Not much to report this week. I had no therapist, psychiatrist or GP appointments for a change
Work: This full-time work week hit me like a ton of bricks. It is as if all my clients all knew I was back in the office all on the same day. I simply cannot keep up with the email, nor respond as quickly as I used to with some of my more high-profile clients. I still have emails unread dating back to this past Monday 25 January.
I had one major escalation that was a forefront priority for me that I had to stay on top of from the start. The problem was presented to me last Friday afternoon and it resulted in a client wanting a particular service on a product we offer. I let the client know that I understood the importance of a speedy reply to see if we could accommodate his request. No one on my team could give me a firm answer, so I was directed to Technical Operations.
Well, that group did not respond back as quickly as I hoped, but I dropped the ball by not keeping the client completely in the loop in just continuing to communicate that we were still looking into it, but so far, we had not heard back from Tech Ops. The client decided to escalate the issue above me that did not put me in the fairest of light (sometimes you learn your lessons best the hard way).
When all was said and done and Tech Ops told me that we could not accommodate the client’s request, my main concern was regarding who should be the one to tell him: someone from Tech Ops or me (I figured Tech Ops could explain better the technical details of why we could not provide the requested service).
After getting a few other emails from the account team who was also working with this issue, including my manager, and realized that no one had STILL not communicated anything to the client—now a week later—I decided to be proactive.
I called him and reiterated just how important this issue was for them; I told him I that I was remiss in not keeping the lines of communication more fluid in the intervening time, and offered my apologies for the duration of time it took for me to give him a final answer that we could not technically provide the requested service. He was very understanding. He said that he knew I was working hard behind the scenes. I still took responsibility for my lack of communication, and we parted amicably. He said he would contact me next week about some other information he would be requesting, more notably the specifics of the services offered by the products we were supporting for them.
This whole ordeal probably put a smear in my column in my manager’s eye, but I just have to chalk it up to an experience learned. I have always felt very strongly about providing excellent customer service to my clients; I do not know why I dropped the ball on this.
My other problem, which might have leant itself to the aforementioned issue, was the enormous amounts of email that kept streaming in. At the end of every day, there have been approximately 80-90 emails I still have not read, some stemming back, as I said, from Monday the 25th. I only have eight hours in a day (no overtime allowed) and can only process so much. I quickly scan throughout the day the subject headers to ferret out what might be higher priority items. I catch what I can, but I know there are clients who are still awaiting a response from me. In some cases, the questions I am being asked require me to run reports which take 24 hours to run, so that already puts me behind a day. Then I get emails where I simply do not know how to take care of the problem (my memory is still wreaking havoc). Thankfully I have a 12-member team who I can reach out to, but I fear they will get tired of my questions soon enough. What I fear is that they will not remember that I was only on this new job for two-and-a-half months before being out on a three-month medical leave. Essentially, I am still on my learning curve. There are parts of this job I just have not been exposed to yet which is resulting in me being slow on the uptake.
The bright side of this week was my performance review that my manager held with me on Tuesday. He said he was remarkably pleased at just how far I have come in gaining experience in the position and how fast I was learning everything. He pointed to my desire to provide superior customer service as one of my strengths, and the one thing I needed to develop was my sense of self-confidence in performing my job. If he only knew! I did discover that the company approved raises for everyone and I merited a 3.5% increase. Well, it is better than nothing! I also found out that the company has approved a performance bonus this year payable in early March. I am not sure what mine will be, but I will be happy to receive whatever I get. (business has been good, thankfully).
