I am foul. I woke up, early this afternoon, in a nightmarish haze, feeling absolutely shattered. It’s a cheerful enough day. But I am foul, foul, FOUL. The word rings through me.
Collected some more names this week, that being one of them. How dare I sully the reputation of the church; make out it is anything other than inclusive? How dare I post such vomit-inducing posts? Did I not stop to think of all the people I would kill or make seriously ill? His words, not mine.
The fact that the church is not inclusive – but sweeps its lack of inclusivity under the carpet in a downright dangerous way – is not the issue here. Sitting with someone on Wednesday, feeling low and puzzled at feeling low, (bc Taize was wonderful) wondering why I broke down at a church meeting when someone told me I am intolerant for not being satisfied with mere tolerance of others (wanting instead a church that aims for acceptance – or better – love of others) I came to realize why I feel so sad, so easily. Stress.
The minister is now back in town. So I have to face the hypocrisy, the exile, the injustice – the seething pain, all over again. Meanwhile, I have to decide whether to bother applying for a permanent job at the university that I’ve just left, knowing how much I want to be at the university where I have a temporary contract starting soon. Not knowing when therapy will start, the cans of emotional rubbishness long since opened and spinning unbidden through my mind. Knowing that my request for a friend to help me at Greenbelt – fully paid for – has been ignored and refused: the best excuse “I might be doing something else”. Feeling like no one wants me around.
I am a thorn in the church’s side. I am foul. And I cannot – I cannot – withstand this feeling towards me for much longer. Actions speak louder than words. I don’t have the strength.