Image courtesy of Stockvault.
Today’s been a busy day. I’ve been getting a new computer set up, and I’ve been trying to finish a couple of short stories. The latter has been interrupted through some depression and anxiety. One thing I have been able to focus on (and I’m sorry I don’t remember the post where I read this recently) was god-shaped holes.
When I first deconverted, I thought I had one. It’s how I referred to the emptiness I felt after losing something I dedicated my life to understanding. There was this sense of loss. And I didn’t even know how to describe it let alone deal with it.
With a little more time, I’ve developed a little more perspective. It’s not a hole in the sense of something important that needs to be addressed. It’s a hole in the sense of a wound, of someone carving out a part of me and saying, “You need to replace what I took with something else.”
Over time, such wounds can scab over and scar. The story behind how the scar remains. Those experiences never go away. But it’s a hole that fixes itself. Little by little, I get to be comfortable that it was something that shouldn’t have felt like it was missing. That yeah, I’m good enough on my own without having to resort to what other people pretend I need.
I close with a song from the Beatles, a band I used to listen to all the time, but stopped for a while.
Amusing Nonsense 