Once more unto the breech.
Judging by the comments I’m receiving here and through email, I’ve left some people confused about a couple of things.
First, I’m speaking here entirely on my own. The agency isn’t “encouraging” me to do this. (In fact, I bet my dear partner John squirms a little bit at my candor here and there.) I’m doing this for friends and family–people I love. I know some other people are listening in. and that’s fine as long as they don’t hold my personal beliefs against anyone other than me.
I never meant to imply that my life before Prozac was gloomy or sad. In fact, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love life. (And, no, I didn’t replace God with a pill.)
I started this blog to keep interested friends informed about my health. Along the way, there was much encouragement to detail my thoughts as I face death. It turns out, even a nonbeliever has trouble describing dying without getting around–sooner or later–to religion.
I do appreciate how much joy, strength and comfort many people get out of their religions. Some of the finest people I know are committed to their faith. A Catholic priest made a huge, positive difference in my life when I was in high school–a Catholic, military high school. I share with many of those same people a sadness that religion is so often corrupted. I think most people want to belong to a community of thoughtful, considerate people who share joy, love, family and life. I know how lucky I am to feel that I am part of a community like that–it’s just not a religion. In fact, it’s not organized at all. It’s populated by the hundreds of people who have been writing me and wishing me well. They’ve made what should be one of life’s hardest ordeals something close to joyful.
And, by the way, many of them are very religious people.