My Car: Well, ole Betsy (never her real name, just seemed fitting at the moment) has retired. I have been spending the last two weeks searching for another car. I want to stay with a Honda as mine lasted for 16 years with mega-mileage. I looked at several dealerships thinking I would examine their certified used cars that came with a warranty. In each case, all they had were Civics comparable to mine —somewhat new, but with massive mileage. Sure, affordable, but I would be right back where I was in a short time. The other choices were the high-end Accords that were not affordable. I had already examined a new 2010 Honda Fit Sport that, when we got down to negotiating, was a far cry lower than the Accords. At this point, why should I pay more money for a used Accord when I can have a brand new Fit for a few thousand less? Moreover, this one comes with a lifetime power train warranty (the very thing that went out on my old car that never had more that the standard bumper-to-bumper three years or 36,000 miles). I did negotiate a good deal and got rid of the sales person and dealt directly with the manager who ultimately had the final say so. We must have pushed the proverbially piece of paper back and forth about five times. Nuts and bolts, I will be getting the car at $3500 less MSRP plus some of the options I wanted. I have never been afraid to negotiate and walk out the door, and this particular dealership (the last of the three locally, two of which I had already walked out when they didn’t meet my price) started hedging when I said that I was prepared to drive 90 miles or so across the state line to get a better deal. Then they started singing my song. I will be picking up the car next Saturday.
General Info: Aside from the constant anxiety at work, my bipolar appears still to be in balance. In addition, my sleep patterns are almost back to normal. It has been such a long time since I have been able to say that. Currently, I am not depressed or manic. Is this what “normal” is supposed to feel like? I would not know; I have never been here before.
Next week I have my appointment with my therapist and psychiatrist. I did have quite an unexpected expense this week. I had to get my bipolar meds refilled. I already know that I have to stay on them, so I bit the bullet and called my insurance’s 90-day prescription by mail program. I had to fill my Geodon and Provigil (not generic) and my Lamictal. Because I still had $1150 of my $1200 deductible, one or some of those meds were going to have to be a full retail price. I almost fell off my chair when they quoted me the Geodon at roughly $1172 for a 90-day supply. So, that drug alone covered my deductible and I got the other two dugs with the insurance cap. Now, how many people can say that they’ve met their medical insurance deductible by the third week in January…LOL.©2009
I cannot believe it has been three months since I was involuntarily committed when I tried to commit suicide. It seems like a lifetime ago (no pun intended). So many of the details have just become a hazy dream.
I still do not remember any of the events that led up to being committed. I guess I never will. At least I have all of the medical records to give me an idea of what and how it transpired—what a rollercoaster ride these 90 days have been.
I can say right now that I am in a much better space than I was on 11 October. It has been several weeks now since I have had any suicide ideation. For a while there, after I was discharged, it was a nightly event. I have done a lot of hard work in my group therapy sessions that ended 30 December. And, it appears that my psychiatrist has come up with a sustainable cocktail that has stabilised my bipolar disorder.
Do I regret what I have gone through? Absolutely not. The end result has been incredible. I am stronger mentally than I can ever remember since being diagnosed in 2000. I had what I thought was a pretty good cocktail all those years having nothing to which to compare. What I did not have before was a strong handle on specific coping skills that made the difference this time. Oh, sure, when I tried to commit suicide in 2005, I was exposed to DBT, but never felt it was for me. Truth be told, I thought it was all a bunch of bullshit. And, I’m not saying that I am totally sold on DBT even now—some of the tools have worked well for me; others have been not so much. This time around, I made a concerted effort to learn these tools even, if at first, I resisted strongly.
Lessons learned? I am not sure I can even address that facet yet. I am still feeling my through this maze. OK, one lesson I did learn hard was to never go off my medication. However, when I made the choice to go off my meds in April of last year, it was because I had just found out I had been laid off and could not justify the enormous expense. Now that my insurance has rolled over to a new calendar year, I still have to meet my $1200 deductible for this year. That means I have to pay 100% of all my meds at retail price until the deductible is met. Even though I have a job now, I am pretty tight financially and I am not sure where I am going to come up with the money. But, if I have to, I will put it on my credit card even though it pains me to have to resort to that possibility. I simply do not have the option to go off my meds.
Another thing I think I have learned is the enormous help therapy has been. Now that I am back at work, I can no longer participate in my group therapy sessions (they were always held for three hours three times a week during the middle of the day). I have hooked up with an individual therapist now and saw her last week (I had already had my intake appointment some time ago and one follow-up, but I had to concentrate on my group therapy then). I am not sure how individual therapy will help me as the dynamic is going to be different from group. When I met with her last week, I actually told her I was not sure where to start. She asked me what issues I had that were most pressing to me. Not wanting to bite off more than I can chew, I told her that I wanted to focus on my stress now that I am back to work after being on short-term disability for 12 weeks.
