At the time that I am writing this post, I am wracked with anxiety. I don’t know why I am so fucking scared of life, but I am. I have been for a long time.
But I’m still here. Very surprisingly.
Months ago, I tried to do the Pagan Blog project, but of course I didn’t keep up with it. I couldn’t tell you why. I’ve wanted nothing more than to contribute to the greater pagan community since I joined in 2006. I’ve gone through dreams of being a high priest, legal clergy, author, and many other things, and I’ve always wanted to do something for others with my faith. That’s why I made this blog–because Tumblr is full of drama and people who are too self-absorbed to care about creating a better environment and fostering intelligent and civil dialogue about modern issues.
That’s all I really wanted. I want to serve a community.
That’s always what I felt my purpose in life is: To serve others.
But with that comes a lack of service to myself.
Since the age of 11, I have suffered from depression. Add to that 7+ years of emotional abuse, and I ended up with co-morbid general anxiety disorder and PTSD. Throw in being transgender and queer in a family of conservative Christian rednecks who were all born in the 50’s and it gets worse. I have little to no support from the people who were supposedly in charge of me and charged with caring for me.
For a long time, I felt hopeless about my situation. I couldn’t win. I couldn’t help myself or be happy in any way. So I focused all my efforts on making the people I loved happy. I would ignore my own needs constantly and swallow my concerns and complaints because I knew it was dangerous to me to voice them. Even after my stepdad was gone, I still couldn’t do anything to help myself. I was trapped.
So about a month ago, I finally just…left. I did what I felt previously wasn’t an option, and I simply left the house.
I was suicidal to the point that I was fantasizing about running out into the busy street in front of my house, and when I ran out after a fight with my mother, I damn near did. I’m not entirely sure why I chose instead to plant myself on the ground instead. But I chose to live and went to the hospital instead. I then spent a few days with my ex-partners, who decided to break up with me while I was there. And after their (unfortunately unmedicated) paranoid schizophrenic stepmother threatened to call the cops on me because she thought I was going to kill her, I came back down to Maryland and finally thought to stay with an ex’s family who loved me like their own kid.
So that’s where I am now, struggling to get a job so I can pay rent.
I had to do all this just to get to a place where I can get support.
And I realize that all this was in service to myself.
I’ve always had a hard time being “selfish.” I never wanted to be rude or make other people feel bad. I never wanted to inconvenience others in any way with my presence. But now I’ve been forced into a position where I have to take care of myself, and that sometimes involves me asking other people to help take care of me. And that’s hard.
I’ve had to ask people for money. I’ve had to ask to live in their homes. I’ve had to ask for help.
I’ve had to be selfish.
In service to myself.
And that’s fucking hard.
It’s the hardest lesson I have ever had to learn in my life. Being selfish.
And that is what I present as my return to this blog. Self-interest is divine. Please don’t forget to serve yourself as you serve others. Or you will owe yourself a much bigger debt than you will ever know how to pay.