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Not Now, But Soon

Not Now, But Soon

Last updated on: August 25, 2022 at 5:20 pm by Mary Pezzulo

Not Now, But Soon 2022-08-25T17:20:51-04:00 Mary Pezzulo

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It was the one-year anniversary of my car accident, the only accident I’ve ever had, my first and only traffic ticket, the only blot on my record. I had been so absentminded with panic and fear of the escalating situation with our stalking, harassing neighbor, that I got into a fender bender on that nightmare stretch of the freeway near Weirton. I should not have been driving that day at all.

That means it was one week from the one-year anniversary of the same neighbor slashing my tires. I came hurrying outside to drive over to Wellsburg and plead no contest to the traffic ticket and get on a payment plan– they only give you a week. My license would be suspended if I didn’t get out there quickly. There was my car, with the deep key mark in it from the neighbor’s last tantrum. Three of the tires had deep deliberate cuts, but not the one near the tree I’d parked under. I had to scramble for an hour to get a ride. Then I had to wait in Wellsburg for a few more hours until a friend could take me home on her lunch break. We’ve been keeping the car in hiding on a different block for twelve months.

My neighbor is still alive, though she’s eerily quiet most of the time now. She doesn’t talk to the other neighbors anymore. She doesn’t take four hours to fuss over her lawn every few days, running the mower back and forth over the same patch of grass and complaining. She gets it done quickly and runs inside. She doesn’t even sit on the porch or take her German Shepherd for walks. I wouldn’t know she was alive except that I hear the dog’s chain when she lets it out to do its business twice a day. Maybe the cancer is finally catching up. Maybe she believed my boast about the security camera and thinks everyone on the block is allied against her now. Either way, it’s so quiet. I’m almost ready to try parking at my house again.

It is a full month since my grandmother sent that horrible message, randomly accusing me of not raising Adrienne in the Catholic Church and demanding I drop everything and go stay with her and my narcissistic aunt for a surprise First Holy Communion, and when I didn’t respond to that on script I was officially disowned. I’ve been trying to tell Adrienne “your great grandmother disowned us because she thinks you don’t love Jesus,” and Adrienne keeps laughing.

I’ve been trying to placate Granny and my aunts ever since Adrienne was a baby– since I tried to have a relationship with my emotionally abusive mother and my mother walked out, claiming Michael had insulted the spiritually abusive religious sister who recruited my mother to the madness of the Charismatic Renewal in the first place. Having them blocked and out of my life entirely is a relief, but it’s also sad.

I went to Mass this Sunday, though I didn’t know if I was ready to go back. Quite by coincidence, found myself sitting a few pews behind the accomplice and sole disciple of that spiritually abusive religious sister. Her name used to be Sister Mary Michael but it’s not Sister Mary Michael now. She’s a laywoman now. I had to walk right in front of her when I went to Communion. I was afraid she’d see me as I walked back, but thankfully she is one of those fervent people who pray with their eyes closed after Communion. It felt like God was hiding me.

I don’t know if I’m going to go to Mass next week.

I like going to Mass on my trips to Columbus and sometimes it doesn’t hurt to go to Mass in Pittsburgh, but the fear is too bad in the Diocese of Steubenville and Wheeling-Charleston isn’t much better. It’s just a question of whether my panic at the thought of hell is more painful than my panic in church.

And somehow, between all of those factors or for some other reason, all at once the anxiety rushed out of my body. I’ve been combatting anxiety my entire life, but especially for the past fifteen months or so. The panic attacks were crippling. And then they left, quickly.

Do you know how a boat sinks faster and faster as it takes on more and more water, until at the last minute it’s diving straight down? That was what the anxiety did, just a few days ago.

And now I am not anxious. I am depressed.

I thought the opposite of anxiety would be calm, but it’s not. It’s depression. It’s chronic sadness that clogs my throat so I keep drinking ice water to keep it clear. It’s not being able to cry no matter how hard you try. It’s driving out to the grocery store and then sitting in the car for an hour because you’re too sad to go in and buy groceries.

I am going to work on the depression now. For all I know it will bounce away the way that it came and leave me with anxiety again in a few days. Or maybe it will clear and I will feel fine for the first time in my life.

This is just to say, I’m sorry I haven’t written very much with so much going on in the Catholic blogosphere. I meant to write about abortion and Father James Martin and all the traditionalist trolls I’ve been getting on Twitter. I also wanted to tell you about Adrienne and her guinea pig and their adventures. But for the moment I’m having trouble squeezing words out.

I opened this tab to start writing about the deconstruction I’ve been doing. I’ve been thinking so many things about the abusive Church that raised me and I thought you’d be interested to know. But I’m already at 900 words, so I won’t right now.

I’m not okay now, but I will be soon.

image via Pixabay

Mary Pezzulo is the author of Meditations on the Way of the Cross, The Sorrows and Joys of Mary, and Stumbling into Grace: How We Meet God in Tiny Works of Mercy.

Steel Magnificat operates almost entirely on tips. To tip the author, visit our donate page.

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