Now that my BP has stabilised, I am going to have to start to deal with my borderline personality disorder and my anxiety disorder. Now, that is going to open up a whole big can of worms. I think that I am only going to put one foot in front of the other and take everything slowly. I have made some significant process and I do not want to find myself in a spot where I begin to regress. I value where I am today and that is what I am going to hold onto—the here and now. As someone once told me, yesterday was over last night and I have no control over tomorrow.©2009
I woke up yesterday morning about 15 minutes before my alarm had been set. I got six-and-a-half hours of sleep and felt well rested. I woke up earlier than I had to in order to enjoy some time drinking my hot tea and settling my anxiety about this eventful day. I had no idea of what to expect.
I spent my last day on full time disability (Monday) talking to my manager. He assured me that everything would be fine. The disability claims group approved me to go back to work from the 5th to the 11th at fours hours a day and from the 12th through the 18th I’d be working 6 hours a day. I explained to him the downside of my vitamin B1/Thiamine deficiency with regard to my short-term memory loss and he understood that it was going to take some time for my brain to heal.
This first week back all he wanted me to do was to go through my email inbox and blow away the majority of the unread emails as my back-up team members were taking up the work covering my clients while I have been away. For these two weeks, my out-of-office email auto reply and my outgoing voicemail message still shows me being out of the office. My manager does not want me to interact with my clients for these first two weeks. He felt that I needed a gradual immersion back into the fold. I am so grateful to have such a wonderful manager. After talking with him, my anxiety levels were reduced.
Well, the moment I had been dreading was finally upon me—opening up my email account. There were 1000+ unread emails just waiting there for me. I took a deep breath (and an Ativan, I will admit) and sorted by sender. It turns out that there were so many I could just delete. When all was said and done, I ended up keeping 73 emails that I felt I had to read which I did. Many came with important attachments about my specific accounts that I would have the need to use later. I saved and filed all of those in the appropriate folders; the next thing I knew, it was 1100.
Oh yeah, my boss did agree to letting me change my work hours and now I will be working 0700-1500—no more overtime hours allowed. I am so grateful for those two situations. I wake up so early anyway; to have to wait until 0800 would be counter-productive. In addition, the upside is getting off at 1500 while there is still sunlight. This gives me the chance to accommodate any doctors and therapists appointments. I never did like working the normal eight hours where the sun was just coming up when I started work and already set by the time I was finished. I hate Standard Time and the sun setting so early in the Winter.
My day actually went quite smoothly. I was very methodical in how I approached the day; I received excellent support from my boss; what more could I have asked. Since my day started at 0700 I was done at 1100. I had the rest of the day free and I realised that I needed a distraction so I would not dwell on what may or may not occur my second day back. A friend of mine had been sick over the weekend and I called her up telling her I was going grocery shopping and asked her what I could pick up for her.
When I arrived at her house, my heart just went out to her. She looked liked she felt so miserable. We settled in and spent about two-and-a-half hours just talking. It was exactly what I needed to divorce myself from anticipating the worst for the next day.
Overall, it was a good day. I am not going to fret about the upcoming days or pile more on my shoulders (emotionally) by projecting outward on the worst-case scenario. I have hope that my job will be far more manageable now than it ever was before. Staying in the moment—what a marvellous tool!.©2009
Well, tomorrow is my first day back to work after almost 12 weeks of short-term medical disability. I had only been working in my new job for approximately two-and-a-half months. I am afraid that I will not remember how to do my job. This is a high-stress work environment and I have a lot of high-profile clients that I serve. I am not sure I am ready for this.
Last week my psychiatrist faxed in a request so that my first two weeks back be half-days only. The disability group is scheduled to review that and decide today. I sure hope they approve this request. I have also left a voicemail with my manager requesting that my work schedule be shifted a tad earlier in the day so that I will be working 0700-1530 (not that I have ever only worked eight-hour days). In reality, this time around I am not planning to work any overtime. Working all those extra hours before set me up for my eventual downfall (aside from the very important fact that I went off my meds). I have not heard back from him yet; I hope he agrees to my request. Being able to be off the clock by 1530 will give me the chance to accommodate any doctors’ appointments I may have.
