I Want To Go Back To Therapy

I do. I really do. I am supposed to go to group therapy once every two weeks for an hour. It is socialization with other people. We talk about our problems. With the group I do not feel I can be as open as I would with individual therapy. I can not talk about everything because I do not want to make the other patients uncomfortable. But I like going there to talk. Outside of mom and dad and Church friends it is my only socialization. I stopped going to AA because I thought it was a preternatural cult. But I wish it were not in my eyes a preternatural cult so I could continue to go there and talk to the alcoholics. I came to the conclusion also that by AA standards I was not an alcoholic. So if I were to get up and talk and introduce myself and say: "Hello, I am Matthew, and I am an alcoholic" I would be lying because I do not have that demon badly enough to claim the title honestly. My father told me I could not get a sponsor so I can not go all in to AA anyways while obeying my father. It seems the deep stuff requires having a sponsor and revealing one's soul to your sponsor in an even deeper way than a Catholic reveals his soul to his priest confessor, or even more than a monk reveals his soul to his elder abbot.

But I want to go back to therapy. The reason I am on my own now is because my therapist is having a health problem. She did not reveal what kind of problem it was and how long she will be out for and we were not given a substitute therapist. I think we are considered "stable crazies". Our therapist is young and seems healthy except that she is very fat. But I have only been there two or three times since I was released from the hospital in late July. I miss the people there. I wonder if they miss me. I am not going schizo again, I just have my normal semi-sane brokenness about me. Able to function at a low level. I am either broken or psychotic now. You get used to it.

There is a man who comes in to Church and he seems crazy like me. He breathes loudly. When I first saw him I thought he was disrespectful because he was wearing a baseball cap in Church. If you do not know, in Church men are supposed to not wear hats and women are supposed to cover their heads. Starting in the sixties the women all rebelled while the men continued to follow the rules for the most part. But today he came in to pray and I saw him and he bowed down before the altar in a profound way and kissed the floor before the altar. What respect he showed. More than most people, more than I as I merely genuflect. It made me think he really believes and just did not know to not wear a hat in Church. He makes noises and talks to himself and breathes heavily. But he seems to go to Church regularly to pray before God. I saw him there twice and hope to see him more.

I wonder if he goes to therapy like I do. They are kind of like friends, the people in therapy. I hope to see them again soon and then regularly again like we used to before our therapist got sick.

I am a very lucky person. I have a family to help take care of me. I can only imagine how I would fare if I were on my own. I love them even though we are not the same.

Bad News

Back from Church. Got bad news from the Queens Chronicle and the New York Post.

We were counting the number of Churches in New York City that have Latin Masses on Sunday and we counted seven. Holy Innocents, Our Lady of Peace, Our Lady of Mount Carmel, St. Josaphat, St. Agnes, St. Christopher, and Our Lady of La Salette.

Our Lady of La Salette has a Bishop and two priests. The papers say the Bishop was just accused of sexual assault against a twelve year old boy. They are independent with orders from a vagante Bishop, possibly of the Thuc line, but they are not sedevacantists. I went to their Church on Ash Wednesday, I believe three years ago. Tom was just talking about their Church and how he wanted to go there with me some Thursday. Now I do not want to go and I wonder if the Church will still have services there if the Bishop is in prison. Perhaps there will be a lawsuit and the remaining two priests will have to sell the Church building. Or perhaps the two priests will carry on. I imagine they will lose parishioners. When I went there, there were many beautiful hispanic women. Why is it always a boy and not a young woman? At least with a woman it would be more natural.

 https://nypost.com/2019/12/06/bayside-bishop-accused-of-sexually-abusing-12-year-old-boy/

Small world. I am not condemning him yet, as he might not be guilty. But this does not look good. There was another Bishop of the Thuc line who was accused of a similar crime whose Masses Julian used to go to and he swore he was innocent. We live in a dirty world. We all know there are issues with the Catholic Church and traditionalists are not free from such sickness. Everyone knows of the infamous seminarian who had a cult of personality going in La Reja and then in Winona who left and went on to found a small traditionalist society of homosexuals in lace.

Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.

But it was good to talk to friends after Mass. I told Tom how whenever Cecilia sits next to me or in front of me I get distracted during Mass because she is so beautiful. She sat next to me today. Tom has cancer. We hope he is not dying.

I got my books back. Jan saved them for me. I am looking forward to Christmas. Only ten days. Things will be learned. I do not want many presents. My brother is buying me a book.

When I am not thinking of dark things the world is beautiful. But there is so much ugliness. My mother showed me the article in the Chronicle and there was a picture and she asked me if that was the Church we went to one time? Yes, it was.

