two hours max of sleep per night and then zonking out during the day. Some days I only slept a total of 3-4 hours because of how noisy apartment life can get. It’s only been the last 3 weeks or so that I’ve started sleeping a little better with the occasional off days. Since I was struggling with physical fatigue during the day for months, I was pretty much “dead” to the world. I wasn’t in touch with friends (not even my bestie got much out of me this summer) but I would update social media in order to not worry anyone by a complete radio silence. Some days I barely had energy to walk around the living room for a little  exercise. I had zero desire for some of the basics of life, including showering (which I had to force myself to do during the peak of the summer SAD). It was… bad. 

The only positives that came out of this SAD spell was that it’s now an established pattern for me… and I have a legit reason why it hit harder this year: I was (unofficially) diagnosed with POTS on the 15th anniversary of my father’s death in July. Unofficially because there is no test for it that my cardiologist could do for me but he agreed that I have all the symptoms his other “POTS girlies” have. I’ve always gotten sick during the summer (especially because heat makes me feel faint; thanks, POTS!) but it took until this year to notice a pattern of the depression I feel during these months. I thought it was related to my father’s death but it actually preceded it. So, now we know what I have to deal with from June through September, which is a plus! I can try to find ways to help it as I begin to understand it better. But, like I said, the POTS diagnosis definitely made things worse this summer on the emotional front. The positive I’m taking out of it is that I now know POTS is the reason for my near-fainting spells (and I literally ended up on the bathroom floor once this summer), palpitations, lightheadedness, etc that I’ve had for decades. So, yay for that but boo for how hard it hit me this year.

Anyway, that’s not why I’m writing. I decided to update because on this day, 4 years ago, I was given a second chance at life. I’ve already written about what happened on that day for Epic Pew but I realized that I’ve never given a good update to it. Since I no longer write for Epic Pew, I wanted to give a little update on how things have changed since I wrote that article in February 2021.

First: no more adrenal insufficiency. Next month will mark a year since I was weaned off of the medication for it. As of late May of this year, my little adrenal glands were still working as they should. I’m sure my doctors will want to re-test me in a couple of months but, for now, it looks like I’m back to normal on that front.

The biggest question I get is regarding my eyesight. Can I see yet? If I use Instagram, does that mean that I now see better? I just received the illustrated edition of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, does this mean I can see? It’s a difficult question to answer but the clinical answer is: I’m still legally blind though I have some residual sight.

Can I see better than I did when I wrote that article? YES! In some ways, my eyesight has improved. I can now see a little more (and sharper!) through the “pinpoint”/tunnel vision I have in my left eye. It’s still not a whole lot and my peripheral vision is still uber blurry even with the aid of glasses and contacts (which I will get into in a bit). I still cannot see anything straight ahead in my right eyes and my peripheral vision is even worse in that eye. However, I started wearing glasses again and it’s helped with the residual sight in my left eye.

I found these reels on Instagram (and I kept the creators’ usernames on the videos to give them credit for them) which have been the best explanations of what I see out of my eyes. The conditions are not the same as mine (I have bilateral optic nerve atrophy) but they can show you (in visual form) what I can and cannot see out of my eyes.

The first video shows how differently I see out of both eyes. The first visual (for glaucoma) is close to what I see out of my left eye though that area is bigger than what I can personally see. The second (macular degeneration) is what I see out of my right eye.

This blind artist has a video that shows the visual snow I get in both eyes as well as how it looks out of my left eye with that little “pinpoint”/tunnel vision. This is the closest thing I’ve ever seen to show you exactly what it looks like for me what I look at things:

I bet you’re wondering about the glasses and contacts. I actually started wearing my old pair of glasses two years ago. Then last year I went back to my old optometrist (after the new insurance-issued ophthalmologist failed to properly test my residual eyesight) and they helped me find my new prescription. It took us 3 weeks (and I felt so bad that I kept going back because my case is so difficult) but we finally figured out what my eyes needed the most. My prescription is actually lower in my left eye than it was in past years but only in the small area I can still see out of. So, yes, glasses help that little bit out of which I can still see but the majority of my eyesight is still blurry. I still cannot walk without the aid of a white cane because my distance and depth perception is still pretty much non-existent. I couldn’t tell you how far away or how shallow or deep something like a stair or a sidewalk is, even with glasses on. I’m also not guaranteed to not get (literally) blinding flashing lights in my eyes when I’m out (without dark glasses on). Once I get them, it takes me a minimum of 20 minutes to be able to see anything even out of my left eye once again and I have to stay seated until that passes. (Side note: I actually got those flashing lights for a little bit while writing this post and had to take a little breather.)

And who inspired me to start wearing the glasses (and asking for contacts!)? None other than Paul (the blind illustrator) after seeing how much it helped him with the bit of residual sight he still has. Here’s the video that inspired me.