I am looking over at my corporate laptop which has been turned off for all of this time. I am even anxious about booting it up. Not that the laptop will not boot, but I wonder if all my access passwords into the network have been changed since I have been out all this time. I have to have access in order to be able to work from home so I can VPN into the network. I remember what all my passwords are, but they all have time limits on them. Some are only good for 90 days.
I am not even sure how to begin my workday. I ordinarily receive anywhere from 150-300 emails a day. I cannot even fathom how many unread emails are in my account. That thought alone has my hands shaking. Just as I was starting my disability time off, my department was being reorganised and eventually was slotted to be under a new management chain. My manager is still my manager, but the food chain on up from there changed above his level. I hope I am not in for any nasty surprises when I return (meaning I hope I still have a job). I know that my job has been protected while out on FMLA, but that doesn’t mean they can’t come back to me as soon as I get back and say to me, “Oh yeah, Alix, while you were gone we eliminated your position. Thanks and have a nice day.”
I have left another voicemail this morning for my manager to call me back at some point today. I hope he is in. Chances are, he may have taken a few vacation days before the New Year during the time I left my previous voicemail; I need to talk to him today before I report back tomorrow. That is the downside to working remotely from home. My team is located all over the country. The only communication we have is via phone calls and email.
Well, I have planned out my day today to reorganise my office space back to the way it was before I took all this time off. I am also planning on reviewing all of my training notes to have everything fresh in my mind before tomorrow. I woke up this morning at 0430 and am already feeling tired. This does not bode well for my sleep patterns the rest of the week. I hope I can sleep a more work amenable schedule tonight.©2009
Yesterday was the last session of my group therapy program. I began this intensive program 21 October and we have met three hours/day on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Yesterday marked my 30th session.
Initially, I was very phobic to these sessions. Similar to my attitude when I was involuntarily committed , and knowing I was only obligated to attend for two weeks, my original intention was to skate through those six sessions with no effort on my part. I was still pissed off at the world for how I had been treated to date; I did not want to be in therapy and I certainly did not want to get better.
You just cannot imagine the amount of rage that pulsed through my veins—think Incredible Hulk. However, as the mandatory two weeks came to a close, something was triggered inside of me. Somehow, I came up with the idea that I no longer wanted to go on feeling the way that I did. That level of rage and profound depression was eating away at me and I simply had no more energy left. I voluntarily agreed to stay in the program having no idea that it would take this long.
There was a very detailed daily check-in sheet we each had to fill out. It was basically a way for the therapist to determine and track our progress. The dynamics of the group evolved over time with old patients being discharged and new ones being admitted during my stay. While the overall group was large (in my eyes), averaging around 18-20 folks, once everyone took the 10-15 minutes to fill out the check-in sheet, we always split into two smaller groups. The groups remained split while everyone reviewed their sheets, and we all came back together as one group after the break to start the second half.
I could handle the smaller group in which we each shared what was on our sheets. Based on our input, the therapist would probe further with each of us and ask penetrating questions. The sharing half had a tendency to be somewhat tedious at times. Every so often, there would be patients that liked to hear themselves talk. Repetition is the key word here. They would go on and on about one particular issue and even talk over the therapist as if they had no interest in listening to her feedback. I could see the frustration on the therapist’s face every once and a while. As a result, sometimes the first half of the session would take a long time.
After the break, when we all gathered back together, I had a major problem. I had a rough time being around large groups of people. The noise level would always increase and sometimes everyone would talk at once. That started freaking me out. Therefore, I retreated from the large table in the room (it was actually five conference room-sized tables arranged in a large square) and sat in the chair against the door right by the back emergency exit—it was as far as I could get from the group. The emergency exit was not wired to an alarm, and when it got to be too much for me, I’d walk out the door and take a breather. Being that it was the end of autumn as winter approached, the cool, brisk breezes usually refreshed me.