What does it even mean to be a Catholic? Danica says she grew up as a strict Catholic. Then she had her troubles and now she no longer goes to Church regularly and one could say she is a sinner. I grew up lax Catholic and left religion altogether. And then I started to believe and became a traditional Catholic (strict and "crazy"). When I was twenty-six. I was so sorry for all of my sins. Unforgivable, but then I was forgiven. Or so I believe. The feelings of guilt left me. Now I feel innocent. After the demons went away for a while. But what does it mean? For me it is like living like a child. I am a child. I want to be innocent. Like I was when I was a boy getting ice cream from Joe the ice cream man. Creamsicles. In the hospital I loved it when my mother brought me ice cream. I am not an unhappy rigorist who secretly wishes to be a libertine but is afraid of doing his own will for fear of punishment from an angry God. My will is to have a nice peaceful life trying to obey God's commandments, or the commandments that I believe come from God. I want to go to Mass, receive Commnunion, and go to Churches when I can, especially for Adoration and Benediction, which I am lucky to have near me two days a week. If I were to travel into the City I could attend it every day, but it would be unwise to spend the money on subway fare as my family has need of it. But I avoid the Novus Ordo for the most part, but not entirely. I want to look at the consecrated host and talk to God, or at least imagine that I am talking to Him. I do not want to do dirty things. Not that sex is bad, but it has its place, for children. Yes it is pleasurable but it makes you a slave. I have no desire. Even when I look at the beautiful Cecilia, and I love her, but am afraid of talking to her. I do not want to do dirty things with her. I want to be her friend and talk to her and look into her beautiful face. I love so many women. One can say I love Danica as she was the girl from my youth who I loved the most even though I was not important in her own life at all and I haven't seen her in years. I look at pictures and little videos and I pray for her. One can say I love the beautiful Cecilia and since I know her from Church I hope she is innocent and pure, despite being so very beautiful. One can say I love the lovely Helena who sings and plays the organ so nicely. But I know I am not good enough for any woman. I think I will spend my life alone as my disability makes me unable to support a wife and a family, so I have little to offer. So it is sad. But I am content. What does it mean? I just want to sit quietly and pray. What is the value of prayer? I believe in God but how can I serve Him? Is just thinking of Him and loving Him of value to Him even if I do not DO anything important at all? I have a bad habit of talking to myself and sometimes I say bad things. When I go to confession I say the same thing every time. I do not think it is a big sin, but it is repetitive. I want it to go away. When it happens I beat my breast and say "mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." I know I am not without sin. I remember at the hospital the doctor there pointed at me and said that I was the most innocent of all the people there in the psych ward. I remember with Nido where he put his foot next to mine and it felt like he was giving me psychic energy and something similar happened at night where I seem to remember being in a room with one of the men workers and a woman, perhaps his girlfriend or his wife. Like they gave me energy. I don't know what actually happened and what I was imagining. I had the idea that I was taking my pills and then taking everyone else's pills and I kept taking more and more pills until I got sick and I was lucky I did not die.

I don't know, but I love Julian, and I love Tom. Julian is my very best friend and Tom is the best friend who I see at Church. I hope he does not die. But perhaps he would be happier if he were dead. Without any more pain. But Tom gets angry. At the Church, at priests, at other people. But never at me. Never at me. He was a social worker and he spent his life helping people until his cancer made him unable to work. I wonder if he had a temper with his clients. I wonder if he is ready to die. Sometimes I think that we are already dead and we are all in hell. But if this is hell it is a happy place for being hell. And beautiful. And I do not remember the last judgment. So I guess this cannot be hell. Though I do not die and I have been alive for so very long. Sometimes I think "It has been eleven years since I went crazy, it seems like it has been no time at all". The sense of time when one has a broken memory as I do.

As a crazy person I have a strange existence. It has been so long that I do not remember what it was like to be normal. The island of saints and schizophrenics. I am trying to be both. The demons are not bothering me lately. All I have to worry about is my poor poor broken mind. So I am quiet and I pray and I am happy and content. I love my God. But not enough. I must learn to love better. It hurts me to think of pain. Not of the pain itself but when the pain makes one turn away from God. No God could allow such suffering. I do not have the answer but one must believe.

We went to the religious store and looked at the knick knacks. They had medals of saints. My mother bought Christmas cards for priests and deacons and bishops. I looked at the books. They had prayer books and Bibles. Catholic and Anglican. Statues and vestments. And then we went to the Catholic thrift store where I  bought my chest of drawers. I love Julian. I am going to visit him on Tuesday. I do not pray for him much. He wants me to pray that he be cured of his blindness. But I do not remember to pray for him like I pray for others. I hope my prayers that I do pray go to him and help him, but he seems like he does not need the prayers. He suffers in his disability. I will go to comfort him.

Father told me he visited Julian on Saturday and he told me that he needs visitors. I will go. To my friend. We will probably pray the chaplet of Saint Michael. I will give him a salami sandwich. We will talk. Perhaps about God. To pray is the most important thing. Tuesday for my friend in Advent. I hope to make him a little happier and give him strength to believe even though God has not seen to cure him as he hopes and prays.

Into the sea, Our Lady, Star of the Sea. Keep watch over me and Julian and all of those who are important to me who I pray for and who I forget to pray for. For those I love and those who love me. Thank you for reading. It is past midnight and I am rambling. So bad news, bad news, bad news. The world is such a wicked place. I pray for innocence and for peace for you and for me and for everyone we know and love. Amen.

