non-subject ~ "a new person"
(aww: 2/03/10)
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I sat in the small bedroom at the top of the stairs in my parent's home. The small bedroom, my bedroom, that I'd moved into sometime during my younger elementary school years. I sat on the bed. The same bed, that when I was little, I used to line with stuffed animals to protect me when I laid down in case a murderer crawled through the window and shot a bullet into my body. My animals surrounding me would protect me.
The window, through which I used to wonder if dead people spied on me.
The window, that if one crawled out they would find themsleves on the flat roof. The roof of gray-white tiles that covered the den that had been added to the house when I was a wee bit of a girl, probably when I was around four years old.
Beside the roof was the big oak tree. I think it was oak. That's how any malefactors could get to me. They could climb the tree, hop onto the roof, and quietly slip through my window and shoot me. The malefactors in my imagination were always male, never female.
I sat in that room, on that bed, near the window that went onto the roof that was beside the tree. I sat, no longer a wee bit of a girl, but a young woman now, at 16 years old. I sat, my head in my hands, rocking back and forth. Back and forth.
I had to keep it together. I had to keep it together. I had to make myself think. Think.
What was wrong with me that I felt so paranoid? Not a paranoid of someone being after me, but rather paranoid that I was losing my mind.
I was going crazy. It wasn't simply paranoia. It was true.
My mind had become contorted, somehow molded into a disfigured surrealism. It had become...altered. From dropping acid, ingesting MDA, experimenting with whatever drug my dealer boyfriend had on hand.
I only partook of psychedelics and hallucinogens. Occasionally I'd down some speed, like Black Beauties. I only tried Quaaludes a couple times and Gummy THC only once. Gummy T made me feel like a midget and that I was in a midget house; everything was squashed. The ceiling, the recliner, me, my friend Joe - all of it compressed. Quaaludes brought all of life into slow motion, like a tape that would drag in the 8-track player.
I didn't smoke marijuana, at least since after ingesting the jimson seeds ten months previously. The jimson seeds had somehow changed the chemistry of my body so that when I smoked a joint, I'd get deathly paranoid, going into an almost fetal state. So I'd quit.
But MDA. MDA. I had a relationship with MDA. It wasn't just a drug; it was a path, a path to enlightenment. It was the love drug transforming everyone, everything, the entire universe, into a love-in. Even the trees and rocks and ripple of the creek were in bliss. All was one. The love drug that would take its worshippers into a euphoric state of horniness, but never to use one another, only to satisfy the other, the person of one's adoration, only to please.
I liked mescaline too. It was my favorite acid. Window pane was o.k. So was LSD. But if I got a choice, I chose mescaline. Circumstances, no matter what they were, became so damn funny when under the influence of mescaline. Like the time Ron cut his foot as we were walking from Sinclair's farm because I'd gotten my car stuck in the field. For some reason we were barefoot walking along the dirt road that had the broken glass. I took off my bra and wrapped Ron's foot to help curb the bleeding. Bobby came by in his small pick-up truck and gave us a ride to the hospital emergency room in the wee morning hours after midnight.
Now I sat on the bed, withdrawn. I felt similar to the last few times of tripping and taking MDA. Something had been amiss; I'd started getting afraid. Even with Ron there I would get scared; it was like I was scared of my own mind. I started being unable to retrieve words, to articulate. And now, now...I hadn't even dropped any acid but I was feeling the paranoia.
This verge of insanity. The rocking back and forth. Alone. Sitting on that bed in that tiny bedroom. That bedroom where, as a little girl, I used to play with my model horses. They still decorated the antique-white book shelf that sat against the wall across from the foot of the bed.
What was real?
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Click here for Part Two.
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Click here to read an introduction to memoir: Journey through Memoir: Introduction
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February 4, 2010
February 3, 2010
Resignation
non-subject ~ "anger"
(aww: 01/27/10)
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Summer, 2003. We moved again, our fifth move in less than seven years. Sick of putting our money into rent we went against Ministry directives and took out a mortgage for a home.
It all happened so smoothly, finding the home on Commonwealth just as it had gone off the market. This treasure, an answered prayer, discovering this bright, open, tri-level home with the beautifully landscaped large yard and hundreds of Impatience dancing and painting the front garden. Then meeting the owners, Joyce and Ken, who had lived there for thirty years and had raised four children in that home. Wonderful people. Until the closing date almost a month later, I'd visit with them on the back porch which became my favorite room of the house. Joyce had personally collected every rock that bordered the five landscaped gardens that she had aesthetically placed across the front and back lawns. Joyce and Ken were moving to the North Carolina Outer Banks into a furnished home and offered us some of the furniture they'd be leaving behind; not to mention the garden tiller, the wood chipper, the water hoses, the ladders and more.
