It’s an odd thing, being in a relationship with someone, loving and caring for them, and then separating. One becomes two again. You avoid them as best you can, inwardly cringing and outwardly hiding if your paths happen to cross. The awkward conversations you have when you’re not yet in the “we’re still friends” stage. Every love song reminds you of what you had, the beautiful moments. After some time has passed, you grow comfortable with their absence. Yet, in the still of the night, you find yourself thinking about them. You would never admit this, but sometimes, you miss your ex.
That’s where I am right now. Sometimes, I miss God. I miss the closeness we had, the soft quiet I felt when in His presence. I miss losing myself in worship and giving myself up completely to this entity and being part of something bigger than myself. I wonder, often, if I made a mistake in leaving. I question if I am wrong or not. Others, Christians, who I talk to, who know where I am and give me grace in my confusion and struggle, point me in the direction of God and the Bible- everything I’m familiar with. I wrestle with coming back or staying away because my biggest fear is that I’ll return only because it’s familiar, not because of any conscious decision on my part. I don’t want to be a nominal believer, and that goes for any religion, not just Christianity. I don’t want to be one who just plays the role so perfectly but never allows a belief to have any real, substantial meaning in my life. That kinda defeats the purpose of having personal religious, or nonreligious, beliefs and is what contributed to my exodus of the faith primarily.
Nonetheless, this is an unusual, weird place I find myself in. Sometimes, I still pray, to God or whoever is out there, but only in my head, as praying aloud still results in panic attacks. I still listen to some Christian artists, as their songs soothe me when I go into flashback mode. I still talk to Christians about their faith, ask questions, express my doubts, and the like. We have interesting and meaningful conversations. They give me resources that they think will help and I let them pray for me, though I don’t necessarily believe in it despite the fact that I do it. Regardless of whether I pray or they do, I don’t really believe it-it’s more of a force of habit. I feel empty at times, miserable even, but I guess that’s what happens when you start questioning your worldview. Maybe I’ll find solid ground one day.