I wonder

It’s Samhain, or as we American folks call it, Halloween. I’ve been listening to various artists. One artist in particular I come back to: jennifer knapp.

She’s a Christian artist who was really big in the 90’s, and ended up disappearing out of nowhere. We find later that she left and moved to Australia. If you said wtf, then join the group.

Anyway, she met a nice girl, and decided to come out of the closet. I of course “knew” it(more like wishing really hard) and was all yay for her.

Well, her very fundy fans were NOT happy. Apparently being a lesbian and Christian doesn’t work.

A thought, just a thought:

What if it’s none of your business folks?! She’s in love, isn’t being beat to death, and is being honest to herself and her God.

I mean, if a fundy’s god is that small minded, then something is VERY wrong. I won’t take “you don’t know god’s ways”. That is a cop out and you know it. If he created her, then maybe, just maybe he knows.

Or maybe the idea of sexuality being something you can’t really box scares these folks.
It scared me, a lot. I was taught that my sexuality was not for ME. It was for the man I’d marry or convince myself that he loved me. I was a person that sexual acts were to be done TO, not to initiate. The shame that’s packed into a survivor’s body is enough to light a town. Couple that with the mixed signals one gets in youth church or at single’s conferences and you get a person who feels more like an object that a vibrant person.

And I feel, that it’s what they want us to feel like. It’s easier to debase yourself like a dog when you are told that your container…your body is dirty. It’s easier to depersonalize yourself when the emphasis in on the next life. This one is garbage!

And now, I look at Jennifer Knapp and wonder how she functions. What I mentioned is my own life, and I have to remind myself to breathe at times. I was so used to being an object, so very used to thinking my very normal desires were more kinky than age play…that the mere idea of someone desiring me sickened me.

I wanted intimacy, yet was poisoned against it. I was told to fear the male gaze. To assume that only teh PERFACT man of gawd could love and accept this broken effed up woman…made me my own enemy.

I feel angry, sorrowful, and retarded. I mean it in the fullest since of the word. I am a woman who was in arrested development for many years, and am only now trying to play catch up.

My innocence was stolen twice: first by my molesters, then by the very people I entrusted with my soul. I feel shipwrecked. And yet I can hear my mother’s own voice blaming me. Saying she warned me and that I deserved it.

I wonder if other refugees from fundamentalism feel this way. Just disjointed and envious of those who didn’t go through Jesus camp like training? Or do they never crack?

I wonder