So, here�s a little trip down memory lane, deep into the recesses of my religious/spiritual life. It�s why I struggle, today, with the concept of God, with the belief in a deity. Because I like the idea that there might be someone in charge, but at other times, I just feel like life is too screwed up for that. I mean, if god existed, I can�t imagine someone who is �advertised� as a loving father, would put his children through all this pain. So, I don�t know the answer, sometimes I believe, sometimes I don�t. I can�t say on any given day what it will be.
I was born into a �righteous� catholic family. My mother�s side of the family is catholic for generations back. Sunday morning church was not an option. My grandfather�s brother was a priest. In fact, his name was John. And he baptised people. Until I was 8, I thought my uncle was THE John The Baptist. Ha, that�s pretty funny. I remember when I finally figured out that he just wasn�t old enough. I was disappointed. My claim to Catholic Fame was gone. I was just a normal little catholic girl. I no longer dreamed of visits with the pope.
We weren�t just �Easter/Christmas� Catholics. We were �every Sunday, sometimes during the week, priests coming to dinner, nuns babysitting us, prayer groups at the house, parents teaching catechism� catholics.� Sunday was a day to dress up, go to catechism, then mass, then have a donut and go home and act pious for the rest of the day. Christmas day, you had to wait to open your presents until AFTER you had gone to mass. I was jealous of my mormon friends. They only went to church on Sunday, so if Christmas wasn�t on a Sunday, they got to stay home and play with their presents.
By the time I was in 5th grade, we had stopped going to church every Sunday and became Easter/Christmas catholics. I did, though, still have to attend catechism. It was unthinkable that I wouldn�t get confirmed. My grandparents continued to go to church with religious fervor. My sister and I knew, that if we spent the weekend at my grandparents house (which we did with great frequency), it would mean a visit to church on Sunday morning. Luckily, Catholics are very strict about one thing � 1 hour mass. That�s it. No longer, no shorter. 1 hour. So we could sacrifice an hour for the privilege of staying at their house and torturing our (not much older) uncles. Around 7th grade, right about the time I stopped attending church, my catechism required us to submit the weekly program from the Sunday services as proof that we attended church. Well, since my family wasn�t attending church, I couldn�t do this. And so when the church we attended threatened to prevent me from being confirmed, we changed churches. Because in our family, confirmation was a rite of passage.
The new church was much more relaxed. They had a Sunday night youth services with more contemporary music. We actually started going back to church. Then in high school, I was taken from my nice public school existence and thrust into the joys and excitement of an all-girls catholic high school. St. Lucy�s Priory High School. Woo Hoo. I also continued to attend my confirmation classes, as the new church didn�t allow you to be a catholic adult until 9th grade. But the confirmation classes for the final year were more relaxed. We met in homes with an adult leader. We didn�t just learn church history and rites and rules and all that malarkey. We actually did self-exploration. So, 9th grade was about learning how to function at a catholic high school and finishing my confirmation. After that, it would be home free, right? Well, after my confirmation, I joined a Catholic teen group at my church called I.O.U. It represented the way we would grow � Inward, Outward and Upward. I did this of my own free will. And I enjoyed it. I don�t remember much of what we did or talked about, but I have great memories of the adult couple who lead our group. Amy and Steve. They would come to play some key roles in my life during my high school years. But that�s not what this particular entry is about, so onward.
I went to church every Sunday. I went to my IOU group every Monday. I was very active in the church. I was the youth representative to the church council and went on a weekend retreat to revamp the youth program. I was an altar girl (progressive catholic church � girls could be altar girls). I did readings at mass. I organized and ran youth retreats. I was the Catholic IT Girl. But much of my activity during this time was not about god. It was a social scene. It was a place for me to have friends, a community, to fit in somewhere. I went to church to see my friends. I didn�t go to pray or hear the word of god. I don�t remember a single sermon with any impact on my soul. In fact, for anyone who has gone to catholic church, you�ll find that the masses are very similar. In fact, the calendar for mass is planned years in advance, with every catholic church doing the same readings and such all around the country. Lots of movement, sitting, kneeling, standing. Okay, now we say this, okay now we sit, now we stand and say this, now we greet our neighbors, now we move our arms like this (putting a cross on our forehead, our lips and our chest while mouthing the words �May god be in my head, in my words and in my heart�). After several masses, you could do it in your sleep. I think I actually have.
So that�s what was going on at church. Back at the ranch (school), we also had religious instruction. Everyone took a religion class every year. Each year dealt with different themes. First year, it was church history. I don�t remember second year. Third year was personhood, where we explored our own spirituality. We also, during our third year, had a 9 week class on abortion. You would think there wouldn�t be enough to talk about for 9 whole weeks. But we saw movies � childbirth, abortions, lot�s of pro-choice propaganda. We talked about the laws, learned the history of the debate. Senior year, it was marriage and family. How to grow up and be a good catholic � procreation, sexuality, etc. Actually, I enjoyed this class. We had to do this presentation on what love it, the 10 or 12 points of love or something like that. It changed my outlook on love and marriage. I grew to understand that love is not a gooey feeling we feel in our stomachs. Love is a decision and a commitment we make to another person. Not something you throw away because you don�t �feel� it one day. But again, not what this entry is about.