It’s so easy for people to say “if you can see a little bit, you’re not blind!” However, only 10% of all those who are legally blind are completely blind. The rest of us have some residual sight but either our eyesight isn’t better than 20/200 out of our better eye and/or our peripheral vision is completely useless as is my case for both eyes. This is one of those “not black and white” situations and some people don’t understand so they make generalizations and try to discredit people based on their ignorance.

And if you’re wondering: I can read things or see things as long as they fit in the little pinpoint of my eyesight. So, I’ll make the text as small as possible to read things with my left eye (like this):

And if I want to watch something, it has to be with the smallest screen possible or with the screen as far away as I can manage (while wearing glasses) to see more of it than I would if things were bigger. I do have to zoom in and get literally inches from the screen to see details (and they’ll still be blurry because I cannot use my glasses to see things up close). However, if I want to get more of a “general sense” of things or better see what a person’s face is like, glasses with a tiny and/or far away screen is best for me. 

Still legally blind but I’ve learned to exist in this world with the visual impairment, which seemed almost impossible 4 years ago.

That is my long update for y’all. I will try to write more often now that I’m sleeping better and I’m feeling a little more awake and alert but no promises because life happens sometimes.

Please feel free to share this with anyone who might not understand what being legally blind might mean to some. Most people don’t understand the term and then go around accusing people of lying, something that almost every single visually impaired person I’ve met and have been acquainted with has said they’ve had to deal with. I also have highlights of IG stories I’ve posted on my account if you want to see more (including how I watch movies with audio description). You just have to let me know if you’re not following so I can add you if I’ve interacted with you online long enough since my account is private.

I hope you are all well! And a massive “shout out” to Bl. Carlo Acutis for his intercession all of those years ago!

As always, thanks for reading and God bless!

Getting My Life Back, Part Two of Two

I hate having my picture taken but here’s one from earlier this month, a couple of days after my birthday.

Here is the second part to the whole “the Church (and its people) let me down” posts.

As I wrote in the last post, I was seriously let down by the Church and its people. Because I thought the Christian thing to do was to help those in need… and I was abandoned by people during my time of need. I lost literally of hundreds of followers on X (formerly Twitter). Even after learning that the medication was making things worse and explaining it to people I cared about, many chose to walk away. But it ended up being a blessing because it brought in the new people who helped me get to where I am now

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I met the majority of “my girls” (the group of friends I now have) last year, providentially around the time my Catholic friends were saying their goodbyes (or simply ghosting me). They helped me stay afloat during the last half of the year. While our group has diminished in size over the months as life happens and we continue to grow (or their children continue to grow and those who are mothers change their priorities along with them — which is beautiful to see!), the ones who’ve stuck around are the “ride or die” kind, as the kids say. Wait, are the kids still saying that? Anyway, even though we disagree on religious and political matters, we’re still there for each other when we need it. I firmly believe God brought them into my life when I felt abandoned by my Catholic friends (who were maybe 98% of my friends at that point) because He knew that I needed a community. 

Do I miss having a Catholic community? Sure, but I also now know that I needed the mass exodus in order to not pigeon-hole myself in the “Catholics only” box, which I’d been unconsciously doing the last couple of years. I needed to have friends who disagreed with me and who challenged me to not put people on pedestals. Because that’s what I’d been doing since childhood. And I was constantly feeling let down as a result. But, again, I did that. 

Then came along a certain Monsieur Dimples. Those who know who he is and/or how that started know why I’ve decided to not share more details outside a very small group of people. And it’s going to stay that way because this post isn’t about how he became Mom-approved future husband (my first nickname for him on social media) but very much about how he helped me get back to myself without meaning to.

During the time when I did most of my soul searching (when I finally starting feeling more like myself post-meds weaning), I was trying to figure out how to get back to how things were before the desolation* hit. Because that’s what I wanted — to get to how things were pre-desolation*. I hadn’t yet learned that I was in a new phase of my life and that I needed to change along with it. Even though I was feeling more like myself as days and weeks went by, I was still feeling lost and directionless. I didn’t have the tools or the people in my life that I had before the desolation. That’s when I became acquainted with Monsieur Dimples. I honestly didn’t think much about him… until I heard him speaking in such a sincere manner that I hadn’t heard from a man (in his position) before that it caught my attention. Listening to him talk about how important his family and friends are to him, how blessed he feels for things life has given him, how the hardships of life have come with bigger blessings… all of those things sparked something in me. Hope? Optimism? Inspiration? All of the above? 