The second half of the session was psycho-education [I’m sure that Alfred Hitchcock could have had valuable input here :)]. This outpatient therapy program was based on dialectical behaviour therapy (DBT). When I tried to commit suicide back in 2005, I went through a DBT program after I got out of the hospital. At that time, I thought that DBT was pure bullshit. It all centres on learning tools or coping skills to manage various stressors (depression, anger, rage, anxiety, etc). Being that I had been diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder (BP) and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), everyone thought that this type of therapy would be one from which I would benefit. Back then, I thought all these coping skills were stupid. Sure, it might work for some, but I just could not imagine me taking the time to think through whatever emotion I was feeling at the time and remembering which tool would help me through that situation most effectively.
When I realised that this time around would be centred on DBT, I was quite cynical. However, after about four weeks into it, I discovered some tools that could actually serve me well (see this for a list of tools). Without a doubt, using these skills effectively requires constant practise. You cannot expect to utilise a skill and then have it at your fingertips until you practise it. Once practised, when you face an emotional obstacle, you can more readily adapt effectively.
I also realise that there is a lot of controversy around DBT. Some who have been through the training think that it is bunk as I did. I can say that I do not agree with the entire skill set. I learned what tools I knew I could use and left the others behind (there are some I still think are bullshit). All I can say is that it is up to each individual to determine what works in his or her best interests.
That being said, the first half of my last session was great. Our small group only consisted of seven patients and our small group never had the loud mouths (I am grateful that Mr. Noisy was in the other group!). I knew three of them; the rest were new patients. When I finished sharing my check-in sheet, I received wonderful feedback from the therapist. She basically said that I had done a 180˚ from the time I started the program and was extremely pleased to see the progress I had made. It had taken me all this time to see the huge steps I had made. Don’t get me wrong; I am far from being all fixed up. That is why I am going to continue with an individual therapist. BP and especially BPD can take quite some time to manage. While some professionals banter about the word recovery, I think the best I will be able to muster is to manage my BP and BPD to a tolerable level. Only time will tell.
The second half of my last session was surprisingly smooth. While Mr. Noisy was present and accounted for (as well as the other few loud mouths), the group discussion on the continuing module of assertiveness was quite ordered. It was quite appropriate that my last module would be on this topic. As I have mentioned previously, despite my butch bravado, I really could bolster this skill.
Saying goodbye was harder than I thought. All of the patients who had been around for a while (with the exception of one other patient, I had been there for the longest duration) took their time saying goodbye to me and wishing me luck for my future. As someone laughingly said, “Hope to see you at Wal-Mart should our paths ever cross again.”
Overall, I have to agree with the therapist. I have come a long way since I tried to commit suicide on 10 October. It has been a long road for me, some of it fought tooth and nail against any type of recovery. I know I still have a long way to go, but for now I will just accept the fact that I am in a better space than I was almost 12 weeks ago.©2009
I’ve examined in some of my posts how I’ve missed my church since my whole debacle began. As I’ve alluded to, two of my biggest stumbling blocks to returning is (a) being around a group of people [thanks to my borderline personality disorder-BPD] and (b) how to explain my continued absence since being involuntarily committed due to my suicide attempt seven weeks ago.
When I attended a previous church, also an Assemblies of God, it was inherently homophobic because it preached, as they say, the full gospel—meaning that the Bible is the word of God chapter and verse. I was new to my relationship with God, and under the pastor’s teaching (at this point I had not been hit with those legendary homophobic clobber verses) I watched my relation with God grow immeasurably: it was close and personal—something I had never experienced before. My heart and spirit was full. Having been raised as a Roman Catholic when I was a child and teenager, I never got this.
I am not a theologian, but as I began to read the Bible, when I got to Leviticus 20, I continued to read all those laws set forth by God. So many of these “laws” had since been dismissed as we migrated to modern times [e.g., verse 10: “If a man commits adultery with his neighbour’s wife, both the man and the woman who have committed adultery must be put to death.” (NLT)]. I read that with a grain of salt as today adulterers are merely given a pass for a divorce. So, when I got to verse 13 “If a man practices homosexuality, having sex with another man as with a woman, both men have committed a detestable act. They must both be put to death, for they are guilty of a capital offense.” (NLT) I took this verse equally with a grain of salt. I am a lesbian and did not feel compelled to fall upon my sword, as it were.
