It will take some time, but gradually I will add my journey home, to Orthodoxy, here. Please be patient and bear with me, it’s a story that I won’t do injustice with haste.

Beginning: There was a point in life where, inside of me, there was a broken vessel. I was searching at this point, and for some time before this point for whatever would fill this vessel — and I believe I just about tried it all. It began in searching for spirituality, something higher than the mundane, physical side of things we see and feel. I was younger then, dumber then, very naive. I practiced various types of meditations and dabbled into all types of spirituality, which was ignorant in itself, and I thank God for protecting me along the way… but somewhere between seeing the vanity of emptiness of what I was looking in, and the lives of the associations who had spent some time in the same area and truly never progressed anywhere in spirituality, I became discouraged and fell away from faith entirely. It’s true that there was always some form of ‘faith’ with me, I had a conscience, but it was one I didn’t care much to follow. I never completely tossed aside the concept or idea of God, but it’s not something I immersed myself in. Rather than spirituality, I turned to something faster, more tangible, easier to access — drugs, alcohol, and ultimately agnosticism. There was probably a God, but it wasn’t the God of the Christians who they used as a crutch to get over the deaths of their families, the one who gave them that pie in the sky salvation they did nothing for except rot away in a pew, sing and clap their hands, and flip through their Bible when the mood struck.

I wanted there here and the now. I felt, in my selfishness, that I deserved that. I was a young man who didn’t know forgiveness. I had been wronged, I had been hurt badly, no one could possibly understand and I don’t care if they do. I became a bitter, numb young man, and for me, drugs wasn’t exactly about ‘fun’ or being ‘recreational’, it was more about not feeling at all, or at least not caring about what’s going on. So began that stage. I went from trying to fill that broken vessel with spirituality to trying to fill it drug and alcohol-induced euphoria. It went on for longer than I’d like to admit.

But what makes a young man feel so bitter and like the world owes him something? What can be done, that it takes someone years to forgive? And what makes forgiveness so powerful that it is part of a new chapter in someone’s life?

Well for me, it was sexual molestation. It was something that made me feel inferior and alienated to the world. It made me understand, even at a young and tender age, a lack of innocence, and that life was more than riding bikes, going to school, watching Power Rangers and pretending all was normal. I didn’t feel normal. I didn’t feel centered. In many ways I was still a child, but in some ways, I grew up too fast. And it was obvious. I was different. As I grew older I became more antisocial, depressed and angry. I was thought to be autistic, I wouldn’t play with toys, I would only draw or write and all I wanted from the store was pens and paper. I seemed to be in my own little world.

It got to the point where my Mother worried, so I began seeing counselors and psychologists. I eventually stopped going, because they all seemed to have a different idea of what was going on in my head. I’ve heard panic disorder, I’ve heard bipolar, I’ve heard unipolar depression, I’ve heard agoraphobia, I’ve heard anxiety disorder, I’ve heard post-traumatic stress disorder, I’ve heard tons of things. I didn’t care about having or being a label, and I didn’t feel that life’s problems were solved in pill form. The problem was, I was empty, and nothing filled me. Broken vessels aren’t healed that way, and they can’t be. I never wanted to kill myself, but I didn’t want to exist. Existing is hard, shallow, meaningless… I wanted to live. Life, as I knew it, was nothing. I wasn’t alive. I just existed. I just ‘was’.

To be continued…

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2 Responses to “Going Home”

  1. JFred Says:

    Blake — this gives me chills. I am deeply touched by your level of self examination and ability to write about the injustice you’ve suffered in such a mature way.

    I’ve been sober 13 years, and also someone who was sexually molested as a young boy. The wreckage of my past still haunts me, but as you know, we don’t have to be shackled by it.

    You inspire me young man. Keep on writing and telling the truth.

  2. carolamustard Says:

    You never cease to amaze me! I always knew you would rise to the top!


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