We could have bought the place on a handshake.
But how could disobeying a directive of God end up such a blessing? Was it a faulty answer to prayer? I kept waiting for the adversary to exploit us somehow for going into debt, kept waiting for a shoe to drop.
Earlier, in October, 2002, I tried resigning from my volunteer position as a Way Household Fellowship Coordinator. A month earlier, in September, my psychologist, Dr. McColloch, had advised me to quit attending Way leadership meetings, even suggesting that I quit coordinating all together. Every time I'd go to a leadership meeting I'd get set back in therapy, berating myself for not living up to standards. I'd hired Dr. McColloch in latter 2000 at the strong urging of my General Practitioner. At the time I asked my GP, "But what if the psychologist asks me to do something weird or unbiblical?" I was nervous about going to a secular psychotherapist. My GP assured me that wouldn't be the case. He was right. I had grown to love and respect Dr. McColloch.
I asked Dr. McColloch, "How do I tell Ministry leadership, about me quitting?" I'd served in some sort of lay leadership for decades. He responded, "If they give you any flack, tell them I said you need to quit. Doctor's orders." But I couldn't tell them that. Then Dr. McColloch would look bad and the leadership might think I was talking bad about them to Dr. McColloch and putting the Ministry at blame. But I hadn't done that, had I?
I made the phone call to one of my Way Branch Leaders, also a psychologist, to inform her that I was resigning my volunteer position as Fellowship Coordinator. The Branch leaders were a husband-wife team. Usually a Branch in The Way comprised five to seven fellowships. Our "Branch" had only two fellowships with around fifty believers total. The Branch Leaders ran one of those fellowships; my husband and I ran the other.
On that phone call she and I discussed my 'problem' of how I felt pressure at the leadership meetings. "We don't put pressure on you, do we?" she asked. "No," I responded. "It's something in my head, my problem."
As we talked I opened up a bit as to how I had felt uncomfortable, doubting myself, during a previous phone call with her husband. She asked if I'd discussed that incident with Dr. McColloch. I answered in the affirmative. She then asked if I had explained to Dr. McColloch the context and my issue so that "the Ministry be not blamed." I again felt at fault. I explained to her that I didn't blame the Ministry for my problems and that I had not told Dr. McColloch anything to make leadership look bad. Her husband had done nothing wrong; it was my perception that made me feel pressure.
Somewhere in this discussion tears began to well; I choked them back as I stood at the kitchen sink, phone in hand, looking out the window of the old house. I knew my emotional issues weren't the Ministry's fault; I was the one at fault, but I had to get well. I had to get well.
She said I couldn't resign my position because John and I were a team and John was still a coordinator.
I could no longer hold back the tears. Through the sobs I responded that John said it was o.k. and biblically John was my head; he had given me permission to resign. The sobs turned to anguish and I pleaded with her that I had to get well. She asked, "But is now a good time to make this decison, in October? It's a pattern that your problems worsen in October. October is the Ministry's anniversary date; the adversary always raises his head at this time. And is it really right for you to quit? To not share your abilities with the Body of believers? "
I felt confused. She's right. I always get fucked up starting around October.
I began to feel anger in my chest. Damnit, what was so wrong with me coming forward, trying to be honest? What was so wrong with me wanting to get well? What was so wrong with that!!!???
My body tensed. My teeth clinched. My nostrils flared. I can't tell her Dr. McColloch has advised me to step down; that might make him look bad and like I've bad-mouthed the Ministry.
In my over twenty-five years of serving with The Way I had never gotten in a heated discussion with leadership, never raised my voice. How could I make her see!?!
With desperation and anger starting to seethe, my tears stopped. Fury began to sizzle. My head cleared.
I responded in anger, answering her question with a question, my voice firm and the volume above its normal subservient tone, "Is it WRONG?!?"
Her response was silence. Maybe I'd just done something right. I felt a tiny sense of empowerment, but soon squeezed it back into its proper place.