Then this particular preacher, one Sunday, spent his whole sermon on why homosexuality was the worst sin in the bible. I was truly taken aback by his statement. Aside from quoting the verse in Leviticus, he did not proffer any specific verses that backed up what he said. I was enraged. After the service, I challenged him. I asked him to refer to the specific scripture that said that (because I never read that despite reading through various translations). He wanted to avoid this conversation with me totally, but I countered with reminding him that he always said that the Bible would prove its own truth. Again, I challenged him to point out where in the Bible was that specifically quoted and he hemmed and hawed. I told him, according to the Bible in Revelations 21:8 “But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” (NKJV). Nowhere did it say that only the homosexuals would burn in this lake of fire, and even pointed out that the sexually immoral were not even listed first! He could not respond and just walked away and greeted other members.
Well, my identity as a lesbian was then outed and I was essentially shown the door unless I repented of my sins and turned from my evil ways—translation: become celibate. That only harkened back memories of the nightmares I had read on reparative therapy where there were retreats gays and lesbians could attend to be “cured” of their homosexuality (Exodus International comes to mind). Being a lesbian is who I am, not what I chose to be. I did not have something from which to be “cured.” I was incensed that there was this organisation whose primary focus was to brainwash these unsuspecting attendees.
As a result, I left this church. I also remember being angry with God for allowing His word to be selectively be taken out of context on this one particular verse. If the other verses throughout Leviticus had for the most part been dismissed as being a product of the times (e.g., not mixing clothes of mixed fabric and all of the dietary laws), why was this solitary verse being held accountable? As the times progressed and gay rights became the new poison pill upon which many political platforms were based (the new litmus test as abortion rights were before then), I saw how the war against gay rights was being funded and waged by so called Christian fundamentalists. Gay rights (or the lack thereof) were being slammed left and right from statehood amendments on same-sex marriages, employment discrimination (there are 29 states where it is legal to fire someone who is gay), to housing statutes, and economic parity through health insurance, not to even begin to mention how partners are treated when one of them is in the hospital and are denied visitation rights or not allowed to carry out the final wishes.
I became an ardent political activist lending my voice where it counted to fight these so-called arbitrary arguments. I live in the buckle of the Bible belt where churches are like gas stations—there is one on every corner. I had plenty of opportunities and venues to lend my voice to counter these fundamentalists. I still remember how I was treated in a discount chain store while wearing my equal rights t-shirt on the banner of the rainbow flag. I was bible-thumped from quite a few people (“shame on you,” “your kind will burn in hell,” etc.). I would not be reduced to their fanaticism and merely walked away from most of them. I was, however, trapped while standing in the cashier’s lane. The couple behind me started preaching to me to repent of my evil ways as all eyes were on me. You could hear a pin drop. At first I was not going to say anything (anything I could have said would only fall on deaf ears anyway), but the cashier smiled at me and said, “You aren’t going to let them get away with that crap, are you?” So I looked at this couple and calmly said that, while I respected that they had a right to their own opinion, this was one area that that we would have to agree to disagree—no rhetoric on my part. However, that did silence them.
During this intervening time, I met my then partner and I continued to wage my war. I was quite surprised to learn that she went to church. I asked her where could she possibly go without encountering what I had experienced and she told me all about the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) that primarily caters to lesbian, gay, bi-sexual and transgendered persons (LGBT). Sorely missing my connection to God and the community of fellowship, I eagerly started attending with her. However, my spirit was not fed here. It was static and ritualistic and there didn’t seem to be any room for the Spirit to move. I continued to go with her for the duration of our partnership, but when that ended, I no longer attended.
