A Short Meditation

Meditation is something I have always liked the idea of, but had convinced myself it wasn't something that was actually useful. I didn't know what it was supposed to look like or how to go about it. To me it was something religious people did, and because of my past I didn't really want much to do with anything that could be viewed as a religious practice. However I have seen several studies on the benefits of mindfulness and meditation. My personal mental health has always been somewhat of a struggle for me. After spending so much of my life trying to forget my problems (so Jesus could deal with them for me) it is hard as a post-religious person to learn to start dealing with them in a healthy manner.

After a hard weekend that brought back all of the pain of when I first came out as an atheist, as well as the sting of family rejection, I was left reeling. For the first time in years I said I wanted to see a therapist. This is a huge thing for me. I have always fought so hard to deal on my own or take medication if possible to avoid the pain. I now want to actually deal with it. I'm scared and I don't know how well I will handle this, but things are to the point where I am having a hard time thinking of much else and this is making living life very difficult. I know something has to give or I will be unhappy for the rest of my life and I don't want that. That brings me back to this meditation thing. While we are figuring out if our insurance will cover any kind of mental healthcare, and if we can afford it, I'm going to try to meditate the pain away.

Still, because of my feelings towards Christianity I will not have a meditation space that looks at all like anything I ever saw in a Christian church. That would be triggering and completely ruin the mood. So I set up an old coffee table with some candles, one of the skulls I've cleaned, some incense, and a box to keep all the little things I may need in. It looks very pagan which makes me happy and helps me relax. I put a pillow down and sat in front of the table put on some “meditation” music and set a timer for 15 minutes. My brain is so full of stuff that I don't really care about. I spent the first 10 minuets thinking of ways to make the meditation space better. Once I was able to give myself something to focus on, a simple phrase: “Be calm and forgive”, I started to feel like this could actually be a thing I do on a regular basis. It felt like something that could help me navigate my way through the things I'm dealing with. It felt like something that could help me grow into a better person and that makes me happy and hopeful.

Disassociation

I have not been feeling like myself lately. I have been fighting with depression in a way I haven't in years. It started with the diabetes diagnosis. Diabetes is something I have lived in fear of my whole life. I had a fairly traumatic childhood experience with the disease. All the memories I have of my grandmother are of her toes, feet, and legs slowly turning black and being amputated. My grandparents lived in filth surrounded by animals. A cat so mean I was scared to leave the couch, and a literal pack of dogs outside that only became friendly after the older generation died. When we visited, the smell of animal piss was overwhelming and so was the fear. All I could do was try to distract myself with the TV and try not to look at my grandmother who was so obviously depressed and miserable I had to fight tears every time I looked at her. I remember one year a family had “adopted” my grand parents for Christmas and they brought my grandmother a pair of shoes, this was shortly after she lost the first of her feet, she started to cry and they were so heartbroken they caused her pain on Christmas. I hate that this is one of the strongest memories I have of my grandmother. 

With this as the groundwork for my understanding of how bad it could be for me. I try to remind myself she relied more on prayer than she did on her doctor's advice. She even once ordered water that came from a hole in the ground that someone said a light came out of. Needless to say it wasn't helpful. She didn't eat a proper diet or attempt to take care of herself. Knowing all of this there are still times when I am terrified I'm going to die a slow and painful death like she did.  

This is where the depression comes in. I feel like I have lost myself and struggle with the thought that I will become a huge burden to my family. Logically I know this is not the case. I know lots of people that deal with diabetes that are just fine and are much older than my grandmother was when she died. Still this only brings comfort for a short time. My relationship with food has become this fight to the death. Losing weight is no longer a nice thing to think about it is something I have to do. I'm very happy that I am losing weight but I feel like with every pound lost I am in a way losing part of myself. I know that sounds weird but my weight loss has become one more thing that I am no longer in control of in the since I have to do it. Eating and weight loss have become a survival issue for the most part and not something I am doing for myself, and this is what is leading to my feelings of being out of control. 

It is a strange thought for me. I hadn't realized how much the principles in Satanism are at the center of my being. One of the seven tenets that The Satanic Temple follows is that, “One's own body is inviolable, subject to one's own will alone.” but, what am I supposed to do when it is my body that is causing me harm? My struggle has been to try to find away to live for myself and somehow take back control from my body. This dissociative feeling has been difficult to say the least. Again it is weird to say but I have been trying to find a way to put myself back into my body and live there happily again. 

Physical change has always been a way I have marked change and progress in my life. This has normally been a new tattoo or piercing. I told my partner I wanted to get a new tattoo to remind myself that I was not diabetes but I couldn't think of any design. Even saying those words felt like a lie. After a rough bout of depression over the weekend I had to find a way to re-marry my mind and body. I decided I would take control back a little at a time. Again I my thoughts went to physical change. Hair color is an easy change to make, but it backfired on me. I bleached my hair and this left it very damaged. I sat on the toilet and cried; even my hair was against me. I had lost the fight for control again. I walked out of the bathroom defeated and sat down on the bed facing my partner and a calm came over me and I asked him to help me shave my head, he agreed. As I shaved off the damaged hair I felt like I had won and I couldn't help but smile. I still struggle with eating but at least when I look in the mirror I see me.