Religion is like food. But whether you use it to feed a man or shove it down their throat is your choice.
3. Who was Sharon?
With all the noise that was surrounding me, I slowly started to break away from anything associated with the Christian religion or Christian faith. Anything could trigger me. I would throw tantrums or have an emotional outburst if I even heard the word “Jesus”. How could this Jesus let such religious scandals go free, go unnoticed? How could this Jesus not care? Does he have no concern for people hurting? I was angry. I was sad. But I was mostly exhausted.
My thoughts exhausted me. I felt nauseous. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was spiralling endlessly. But in the midst of dissociating came a whole other baggage – I started facing an identity crisis.
For the longest time, no matter what, I knew I was definitely a Christian. One could always debate on other aspects of my identity like whether I am truly a Malayalee or, sometimes, even truly a Marthomite, but I could never think of anyone questioning the credibility of my faith. I was close to a perfect kid. We went to church every Sunday. I was a good Sunday school student. I always involved myself in any church activity I could. I could give impromptu sermons. I could quote a good amount of Bible verses. And I took a certain amount of pride in the fact that for my parents, it was more important that we WENT to church every Sunday over WHICH church we attended that Sunday. And I never hesitated to show it off.
And just like that, it all seemed to start to come crumbling down. I couldn’t be any of that. It seemed very confusing to me. And the deeper I dug, the more confused I was. I had all sorts of questions.
Who am I? What happens after I die? What am I supposed to do while I am here though? Is life meaningless?
Looking back, I realise these were signs of post-trauma. Much like food poisoning.
But then I had other questions.
Who was Sharon if she was not a Christian? Wait, but what do you mean not a Christian? Okay, start small. Who was Sharon if she couldn’t even pray for 30 seconds? If she couldn’t read her Bible without another emotional outburst session? Who was Sharon if she constantly dissociated every time someone brought up faith? If she could not sit calmly for a Bible study? If she could no longer recite the Nicene Creed?
After all, who was an athlete after when they lost a limb? A homemaker, when their child left?
Who/what fills the void of the life they unknowingly built and based their entire identity, status and self-worth on?
Looking back, I also realize I wasn’t just dealing with post-trauma. I was trying to make sense of the person I was and the person I am.
I was no longer, by any means, sitting at the table. The table where I was loved, fed and laughed along with the rest of my loved ones was no longer a memory I wanted to have.
My brain and my body started to see these memories as harmful. I could no longer see them as genuine moments of love, even if they were.
It may be obvious to you by now, but it wasn’t very obvious to me back then. I wasn’t just dealing with post-trauma. I was dealing with an identity crisis.
What was happening to me? I was restless, I was lonely, but most of all I was very very scared.
I was scared about the uncertainty this carried. Because, right until then, I thought that every question I raised would have an answer. But even if there were a few answers, there was no answer that satisfied me. The uncertainty held onto me and I felt like I was falling into a bottomless chasm.
And then came the embrace that I did not expect.
Click here for Part 4.
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