I moved to a different area of town and laughingly I noticed there was a church right across the street from me. Being new to the neighbourhood, one of my neighbours left a beautiful potted plant on my front porch with a nice note welcoming me to the neighbourhood. This level of hospitality, I thought, had all gone the way of other pleasant Southern ways with everyone too busy with their jobs and lives. I walked over to thank her and we had a nice conversation. There was no doubt that I was a lesbian when we met from the bumper stickers on my car to the t-shirt I was wearing, but that did not seem to phase her. Then she cordially asked me if I attended a church (my warning signals were piqued at this point) and told her no and recounted my experience with my first pastor. She thought that story was horrible and invited me to attend their church’s fall picnic. When I reminder her that I was a lesbian, she didn’t care, said that her pastor was open-minded, and that I would not be judged. Therefore, I told her I would attend with full expectation to talk to the pastor at the outset and inform him that I was a lesbian. He didn’t seem to bat an eyelash and told me that I would be welcome at his church, but he did say this one thing, that he did preach the whole Bible and said that he did think homosexuality was a sin. But I was welcomed just the same as in “Whosoever….” We agreed to disagree and he told me that his congregation wouldn’t judge me.
At this point, I had missed my relationship with God, not because I had walked away in the intervening years, but I had missed hearing God’s word being preached and the fellowship of other believers. Being the butch that I am, when I dressed up for church I wore a coat and tie even amidst those that wore blue jeans and t-shirts. I liked his style of preaching and everything he said resonated deeply within me. I felt for the first time that I had found a church home. There were times after the services where the pastor and I would get involved in conversations about my homosexuality and he just smiled and told me that he always appreciated my honesty, and felt that I had contributed to his knowledge base as he had never had the chance to really get to know someone who was gay, and thought that our conversations were refreshing for him—a chance to learn something new. I respected him greatly and considered him a friend, a friendship that continued to grow over the three years that I have been attending.
Then something happened to me. While I was reading the Bible, I came across an important passage that became the cornerstone upon which I wanted to live my life. It was Romans 12:1-2: “(1) And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. (2) Don’t copy the behaviour and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” (NLT).
I thought long and hard what these verses meant to me. I came to the conclusion that I wanted my close personal relationship with God more than I needed my identity as a lesbian (however skewed that logic may seem to you). I felt by choosing to be celibate was my living sacrifice, and that turning my back on the gay community would be no longer conforming to customs of the world. This was a decision that did not come easily as it was fought with much prayer. Nevertheless, it was a decision that I felt at peace with at the time. I never denied that I was a lesbian, but like an ambassador without papers. I lived my life from that perspective for two years.
Well, politics raised its ugly head with what was up for grabs both in Congress and at the statewide level during this year. My hackles were raised again and my anger towards this massive inequality subjugating all LGBT persons to second-class citizens put me on fire. I became politically active again renewing my passion to see true justice served. I was truly saddened to see how forthright and mean-spirited the Christian fundamentalists had become since the previous elections, not to mention the incredible amounts of money they raised to fund their own political agenda (what ever happened to the separation of church and state?).
Unforeseen by me, my personal life became a disaster as my bipolar and borderline personality disorders (BP and BPD) reared their ugly head pushing me into a downward spiral that led me to my aforementioned attempted suicide. There was so much conflict swirling within me. When I was discharged from the hospital after 11 days, I couldn’t face going back to my church having done what I had. After my continued absence, what would have I told everyone, “Oh yeah, by the way, I tried to commit suicide.” I didn’t think that would go over well. I had a long talk with my pastor and told him of my renewed passion to fight for LGBT equality. In one post to this blog, where I bemoaned how miserable my life had become, someone commented “Even though you have turned away from Him - He still loves you and wants you back. Your dilemma is trying to hold on to both worlds. It's not possible. God wants you to choose to lay down your old life and allow Him to make you totally new. He has a peace waiting for you that you've never known (but are desperately seeking)- You've never known this peace because you've never fully turned your life over to Him.”
I couldn’t believe what I read. For the first time I was being judged, and I was accused that I had never fully turned my life over to God when that couldn’t have been further from the truth considered the sacrificial decision I had made only two years before. I was torn. Knowing what I did now, could I ever be welcomed back into that church under the circumstances of how I was living my life as a queer political activist. I was hurt because this church and its people meant so very much to me. I was filled with the Spirit at this church as I had never known before; the pastor’s teaching had always deeply affected me. A subsequent conversation with this person helped me understand the spirit it which the comment was made--not to judge, but wanting to reach out so desperately to me. Can I return and just let the chips fall where they may, or do I want to search for another church that is gay-affirming, not knowing if I would be filled and fed in the same way? My heart wants to return to this little church, but at what expense.©2009