Though he is not Catholic (gasp! lol) he is, in many ways, more Benedictine than I am. Everyone who has met him has talked about what a sweetheart and a gentleman he is; how attentive and caring he is. He’s not afraid of doing the hard work towards something he wants to achieve. And, in his own way, he reminded me of all the good things I’m capable of doing and of who I am deep down. Everything positive I thought I’d lost about myself during the desolation — patience, selflessness (as much as my selfish being is capable of), warmth, love for others, gratitude, optimism, etc. — he has reminded me (and continues to remind me at the most random times) that I do have the ability to tap into those things, even if it seems like I’ve lost it forever. And, best of all, I didn’t put him on a pedestal after all of that. I still haven’t put him on one and I don’t think I ever will. Insert joke about how his tattoos have made him a little less “Mom-approved” and therefore can never be put on a pedestal as a result here.

The biggest surprise for me is that this lovely non-Catholic man helps remind me of why I’m Catholic — why I chose to stay even when I felt judged, unwanted, and unloved by its members. I honestly don’t know how he does it but sometimes I’ll be listening to him talking about something unrelated and it’ll trigger a memory or a moment of “and this is why I’ve chosen to be Catholic.” Again, he’s not Catholic but God uses him to give me reminders and also to give me little nudges to try harder in my spiritual life. I don’t question it but am grateful for those moments. And dude doesn’t even know he does it. lol. 

Monsieur Dimples has the same effect that sister Elisabeth has always had on me in the almost two decades that I’ve known her — they both remind me of what I’m capable of without letting the perfectionism get the best of me. Because I’m very much a perfectionist and confessors have always said I’m too hard on myself. Both remind me that I’m loved as I am; that I’m capable of more than I give myself credit for and not in an egotistical manner. They remind me that I’m not in competition with anyone (which is sadly a pitfall to being on social media so much; we are constantly comparing our lives to those of others who share very careful curated content). And what’s so beautiful is that neither have purposefully done it — it’s simply the way they are and the way that they live life that continue to inspire me to be the best version of myself. And, again, neither are on pedestals.

And (as some of you know) I can always count on an adventure with Monsieur Dimples on days when life is too overwhelming and I need a break to let the silliness come out. It’s kept me mentally sane on stressful days and that has been such a blessing. I’m so grateful that God has used him to not only help me get back to myself but also learn things about myself that I hadn’t realized before; things that I know will help me in the long run.

I needed to mature. I needed to grow up (even at my age). I needed to let go of ideas of how things were supposed to be; how people were supposed to act. I had to learn to not rely on others to get me through difficult times and to rely solely on God which, again, I fail at doing but am trying to do. I honestly don’t feel like doing it most days because I want to control everything myself. I know that’s just part of the process of growing that I have to do, especially in my spiritual life. 

I needed to be kicked down, to feel abandoned, to be feel like I was less than dirt, to feel unloved, to feel irredeemable, to feel like things could not get worse if only to be able to come out of it and see that those were all lies. And sometimes God allows for that to happen for our own good… which I firmly believe has happened to me. I don’t know how much more growing I have to do — and how many more hardships I’ll endure in the process — but if I can get through that (and 2020 as a whole with my health issues), I know I can get through anything… and God will not abandon me, even when I feel like He has.

Anyway, that’s it for now. I’m not sure when I’ll write again as I’m trying to write only when I feel like I have something someone might need to read.

I hope you are all well!

As always, thanks for reading and God bless!

The Church (and Its People) Really Let Me Down, Part One

 No, that is not a clickbait title. I’m serious. The Church (and its people) let me down… and it was exactly what I needed. This is part one of two.

This weekend I finished reading Arise from Darkness by Fr. Benedict Groeschel CFR and the timing could not have been better. It had been sitting on my bedside table for almost 2 years but I never touched it because it didn’t seem like the right time. But late last week, I vowed to finally read and finish it and, yep, things definitely happen when they’re supposed to.

As I’ve written before, I’m still slowly getting back to myself after that medication-induced desolation*. And desolation has an asterisk because I don’t think it was technically desolation since medication exacerbated the spiritual dryness I already had. Or maybe it was desolation and the medication just made things worse. Either way, my brain chemistry (and, really, my entire system/body) is still recovering from 3+ years of steroid use for the adrenal insufficiency so I’m not going to beat myself over the fact that my spiritual life is still the worst since my reversion in 2006. But the book by Fr. Groeschel helped me realize a couple of things, with the big one being that everything that happened needed to happen to help me grow.

I know some of you will remember those tweets in which I would talk about feeling let down and angry over the mass exodus of people when I started not acting like myself and not wanting to do anything with the Church. It was intense and I needed my Catholic friends to help me through with it and I was met with crickets and goodbyes. People who others were/are constantly saying how holy they are and what an excellent example of Catholicism they were? They were the first to bail or kick me even harder when I was already down. Priest friends? Silent. I felt so abandoned and consequently angry because I’d always thought that we never abandoned people when they were in need… and I was definitely in need and I felt like no one gave am *expletive* on my worst days. It got to the point where I thought I would leave the Church, though I continued to fight that on my own because I knew, deep down, the thoughts and feelings weren’t me at my core.

