"Don't Let This Darkness Fool You. All Lights Turned Off Can Be Turned On."

"Don't let this darkness fool you. All lights turned off can be turned on."

This lyric from Noah Kahan's Call Your Mom has just been on repeat in my brain for weeks. I've spent so much of my life in despair and depression that sometimes the darkness literally feels inescapable. Between the childhood trauma and the religious trauma and the intense loneliness, I've felt like I barely tread water at the best of times. Far too often it has felt like drowning. A loss of control over my ability to stay afloat. Darkness that seeps in from all sides and presses in at a weight that no person is meant to withstand.

When the darkness has a hold of you, it lies. It's an insidious insistence on the idea that not only are you stuck in the abyss, but that no light can ever find the way back in.

No one cares, not really. No one sees you. No one can understand this suffering. Things cannot get better. No one will ever love you. You are broken beyond repair. Damaged goods. Worthless. Unlovable.

All lies. Because in the spiral of shame and trauma, opening your eyes and seeing the truth is so difficult. Maybe it's only one single person, maybe it's a song or a stranger but someone cares.

Suffering is an essential part of the human experience. Things can get better. You are lovable. You are not broken beyond repair. Not worthless nor damaged goods. Healing is possible. Maybe it takes medication or meditation or religion. Maybe it takes simply accepting that you are stuck in the darkness right now, but that you don't want to be any longer. Therapy. Journaling. Music. Nature. Family. Friends. Online community. Cling to whatever helps you believe that the light can be turned on.

After spending my whole life trying to fight this battle alone, I have finally realized just how much I've hurt the people I love by letting myself believe this lie. My mom and my sister who want me to live and be healthy and happy. My family who had to watch me hurt myself and try to end my life. Who are now watching me slowly kill myself with my eating disorder. My friends who've watched me lose my spark little by little. My little nieces and nephews who see how unhealthy I am but don't understand why.

They've all been there. They all care. I am loved.

There is another lie that slips seamlessly out of the darkness. The idea that asking for help is somehow a failure. I am allowed to get on medication and go to therapy and work through all the trauma and pain that caused all of this in the first place. I am allowed to let go of a belief system that caused me pain. I can talk about this without feeling embarrassed. Mental illness is not something to be ashamed of.

Getting help is not admitting defeat. It's turning the fucking light on.

Mentally I am flipping tables in the temple. I'm making a graveyard of the pews. But physically... physically I am sobbing.

Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. Winter is my favorite time of year, despite living in Florida where it barely even drops below 60 degrees. I've always found all the lights and the music very comforting. My favorite Christmas movie (Elf) and hot cider with twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. Family dinners with kids running around. Sitting around a bonfire laughing with friends and drinking wine. Even Christmas eve service added to that sense of holiday joy. Singing Christmas carols and holding a candle. It wasn't necessarily the religious aspect that gave me joy, but more the community of it.

I spent from the time I was around 8 years old until 18 heavily involved in church. Then, it was much sporadic. I'd go through religious phases that would last a few months before I'd give up and return to my actual self. In July of last year, I fell into one of those spirals and for some reason, it was much worse than usual. It lasted an entire year for starters. I joined a reformed Christian church, got re-baptized (for the first time as an adult, third overall) and just fully jumped into living the most pious, devout lifestyle I could. It took a full blown mental breakdown to snap me out of it.

Christmas during this time last year was easier than ever. I was more palatable and tolerable for most of my family. I was forcing myself to agree with whatever the Bible said, including what it says about women. I spent a lot of effort trying to force myself into the ideal version of a woman. Softer, gentler, less passionate and less sarcastic. I tried carving out all of my queerness. I lost everything that makes me lovely. I was reading the Bible for literally hours and hours a day. I wouldn't listen to "secular music" and I basically stopped engaging any media that wasn't Bible approved. I went to small group, bible studies and ladies events. I served in Children's ministry. I was busier and more social than I've been in years.

And I was numb. I was disassociated because I didn't want to face that I was depressed and miserable. I gained a lot of weight. I nearly ruined the relationships with my sister and best friend who were watching me turn into a person I would have hated. But god, Christmas was easy. No arguments over politics or me being too much. My family was overjoyed to see me back in church.

Fast forward to June of this year. I have my first of three mental breakdowns. Things had not been good since like January. I was struggling and taking that as a sign I was being #theverybestchristian because the Bible says we are supposed to suffer for Christ afterall. I struggled and struggled. Cried constantly. Prayed till I was blue in the face. Upped my daily Bible reading. Until I had one second where I was sitting in my house and I looked around and said audibly to myself "What the fuck have I done? Who am I?"

And after that mental breakdown, I tried to plod on. I'd done irreparable damage to my ability to pretend I was happy or that things were okay. July I have another minor breakdown. Then August I have the big one. I am nearly unfunctional in my mental breakdown. It's triggered by me googling about spiritual drought. I start to google why I would be having these religious phases. I know it's over now. I come across a tweet and it rocks my entire world.

It had literally never crossed my mind that others go through this. I realize I do have a ton of religious trauma. I text my therapist and start going regularly again. I deconstruct, fully and actually work through why I was so afraid of hell. Why I believe what I believe. I deconvert. I realize I will no longer be a Christian. Not even a backslidden 'I'm not dealing with this but I'll come home later' one. I won't have the crutch of prayer.

Now, I am clearly dealing with some shit. My depression is raging. My house is a disaster. I've pulled away from my family because I know how they are going to take this. (They do not take it well)

I am not okay. I am working on healing. But, for once in my fucking life and I am letting myself actually work through all my trauma. I skipped Thanksgiving. Sat alone and got high. Ordered Chinese and cried, a lot. I won't miss Christmas because I love it. I have always loved it. It's gonna hurt like a motherfucker though. The soul aching loneliness that I am dealing with both from the loss of religion and the fact that I am alone. I have very few friends, no romantic prospects and being with my family is so complicated. I am so lonely it hurts physically in my chest. I find myself crying quite frequently. I am leaning into this.

I put on my 'Make the Yuletide Gay' playlist and make hot chocolate. I read holiday themed fan fiction and cry. I will go look at lights, the only single person amongst my family. I'll put up my sad little artificial tree and watch Elf with my cat. I am getting better. I won't lose the genuine love I have for this time of year.

loneliness is the worst but add the holidays into and it's just soul crushing

i’m actually allowed to make things a little easier for myself

i’m allowed to take shortcuts

i’m allowed to half-ass

i’m allowed to not always think of the best possible outcome, if that makes me freeze and not do anything

(good enough is good enough but a little bit is better than nothing at all)