Sep. 7th, 2012

gallimaufryma: (Default)
First week.



Basic info. 

Amazing classmates.  Amazing.  I love them all.

Did I mention tired?


Bigger sigh.

I have been triggered.  A grief trigger.  You see, back when all the shitty stuff happened in my life in regards to my church, I lost that community.  Now to be fair, religion has never been my connect.  I was questioning the validity of loaves and fishes and heaven when I was 8 and it have never seen my awed-at-the-universe feelings through the lens of religion (though I tried....I tried Christianity and Wicca...earnestly, I might add).  Anyway, I did miss the community of Lutherans and of course, I felt betrayed by them as well.  This could be why church just doesn't do it for me.  Maybe I just cannot trust church community (even the UUs). 

So three of my classmates have talked about being Christian (the only ones to mention their religious beliefs...I wouldn't know if anyone else follows anything else).  And one of them for sure is Lutheran and another was a chaplain and is just...churchy.  I wanted to dislike them and eye roll at them for their silly beliefs.  But I really like them.  I do.  And they remind me of al that was good about the Lutheran church.  And that triggers me, because that was taken away from me.

My friend J and I had lunch.  She's in the BSW/MSW program out at UBC.  She asked if maybe there was a part of me that, had the assault not happened, was still living somewhere in MN and going to a Lutheran church.  And I burst into tears.  Of course.  There was a part of me as a child that saw myself there forever and in that community forever.  

And it doesn't matter that I actually believe religion causes more angst and harm in the world than it helps...because I can't help what I was raised in.  I can't help what I imprinted on.  Thing is, these women in my class, they remind me of that wound every fucking time I see them and I really get tired of this tender spot being touched so frequently.  

For a long while I figured it was totally healed over into thick, but softened, scar tissue.  But no, there are still parts that ooze and bleed and make me cry.

I hate it.  It's not fair.  I didn't ask for this.  Motherfucker!  All of that.  again.

yay.  I guess i'm just mostly annoyed that it is always there.  Like a windshield with a chip.  It's been repaired, but not quite.  A mar. 

Perhaps this is a piece of forgiveness (because I don't have another word) that I have yet to do.  I must put down this rock I carry with me, eh?

I like how someone else put it.  "releasing people"  I can release them.  I can release me.


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