Catholicism is wrecking my life

I am done seeking.

I am done striving.

I am done looking for Something–Someone?–who isn’t there. Or, whom, at the very best, is there inconsistently. I have sustained myself in a state of spiritual half-starvation: living on glimpses, tastes, morsels, crumbs dropped from the table.

But ever always the hunger gnaws at me. I have denied myself. I have prayed. I have fasted. I have done penance. I have wearied myself in well-doing and in all my well-doing have gained nothing except a growing awareness of my desolation and abandonment.

I eat loneliness. I sleep with loneliness.

Loneliness is, as far as I can tell, the core of the human condition. Above all else, loneliness remains. It is a deep, abiding friendlessness. None can truly know us and we are puzzles even to ourselves. I play editor to memories, pretending that by emphasizing one event over another I can bring order to my chaotic life story. But I can see it’s all contrived.

I am tripped up by the vagaries of my humanity. I am fretfully weak, hyper-sensitive, prone to wander.

I used to believe God had some grand purpose for my life but I’ve utterly discarded that as a spiritualized ego-trip. All I can do is tiny, little things. I can place a soup spoon on a table with the utmost care.

The veritable truth is that Catholicism is wrecking my primary relationships. How naive I was to think I could have it all: I could have Eucharist and peace.

Jesus was right. He didn’t come to send peace, He came to send a sword. And now I live in this sundered reality. My one consolation is to sit in silence before Eucharist. Even my tears are dry.

It is the worst of times and the best of times. It is the time of dreams coming true and dreams ending.

All I can do is place a soup spoon on the table with utmost care.
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