I was telling a story yesterday, one that I've told frequently over the years. I always thought it was a funny little anecdote from my past.
It happened when I was back in my tiny ultra fundamentalist little bible school. A couple of the guys snuck out to see the second Austin Powers movie.
We were strictly not allowed to watch movies.
The director of the school brought us all together. Apparently there is a scene in the film (which I still have never seen) where someone drinks shit, thinking it's coffee.
The guys who saw this movie thought that scene was funny.
The director heard them talk about it.
That's why he brought us all together.
He read aloud the definition of scatological:
Noun; the study of or preoccupation with excrement or obscenity; obscenity, especially words or humor referring to excrement.
And then proceeded to lecture us on how there is nothing at all funny about feces or farts. That we should be ashamed of ourselves for thinking such things.
He indicated that there might even be a sexual perversity to these kinds of jokes.
We all had to write a paper on it.
Telling this story yesterday, it no longer seemed all that funny.
I wasn't the one to sneak out and watch the film. I have still never seen it (what am I afraid of?). But I take the punishment closer to heart than anyone else.
Because it made sense.
I had already suspected that my body and everything that resulted from it was bad.
It was corrupted; unholy; worthy of shame.
This only confirmed my suspicions.
And this was just for making fart jokes.
Sexual shame was far worse.
Obviously sex outside of marriage was a sin.
But so was masturbation.
So were sexual thoughts of any kind.
I couldn't stop them from happening though.
I would lust.
And then I would beat myself up (sometimes literally physically harming myself) as a result of my failure to "stay pure."
I wrote letters to my future wife, begging for her forgiveness. I had desired other women, I told her. I had committed adultery. The fact that I had not yet my future wife (and still haven't) made no difference.
I was not supposed to even look at anyone until God showed me the one meant for me.
We all had purity rings back then. We had all vowed to save ourselves for marriage.
I was more extreme. I had vowed that my first kiss was going to be on my wedding day.
I never held a girl's hand until I was twenty one.
Didn't have my first kiss until I was twenty three.
And you know what? I was incredibly guilt ridden after both of those encounters.
I felt that I had "used" those girls. My intention was never to marry them. I wrote them both letters of apology.
Shame.
I left the church, but the shame stayed with me. It's been hidden in my body all this time.
It has affected everything to do with my physical self.
I have been at war with my body.
Embarrassed by it; punishing it.
No wonder it decided to fight back.
I am beginning to think that my constant chronic pain may at least be partially psychosomatic.
Just a bunch of repression and shame stored in my muscles.
I want to be free of all this stuff.
All of this sexual and physical shame.
I am just not sure how to do that.
I don't even know what that would look like.
9:16 a.m. - 2014-08-30
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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