I used to be really interested in religion. I was obsessively, devoutly, wholeheartedly religious.
This blog might not be very well-written, because I've only recently started trying to put this to words, but I'm going to try to explain why I'm not so religious, anymore.
I converted to Christianity when I was 15, and in my autistic, all-or-nothing way, I was all-in. If this religion was true, in my mind, every word of it was true. My near-eidetic memory for text allowed me to memorize many parts of the Bible quite quickly. I was 15, an age when it's normal to think a lot about higher powers, life's meaning, and humanity's place in the world, and I had a lot of questions. Since the Bible said God talked to people, I asked these questions primarily directly to God.
In order to believe Christianity wholeheartedly, I had to "turn off" a certain part of my mind. Theologians might call this suspension of disbelief, and psychologists call it allowing empathetic thought to supersede rational thought. It's very hard for my mind to see in shades of gray, and it was even harder before last year, so I couldn't really consider that the religion might be partially true. I either believed it, or I didn't.
Unfortunately, my natural comfort with rules, routines, and black-and-white thinking led me towards some of the less loving, more judgemental aspects of Christianity, which was hard on myself and others. My struggles grasping reality also led me to some of the more fantastic elements, which might be totally real, but certainly weren't always happening when I thought they were.
My psychosis was also emerging fully during my time in the Church, and I think a lot of it was masked by religion. I was so sure I actually was seeing and hearing God, angels, demons, visions, etc., and since they often quoted those memorized passages from the Bible, the church was on-board.
I don't know how much of what was going on might have been religious or spiritual in nature, but I suspect that a lot of it was mental illness. I have similar encounters now when my psych meds aren't working. I can't let my mind start down the path of thinking about angels and demons because it is likely to trigger a delusional episode.
After my step-dad died, at a point when I had been genuinely suicidal for several years, I took a step back. I realized that whatever kind of religion I was practicing was worsening my mental health and might literally kill me. I needed to free myself to ask the questions I was suppressing and get to know myself out of the abusive situation I had also just left.
I reasoned that, if Christianity was real, God was able to reveal himself to me; wouldn't fault me for trying not to kill myself; and valued those who searched, like the Bereans, for the truth.
After stepping back from Christianity, I was free from the letter of the laws I had been trying to follow and became a much more loving person towards myself and others. I judged less and gave more grace. I was less anxious and more able to stop obsessive thought patterns. I no longer felt guilty to get psych meds, and I joined a gender support group at the local LGBT+ center.
It's two year later. I've realized that I'm not cisgender, that I am and have always been autistic, that I am and have been for a decade mentally ill, and that I've got to chill a little. These thoughts have been confirmed as diagnoses by medical professionals, although they were valid before that, too. I'm working through things.
If you make me call myself something, religiously, soft agnostic is the best fit; I'm not saying we can or can't know things about religion; I'm saying I don't know. Occasionally, I've stuck my toe back in the direction of religion, but any real attempt to do that that will have to be done very carefully with a mental health professional and stable antipsychotics because it seems to be a big trigger for delusional and psychotic episodes.
I owe a few apologies. I owe the Church an apology for blaming you for the things I had internalized along the way that you weren't telling me. I owe my peers an apology for judging you and trying to fit you into what I frequently called "my formulas" or "the rules." And I owe a big thank you to those who have stuck with me through all this. I think I'm on the right, winding track.
This blog might not be very well-written, because I've only recently started trying to put this to words, but I'm going to try to explain why I'm not so religious, anymore.
I converted to Christianity when I was 15, and in my autistic, all-or-nothing way, I was all-in. If this religion was true, in my mind, every word of it was true. My near-eidetic memory for text allowed me to memorize many parts of the Bible quite quickly. I was 15, an age when it's normal to think a lot about higher powers, life's meaning, and humanity's place in the world, and I had a lot of questions. Since the Bible said God talked to people, I asked these questions primarily directly to God.
In order to believe Christianity wholeheartedly, I had to "turn off" a certain part of my mind. Theologians might call this suspension of disbelief, and psychologists call it allowing empathetic thought to supersede rational thought. It's very hard for my mind to see in shades of gray, and it was even harder before last year, so I couldn't really consider that the religion might be partially true. I either believed it, or I didn't.
Unfortunately, my natural comfort with rules, routines, and black-and-white thinking led me towards some of the less loving, more judgemental aspects of Christianity, which was hard on myself and others. My struggles grasping reality also led me to some of the more fantastic elements, which might be totally real, but certainly weren't always happening when I thought they were.
My psychosis was also emerging fully during my time in the Church, and I think a lot of it was masked by religion. I was so sure I actually was seeing and hearing God, angels, demons, visions, etc., and since they often quoted those memorized passages from the Bible, the church was on-board.
I don't know how much of what was going on might have been religious or spiritual in nature, but I suspect that a lot of it was mental illness. I have similar encounters now when my psych meds aren't working. I can't let my mind start down the path of thinking about angels and demons because it is likely to trigger a delusional episode.
After my step-dad died, at a point when I had been genuinely suicidal for several years, I took a step back. I realized that whatever kind of religion I was practicing was worsening my mental health and might literally kill me. I needed to free myself to ask the questions I was suppressing and get to know myself out of the abusive situation I had also just left.
I reasoned that, if Christianity was real, God was able to reveal himself to me; wouldn't fault me for trying not to kill myself; and valued those who searched, like the Bereans, for the truth.
After stepping back from Christianity, I was free from the letter of the laws I had been trying to follow and became a much more loving person towards myself and others. I judged less and gave more grace. I was less anxious and more able to stop obsessive thought patterns. I no longer felt guilty to get psych meds, and I joined a gender support group at the local LGBT+ center.
It's two year later. I've realized that I'm not cisgender, that I am and have always been autistic, that I am and have been for a decade mentally ill, and that I've got to chill a little. These thoughts have been confirmed as diagnoses by medical professionals, although they were valid before that, too. I'm working through things.
If you make me call myself something, religiously, soft agnostic is the best fit; I'm not saying we can or can't know things about religion; I'm saying I don't know. Occasionally, I've stuck my toe back in the direction of religion, but any real attempt to do that that will have to be done very carefully with a mental health professional and stable antipsychotics because it seems to be a big trigger for delusional and psychotic episodes.
I owe a few apologies. I owe the Church an apology for blaming you for the things I had internalized along the way that you weren't telling me. I owe my peers an apology for judging you and trying to fit you into what I frequently called "my formulas" or "the rules." And I owe a big thank you to those who have stuck with me through all this. I think I'm on the right, winding track.
Comments
Post a Comment