My resignation was never publicly acknowledged. I still stood up at larger functions, smiling, when John and I were introduced as Household Fellowship Coordinators. I begrudged it; but I obliged. It was my duty. But I quit helping with coordinating duties, other than hosting fellowships in our home and leading songs and children's fellowships; those didn't put much pressure on me. I attended no more leadership meetings; on that I stood firm.
John had given the Branch leaders notice that he'd like to step down by December, 2002. But no one was around to take our place. December came and went. John continued the position until April, 2003.
We got the mortgage at the end of July.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Click here to read an introduction to memoir: Journey through Memoir: Introduction
(aww: 01/27/10)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Summer, 2003. We moved again, our fifth move in less than seven years. Sick of putting our money into rent we went against Ministry directives and took out a mortgage for a home.
It all happened so smoothly, finding the home on Commonwealth just as it had gone off the market. This treasure, an answered prayer, discovering this bright, open, tri-level home with the beautifully landscaped large yard and hundreds of Impatience dancing and painting the front garden. Then meeting the owners, Joyce and Ken, who had lived there for thirty years and had raised four children in that home. Wonderful people. Until the closing date almost a month later, I'd visit with them on the back porch which became my favorite room of the house. Joyce had personally collected every rock that bordered the five landscaped gardens that she had aesthetically placed across the front and back lawns. Joyce and Ken were moving to the North Carolina Outer Banks into a furnished home and offered us some of the furniture they'd be leaving behind; not to mention the garden tiller, the wood chipper, the water hoses, the ladders and more.
We could have bought the place on a handshake.
But how could disobeying a directive of God end up such a blessing? Was it a faulty answer to prayer? I kept waiting for the adversary to exploit us somehow for going into debt, kept waiting for a shoe to drop.
Earlier, in October, 2002, I tried resigning from my volunteer position as a Way Household Fellowship Coordinator. A month earlier, in September, my psychologist, Dr. McColloch, had advised me to quit attending Way leadership meetings, even suggesting that I quit coordinating all together. Every time I'd go to a leadership meeting I'd get set back in therapy, berating myself for not living up to standards. I'd hired Dr. McColloch in latter 2000 at the strong urging of my General Practitioner. At the time I asked my GP, "But what if the psychologist asks me to do something weird or unbiblical?" I was nervous about going to a secular psychotherapist. My GP assured me that wouldn't be the case. He was right. I had grown to love and respect Dr. McColloch.
I asked Dr. McColloch, "How do I tell Ministry leadership, about me quitting?" I'd served in some sort of lay leadership for decades. He responded, "If they give you any flack, tell them I said you need to quit. Doctor's orders." But I couldn't tell them that. Then Dr. McColloch would look bad and the leadership might think I was talking bad about them to Dr. McColloch and putting the Ministry at blame. But I hadn't done that, had I?
I made the phone call to one of my Way Branch Leaders, also a psychologist, to inform her that I was resigning my volunteer position as Fellowship Coordinator. The Branch leaders were a husband-wife team. Usually a Branch in The Way comprised five to seven fellowships. Our "Branch" had only two fellowships with around fifty believers total. The Branch Leaders ran one of those fellowships; my husband and I ran the other.
On that phone call she and I discussed my 'problem' of how I felt pressure at the leadership meetings. "We don't put pressure on you, do we?" she asked. "No," I responded. "It's something in my head, my problem."
As we talked I opened up a bit as to how I had felt uncomfortable, doubting myself, during a previous phone call with her husband. She asked if I'd discussed that incident with Dr. McColloch. I answered in the affirmative. She then asked if I had explained to Dr. McColloch the context and my issue so that "the Ministry be not blamed." I again felt at fault. I explained to her that I didn't blame the Ministry for my problems and that I had not told Dr. McColloch anything to make leadership look bad. Her husband had done nothing wrong; it was my perception that made me feel pressure.
Somewhere in this discussion tears began to well; I choked them back as I stood at the kitchen sink, phone in hand, looking out the window of the old house. I knew my emotional issues weren't the Ministry's fault; I was the one at fault, but I had to get well. I had to get well.
She said I couldn't resign my position because John and I were a team and John was still a coordinator.
I could no longer hold back the tears. Through the sobs I responded that John said it was o.k. and biblically John was my head; he had given me permission to resign. The sobs turned to anguish and I pleaded with her that I had to get well. She asked, "But is now a good time to make this decison, in October? It's a pattern that your problems worsen in October. October is the Ministry's anniversary date; the adversary always raises his head at this time. And is it really right for you to quit? To not share your abilities with the Body of believers? "
I felt confused. She's right. I always get fucked up starting around October.
