I’ve been back into religion lately. I’ve been thinking and talking about religion lately. I’ve been writing about it too. And reading. And it’s because I’m talking with an old friend. For some reason whenever we’re in touch, I always have a greater interest in religion and in my own faith. It’s a renewal in some ways and in others it’s an impasse. It’s kind of a renewal of my frustration. Anger is passion. And that’s what I feel when we’re in touch. Regardless of the feeling it’s passion. I’m passionately depressed and drinking.Or I’m passionately dissecting every aspect of Christianity, religion, and faith. Ingesting books and articles and constantly dwelling on one aspect. It’s like he’s an addiction stimulant. I have to be doing something way too much when we’re talking. If there was ever an addiction that I’m glad to have back, it’s writing. I love this addiction.
I’m so thankful that I can use this outlet to save me. However, sometimes I feel like maybe the reason I need it is because he’s around. Like he causes such emotional upheaval in me that I need to write to deal with it. I don’t know if I’m myself or not myself or what but I’m trying to figure out. I feel like I’m too old to be fighting to know exactly who I am, but I am. That’s why I recoil every time he tells me that he knows me. Bullshit. I don’t even know me. Plus, I used to let people tell me who I was and I won’t go back there. I’d rather be confused and honest than be sure and pacified. I guess that tells a lot about my faith too doesn’t it?