My main memory of my high school, the one that marked me, poisoned me, whatever you want to call it, occurred during my junior year. Since I was beginning to display the symptoms of my manic-depression, constant waves of depression were taking over my life. I also had difficulty making friends. I was shy. I was overweight. I was awkward. I was self-conscious. Combine this with the depression and it�s a recipe for disaster. My grades began slipping. Apparently, I was a problem in the classroom. I was distracted and causing distractions. I guess I talked too much or something like that. During this year, I was a frequent (weekly) visitor to the vice-principals office. Supposedly, she was my friend, she cared, and she was trying to help me. Well, during this time, I was also involved with drama. We were putting on a play and I was the assistant director. During rehearsals on night, the drama teacher had given me her keys to open up some classrooms for practice. I opened the rooms, then gave the keys to another student to give back to the teacher. I could never remember who I gave them to. This was my sophomore year. Over the course of the next year, my teacher lost about 3 or 4 more sets of keys. It was like the big joke. She just couldn�t hang on to them. Also, during the next year, someone was breaking in to the school, stealing toilet paper and supplies, then using them to toilet paper the school. So that�s the background. About halfway through my junior year, I was called into the vice principal�s office � big surprise, it was a regular trip. I figured I�d hear the same story then be on my way. But this time, I was there for 2 hours.
She started out telling me how all of my teachers were complaining about me and didn�t want me in class anymore. I don�t think this was the best thing to tell a person who was struggling with depression, but that�s another story. And legitimately, I can only think of two classes where I was really having problems�Advanced Algebra II with Trig and French III. And by problems, I mean C�s instead of A�s or B�s. I wasn�t getting any D�s or F�s. I was a very bright student so I usually did well. My other 5 classes, I continued to excel (I took 7 classes, I had an extra 0 period class that met before school). Also, because this was a private school, there were no �fluff� classes. My electives were American Literature, French III and 20th Century History. So you can see how this �problem� was blown out of proportion. And by �causing trouble� what she meant was that I was talking a lot during these two classes. Really, this isn�t horrible behavior. But up until then, I was a �good girl� so I suppose my behavior was quite shocking. Here�s some examples of my �Shocking� behavior. I had some friends in my drama class. Sometimes, we would get to school early and we would go down to the parking lot where they would either, smoke pot, or snort cocaine. I didn�t do any drugs. I just went with them to pass the time. But of course, I am the one who was �bad� and in need of correction and rehabilitation. Also, I did ditch school one day. I had gotten there early and was talking to my friend Cris. Both of us were taking the SAT�s the next day and we were both worried. So we decided to leave school and go home to study. Which is what we did. We went to my house where we spent the day studying for the SAT�s. Egads, I was such a bad girl. I�m surprised I didn�t end up in juvenile hall.
Okay, so come with me to the office, watch as I sit in the chair, listen to the vice principle (hereby known as VP) tell me she was ready to kick me out, as she told me how horrible I was, how my teachers hated me (yes, she actually said this). See the tears run down my cheeks. Watch as I helplessly shredded kleenex in a fit of anxiety and fear. Listen as she begins to accuse me of stealing my teacher�s keys, accuses me of breaking into the school in the middle of the night. Listen to her concern as she tells me how much she cares, how she believes me when I say I don�t have the keys. Listen as she again accuses me of stealing the keys. This went on for two hours. She would cycle around the issues�spending 10 minutes telling me how horrible I was, how my teachers hated me and that she wanted to kick me out of school. Then she�d move on to accuse me of stealing the keys and breaking into the school. Here�s our conversation (seriously, this is word for word):
VP: Do you have the keys?
Me: No
VP: Are you using the keys to break into the school?
Me: No
VP: Are you telling the truth?
Me: Yes
VP: I want you to know I believe you. Do you have the keys?
Me: NO! <>
So, she believed me, but not enough to stop asking me. After this line of conversation, she would move on to my bad grades (C�s, egads!) and my horrible behavior (Talking in class, Oh My!). Then she would return to the keys. And the conversation would play just the same. The same conversation and questions, over and over again. It didn�t matter how many times I said it wasn�t me. She never believed me. This went on for 2 hours. 2 of the longest hours of my life. But she had mercy on me and decided not to kick me out of school. I was, however, placed on probation. I was pure evil incarnate. I am surprised I didn�t burst into flames right there in her office. How she could have let me stay in the school where my evil influence would spread like wildfire, I�ll never know. As the lecture wrapped up, I left her office and went into the bathroom where I attempted to restore some dignity to my tear stained face. As I peered in the mirror and my red, swollen eyes, I began to wonder if perhaps she was right. Maybe I had an alternate personality that had the keys and would awaken in the middle of the night to drive the 20 miles to school, open the custodian cabinet, steal toilet paper and single-handedly toilet paper the 4 acre campus. This sounds ridiculous, but I had about 5 minutes where I really did believe it. My meeting in the VP office had me so confused. Then reality intervened. I thought, if I was driving 20 miles, both ways in the middle of the night, then I would notice the mileage on my car and the need for gas on a much more frequent basis. My car was a gas guzzler. So at this point, I knew I wasn�t going crazy. For whatever reason, despite the plethora of truly bad behavior going on in the school, I had been chosen to receive the mark of the beast. This experience would forever strain my relationship with catholicism.
