The Truth, In Bits And Pieces (57/90)

Technically, it's Monday. But it's still Sunday in my head because I haven't slept yet. And Sundays have been weird in my head lately.

I wake up wondering whether I should stay or go; a question that I contemplate all weekend. I sleep on it Saturday nights and decide within an instant on Sunday mornings. I don't know if it's something that I'll ever feel settled with. It is only now, at 22, that I'm beginning to feel that the choice is mine to choose.

And that there is, indeed, a choice.

I've always been taught that we are chosen. And the right choice is easy when you know that you've been chosen: accept that you are chosen and live accordingly. Which for me meant a sacrifice of everything that made my life my own.

I'm a radical human being, I throw myself mercilessly into the things that resonate with me. I give myself completely. And that's been a source of great heartache in my life, I've been taken advantage of in the worst and most hurtful ways. But, I can't be any other way no matter how hard I try.

And I have tried. I am trying. To live a life that is balanced.

So on days like today, I struggle with the fact that there is emptiness where a routine has been for my whole life. I've missed church for five or six consecutive weeks now. I'm not sure what to put in its place, though.

Today and many Sundays it is studying. That is something beneficial to my week and fairly easy to explain. Because there are questions. I suspect that there will be questions for a while, if not always.

I avoid my Dad on these days, because I fear his disappointment. I remember as a child the days that I tried to skip church. When I was too young to understand the point or be interested in anything that came from the pulpit. I would pretend to be sleeping or sick when it was time to get up and dressed in my Sunday's best. I learned quickly that was not the best choice.

When we didn't go to church we didn't eat. Not the way that we were used to on Sundays. Instead of the family dinner out we'd be relegated to whatever we could scrounge up at home. Leftovers or peanut butter and jelly. There were no special provisions. This was a punishment.

One that still exists today only more subtly because I can feed myself now.

But there are still consequences. The questions that haunt me, and the judgement that is passed off as concern by wolves in sheep's clothing. These are things I can handle, though.

And when I am called on Sunday afternoons by various churchgoers, as I was today, and asked about my whereabouts, I explain that I am at school working, that I have more work than I've got time for and must spend every free minute plugging away at it and preparing for my tomorrow.

And that is the truth.

But not the whole truth.