Fallen: Part 1

Today, Heidi shared this:

"I understand that when we have been indoctrinated so far to one side of an issue (ie. our behavior must be appropriate to be accepted in ‘church’) and we finally realize this is killing us, the knee-jerk response is to move as far from that position as we can. So we move to what we perceive is complete freedom. (Yes, I know this from my own life, as well as observing others). The pendulum has now gone from one extreme to the other. Now we no longer have to ‘behave,’ so we use our freedom to discover all the ways we can mis-behave. We attempt to see how close we can get to the cliff without falling off. I think in some ways this process can be helpful in loosing the grip of legalism, but it can be self-destructive when taken to extremes."

I'm doing to dig into this because it's extraordinarily important, but I'm only able to touch on some of it in this first post. So you may have questions about the places I fail to elaborate; I will try to answer them in the comments or in future posts.

But first, a disclaimer: my experiences are unique to me, and I don't mean to say that my process is anyone else's process, or my answers are anyone else's answers. I only hope to address how completely fucked up we all are, every last one of us, and how church-as-we-know-it often contributes to our fucked-up-ness. Church is a drug, like any, to some of us, and just as destructive. I'm not saying that is true for most, but I begin to wonder if those of us who tend towards addictive behaviors are more likely to be harmed in church environments. Addictive behavior isn't tolerated in church, so some of us swap drugs or alcohol or sex for church addiction. Those who are more skilled at moderation might have a much healthier go of church.

* * *

Sixteen days from today will mark the 4th anniversary of the day I almost died. It was about a month after I had left church and I was suicidal because of the condition my life was in because of who church had made me be. However, God took me down before I could take myself out. (Yes, that statement might contradict a previous post; get over it). This illness incapacitated me for almost a month, and by the time I was well enough to consider suicide again, I had realized that alcohol made it possible to cope with life. I rarely get hungover and other substances give me migraines. Easy choice.

I was drunk for much of the following six months. I would start some days as early as 9 AM Sometimes I would be intoxicated when I went to pick my sons up from school. Occasionally I had to sober up right before my husband came home from work. I had come to the revelation that God wasn't who I had always believed him to be, and if the church represented God, I wanted nothing to do with him or it ever again. A person lost in grief for a loved one, I looked for solace at the bottom of a bottle. So began the pendulum swing.

A song this afternoon drove me back into the hell that was those early months of my church-leaving. Pitch black, I had nothing left to lose and I sank into the miry despair that surfaces when one realizes ones entire existence is based on a lie, and lie onto lie. The first lie was what I had believed about who God was. The others were lies I had believed or told because of the first. Everything came crashing down after that, but like buildings we put up where they don't belong, in floodplains and on earthquake faults, when they fall to the ground, it is only then we can see the sun.

Today, it was almost as if I could feel myself in that February night, drunk nearly unconscious, about two months post-church. That was the night I sat by while one of my best friends committed adultery in the next room with a complete stranger we had picked up at at bar. Granted, I had been more sober earlier in the evening and had drug her out of the bar when I realized there was trouble brewing. However, she called him and told him where we were staying, and by the time he arrived, I was too intoxicated to care or to do anything about it. I even found myself cheering her on in my mind. Not cheering for sexual reasons, nor for marital reasons; every fiber of my being was about breaking the rules. Fuck God, fuck, church. Fuck it all. I was going to be free.

Earlier that day I had realized my crash was coming, my point of no return on ceasing to care, so with one last desperate kick to the surface, one more grasp towards hope, I had reached out to some other friends. However, these "friends" would rather see me drown if it meant they could get to their Purpose Driven Life group on time. (Forgiveness for that was given a long time ago, just to be clear, but God help me if I ever think a church event is more important than the well-being of a person I care about. Point made.) So I took a deep breath and went down. I have made my peace with it all, but for six months I lived in total shock at my behavior and what had happened, walking around like a zombie, mumbling, drunk.

For that entire season, my only, solitary prayer to a God I no longer believed in was something along the lines of this:

Lord, protect me from myself,
because I don't give a damn anymore
and I know what I'm capable of.

There will be more; I know this is dark, but it gets brighter.



Fallen: Part I
Amateur Therapy Hour
She's Like the Wind
Awakenings
Fallen II: Shit Makes Things Grow
The Saturnine Cycle
Light in the Windows