After high school, I went away to college to UC Santa Cruz. By this point in my life, I was not religious at all. I was no longer sure what I believed. If I had to nail down some time of spirituality, I believed that there were many names for god and that they were all the same. I believed that all religions were �right� and any form of religious expression was acceptable. I took a class in world religions. The class had 400 people and we were each assigned to a �section� that would meet once a week with a Teacher�s Assistant. Each �section� would pick a theme. My section was studying �Taoism�. We also explored other religions in our section, as there wasn�t a whole lot to study in Taoism. We read �The Tao Of Pooh�, we visited a buddhist monastery, we attended a Hare Krishna worship ceremony. I considered joining, actually. During this time, my life in general moved about as far to the left as a traditional republican catholic could go. I experimented with a variety of controlled substances. I marched on Sacramento. I came close to joining the communist party. I was a girl in search of a purpose and meaning in life. I wasn�t finding it. But I was hopeful that I would in my erratic search, eventually find something to fill up the void inside.
My sophomore year was more of the same. With some exception. One of my roommates from my freshman year was a born-again christian. And through her, I made several friends from the christian group, Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship. And their friendship called me to question my beliefs. It was as if I could hear god calling to me. But I resisted. I was also going through a severe depression during this time. This was the year I began cutting. And the year I curled up on the sidewalk in a catatonic state. I looked at the people around me and wondered why they had such an easier time with life. I wondered how it was that they could experience happiness when I was dealt the hand of despair. The hardest part was knowing that, even if the depression lifted, it would always come back. I had taken to wandering around the city in the middle of the night, just walking the streets at 2 AM, trying to shake off the despair and anxiety. I remember laying on my bed one day, curled up as tight as I could get, just crying. I remember asking god why. Why did I have to be so unhappy, why did I have to deal with this. And I clearly heard god say to come to him. Not like I actually heard a voice, but I could hear something in my head, words that were not my own. I told god no. I said that other people led happy lives and had the things they wanted without being religious. And god said that this was the path he had chosen for me, that I would have to come to him to know that joy. But still, I resisted. The seeds were planted just the same.
As I returned to school my junior year, I suddenly found myself without friends. The hardships of my depression the previous year had alienated those few people I called friends. I can only think of three friends who stuck around. My gayboy friend Jeff who was spending the year in Germany, and 2 friends from the campus christian group, hereby known as CCG. And they were not, at this time, what I would call close friends. But one of them had been my roommate and a close friend my freshman year. So, in the first month of school, I got a call from my former-roommate. She invited me to a party that the CCG was having. The funny part of this.. just that summer, I had decided that perhaps I needed to be more open to the idea of god. I could see in so many ways how he was reaching out to me, and that perhaps it was time I listened. So when she called, I was ready. It was time for me. And I had nothing better to do. So I went to the party. And for the first time in many years, I had a great time, spent a night with a group of people and experienced no anxiety. Normally, I had major anxiety or panic attacks in groups of people. I was afraid of people. I felt I had nothing to offer them. I felt like I was not an interesting person. I also felt needy, I felt that I was a big gaping hole waiting to suck the life out of anyone around me. I continued to be shy and awkward, as I was in high school. So to be in a group of people, and not feel this way, I figured it had something to do with the group of people. I felt that because they were all religious, they were friendlier, more accepting than other groups I had spent time with. These people were committed to a christian life. And they were committed to showing that life to other people. I began the process of exploring what christianity meant. And by the end of the year, I had been �born again� as it were. Although in retrospect, I would probably have to say that the new anxiety-free life had more to do with an �up� cycle in my bi-polar disease, at the time I attributed it to my new christian lifestyle and faith.
When I returned to Southern California the next year, I began looking for a church that would meet my needs in the way that the CCG had done. I went to many, many churches in the Orange County area. All the big ones. And I felt awkward. They were either too big for me to find my place and meet people, or so small that they didn�t have anyone my age. I felt the longing for god, but didn�t know how to find him.
I eventually started working at a church preschool. As a byproduct, I started going to that church. It was, at the time, a dying baptist church. Most of the parishioners were older, or married couples with families. I think there were 2 college students. I had a hard time fitting in. I met some nice people from the school and we began looking for a new church. I then began attending a non-denominational church with my friends. I tried to get involved with the college/singles group, but by this time, though I was still in school, I was 24, 25. The group was all 19 or so. I felt so out of it. I had no friends who were my age, doing what I was doing. My friend�s were all married or single parents. I also found that many churches did not encourage what I considered to be �True Christian living�. I saw churches that taught the bible, but people didn�t seem to be actually living the lifestyle. So I was searching.
This is going to be very long, so I�m going to break it up into two parts. This is the end of part one. I hope you have enjoyed the journey. Part II, coming to a diary near you soon.