I began to feel anger in my chest. Damnit, what was so wrong with me coming forward, trying to be honest? What was so wrong with me wanting to get well? What was so wrong with that!!!???
My body tensed. My teeth clinched. My nostrils flared. I can't tell her Dr. McColloch has advised me to step down; that might make him look bad and like I've bad-mouthed the Ministry.
In my over twenty-five years of serving with The Way I had never gotten in a heated discussion with leadership, never raised my voice. How could I make her see!?!
With desperation and anger starting to seethe, my tears stopped. Fury began to sizzle. My head cleared.
I responded in anger, answering her question with a question, my voice firm and the volume above its normal subservient tone, "Is it WRONG?!?"
Her response was silence. Maybe I'd just done something right. I felt a tiny sense of empowerment, but soon squeezed it back into its proper place.
My resignation was never publicly acknowledged. I still stood up at larger functions, smiling, when John and I were introduced as Household Fellowship Coordinators. I begrudged it; but I obliged. It was my duty. But I quit helping with coordinating duties, other than hosting fellowships in our home and leading songs and children's fellowships; those didn't put much pressure on me. I attended no more leadership meetings; on that I stood firm.
John had given the Branch leaders notice that he'd like to step down by December, 2002. But no one was around to take our place. December came and went. John continued the position until April, 2003.
We got the mortgage at the end of July.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Click here to read an introduction to memoir: Journey through Memoir: Introduction
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
February 1, 2010
"Of All Men Most Miserable"
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I don't debate theology. I just don't.
I used to "Bible duel," but I gave it up awhile back even before exiting The Way. I reckon Bible dueling is technically more like fencing than dueling. Both parties end up going in a circle (like fencing), with both sides using similar or same scriptures to validate their different interpretations.
(I recently read that phrase "Bible duel." Ha! Thanks Larry!)
When I used to Bible duel, it was mainly over the traditional doctrine of the trinity, that being that Jesus was/is God. I believed the scriptures taught Jesus was the Son of God but not God. (I was a fundamentialist non-Trinitarian.) I don't think there was ever once where my fencing opponent convinced me of their interpretation, nor did I convince them of mine.
So the following statement is not a theological debate topic. It's just an observation.
In I Corinthians 15:19 the Bible states: "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable." The context is speaking of the resurrection and that if the resurrection is not true, all have died in their sins and perish to never see eternal life.
Tonight I thought, "So what?" It simply puts everyone on a level playing field. I'm a sinner, you're a sinner. We all die.
If there is no resurrection, no one will know it. So a person would never really know if they were the most miserable or not.
Something to think about?
*****************
Added note:
But then that verse may be a figure of speech. Also, the passage can be valued for its poetic irony. Perhaps, that's part of what it was saying all along, but my totalistic mindset wouldn't allow another angle of insight?
Or as my friend Dawson says..."Wait, I need to over think this." ;-)
****************************
I don't debate theology. I just don't.
I used to "Bible duel," but I gave it up awhile back even before exiting The Way. I reckon Bible dueling is technically more like fencing than dueling. Both parties end up going in a circle (like fencing), with both sides using similar or same scriptures to validate their different interpretations.
(I recently read that phrase "Bible duel." Ha! Thanks Larry!)
When I used to Bible duel, it was mainly over the traditional doctrine of the trinity, that being that Jesus was/is God. I believed the scriptures taught Jesus was the Son of God but not God. (I was a fundamentialist non-Trinitarian.) I don't think there was ever once where my fencing opponent convinced me of their interpretation, nor did I convince them of mine.
So the following statement is not a theological debate topic. It's just an observation.
In I Corinthians 15:19 the Bible states: "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable." The context is speaking of the resurrection and that if the resurrection is not true, all have died in their sins and perish to never see eternal life.
Tonight I thought, "So what?" It simply puts everyone on a level playing field. I'm a sinner, you're a sinner. We all die.
If there is no resurrection, no one will know it. So a person would never really know if they were the most miserable or not.
Something to think about?
*****************
Added note:
But then that verse may be a figure of speech. Also, the passage can be valued for its poetic irony. Perhaps, that's part of what it was saying all along, but my totalistic mindset wouldn't allow another angle of insight?
Or as my friend Dawson says..."Wait, I need to over think this." ;-)
****************************