I needed people. At the very least, I needed prayers during the peak of it last summer. I had developed an aversion to all things Catholic. I didn’t want to pray (though I still forced myself to go through the bare minimum asked of me as a Benedictine oblate). I haven’t been to a Mass in years at this point, partially because I spent a good last year and a half mostly in bed and then because of the transportation issues (it’s over $50 round trip to our parish… and it’s actually not that far). At one point, I couldn’t even look at the crucifix without feeling a physical aversion to it. My body actually felt like it was physically rejecting the mere sight of it, and that scared me. I later found out that was my body on steroids when it no longer needed them messing with my brain chemistry. I had too much medication in my body (and the doctors didn’t take me off of it until November despite the symptoms beginning in March-April). It affected my mood and mental state. Still, at that time, I was just in deep need of a community of faithful… and I was let down.

That’s not to say that everyone left. My oblate sister (sister Elisabeth Obl.OSB) checked in on me and was one of the few people who took literal hours out of their day to talk to me about what I was feeling and thinking. She was a light during that darkness and I’ll never be able to repay her for it. I also had my bestie (Charmaine) with whom I would watch new episodes of the second season of The Summer I Turned Pretty every Friday. She didn’t bring up what I was feeling but she made sure I knew I had at least one person checking in on me and making sure I had a distraction on the worst days. I honestly don’t think I would’ve survived last year without them or friends who would send me “praying for you” messages on occasion over the months. So, I wasn’t completely abandoned but it sure felt like it at the time and it was the worst as someone who sees community and friendship as two of the most important things in life.

I wish I had read Fr. Groeschel’s book during that time though, honestly, I don’t think it would’ve helped much because of the mental state I was in. In the book, he talks about feeling abandoned or let down by the church, clergy, people, when dealing with sickness and death, etc. And it was the last piece in my healing journey puzzle because it emphasized how what we go through is nothing Christ didn’t experience himself.

Friends abandoning someone when they needed them the most? There’s no better exactly of it than of the story of Jesus, who saw St. Peter (who swore to always be with him) deny him and his followers leave. And I don’t know why I never thought about it or why no one ever brought it up but this made what I went through seem doable, if that makes any sense. And it also reminded me that I had the biggest portion of blame in what happened. 

Even before I read this book, I had done some deep soul searching and I saw that I had inflicted the majority of that pain on myself. I’m going to quote Conrad Fisher (my favorite character in the Summer trilogy and the one I say I identify the most with) because it’s almost exactly what I thought:

“All of the love and pride I had in him [his father], it turned into hate. And I started to hate myself, who he’d made… From there on I set out to destroy the picture of me he has in his head… I quit it all to spite him. Anything that made him proud of me, I took away. It took me a long time to figure it out. That I was the one who had put my dad on that pedestal. I did that, not him. And then I despised him for not being perfect. For being human.” (We’ll Always Have Summer, ch. 35)

Substitute “him” and “my dad” for “the Church” and “Catholics in my life” and I could’ve easily said it. In fact, I did. When I had the lightbulb finally turn on, this exact quote popped into my mind. I did that. I put those people (and those priests and religious) on that pedestal. I was the one who believed that they were so holy that they would be saints and help me through my most difficult times. I did that. And I was let down because I failed to recognize their humanity. “I did that.”

And that helped me start to heal from the lingering hurt that is there. Because there is still a lot of hurt there. Hurt that the person I counted on to be there for me, guiding me out of this spiritually barren place. wasn’t there; a hurt my mother shares with me. Hurt that the person I thought knew me best and had my back ended up making me feel like I was a scum that didn’t deserve to be called Catholic and made me feel like everything that made me me was either wrong, unholy, or unlovable. Never had another human being made me feel like I was irredeemable, unloved, and unholy like this person. And I’m still working on letting go of that hurt (and I do pray a prayer of forgiveness for them) but also have to forgive myself for thinking that mere human beings were going to help me instead of relying on God. To this day, I’m still struggling with the latter but I hope to get to a better place with time. 

And it was a non-Catholic — a certain person I’ve nicknamed Monsieur Dimples on social media — who actually helped (and is still helping) me get back to myself and has helped me get back on track with my faith. But that’s for the next post (which I’m scheduling to post tomorrow) because this one is too long now. 

Anyway, just wanted to share this in case anyone is going through the same thing. It’s hard. Some days seem impossible. You just want to throw in the towel; jump ship from the Church and isolate yourself… and I’m glad that I didn’t do it (as much as I wanted to… and I really did) and that God brought a lot of good out of it. 

Keep your peepers out for part two tomorrow. 

I hope you are all well.

As always, thanks for reading and God bless!