A Reason To Live

What is a reason to live? My only answer is eternity. I do not know what to say to other people though. I am content living the way I live and I am happy. So if there is no eternity I am better off living how I live anyway if happiness is the goal (and that seems to be the common goal if eternity is denied. Though some have come to the conclusion that all that matters is pain and the point of life is to suffer as much pain as possible (or at least as one can bear). Hurt). When I used to seek pleasure I was always miserable when I attained it and also when I lacked it, so that was not the way for me. I am content living peacefully in a small way. As an insignificant nobody. I am not on the street though. If I were on the street it might make me miserable. But it has not yet come to that. I am calm and am not being tortured. I do not yet know how to be happy while being tortured, I only know I am happy at rest.

Sometimes I think how my life would be better if I had a wife. But I know that I am not capable of that so it is better not to worry about it. Be at peace with silence. I feel at peace with the world, with God, with everything. I feel a great joy looking at the birds and looking at the clouds (for I remember a time when the clouds were angry at me) though the sensual pleasure is not as great. Pleasure is a momentary rush which ebbs and flows, but joy and peace are lasting. And significant. I can not live for pleasure like the rats in the cage. That is madness, but I can live for joy.

I want to be like a little child, before he has lost his innocence. I try. I have done so many bad things, but now I try to be good. I am as innocent as a guilty man can be. The blood on my hands is mingled with the blood of Christ. My blood-stained hands. The one stains, the other cleans. Like bleach. I do not want to sound arrogant. I am such a backward person. My thoughts belong at least a hundred and fifty years ago, but could only exist in the age of the internet. I am a man of the twenty-first century and a man of the fourth century at the same time. I told my father tonight that if I was not crazy I would want to join a monastery. This was after telling my father that I had just read an article and if what was in it was true that Thomas Merton was a bad monk and that now I did not want to read Seven Story Mountain, the book that he got me and my father told me that I was taking it too serious (as if I was crazy for judging a man on his sexual morals and his treatment of his fellow monks, as if to say all men are sexual and moral perverts).

Is everyone as perverse as they seem? I know I was, but is everyone really? I read a study that said that ninety-eight percent of grown men watch pornography (in the first world, or perhaps just in America). Is that true? That includes those in relationships and marriages. Am I alone like a lamb bleating in the desert for his keeper? Sometimes the mother come. And sometimes the wolf. I cry out. He sayeth "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd giveth his life for his sheep. But the hireling, and he that is not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and flieth: and the wolf catcheth, and scattereth the sheep: And the hireling flieth, because he is a hireling: and he hath no care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd; and I know mine, and mine know me. As the Father knoweth me, and I know the Father: and I lay down my life for my sheep." I think good of everyone, but I fear that everyone else is either a goat or a wolf. Are you a wolf? I know we are meant to be as wise as serpents, but we are also meant to be as simple as doves, to become like little children. Are little children wise? They know nothing, but cry out "Abba". Father. I do not think dirty thoughts. My mind is clean. I hope everyone is like this, but I come across so much filth in the world. As Dostoevsky wrote in his greatest novel, Alyosha was pure and innocent and was afraid of dirty talk and the little schoolboys (children of eight or nine) learned this and would talk dirty around him and when he would cover his ears they would force his hands down and shout obscenities into his ears. I am like Alyosha, honestly, except I have more knowledge of the filth that so offended his pure ears. As far as I know when I was a child, my mother never held me up to an icon of the Theotokos as my father was tormenting her and in a mix of hope and despair prayed to her and asked her to protect me. The crazy saint. I spend most of my time thinking about the good God and the faith and religious things. But sometimes I go out of the cloister and into the world. And I read about the world and about politics. I am as far to the right socially as nearly anyone, but I despise libertarian economics as well as communism, so I do not know exactly where I stand economically as far as politics go. But I think social issues are more important, with abortion at the top, so I would vote for Republican candidates as being more against abortion as the lesser of two evils. But when I read about politics I am far too often scandalized. People are filthy. The talk about sexual perversions is everywhere and seen as normal. It is more common to find a woman of age who is into BDSM than one who admits to being a virgin. I know I am not a virgin, but that was because I was raised as a child of unbelief and only came to take religion seriously in my mid-twenties after some time stewing in a mess of perversions. So I guess I should lower my standards from a virgin, to a woman who is no longer a whore or a sexual pervert.

Robert at The Rose of Paracelsus posted a quote from a famous moral theology manual which tries to normalize sodomy and say it is not sinful as long as . . . you can guess, but it is literally filthy. He did not know at the time of making the post that I was aware of that quote and it is of everything that I have ever read from anyone in the Church who was not commonly considered a heretic, the most disgusting and vile thing I have ever read and the thing I am disgusted by more than any other teaching of any commonly respected theologian who ever lived. And a lot of priests read that and accept it as good and true and moral (including sedevacantists!) There are some scandalous things taught be theologians but that is the worst I am aware of (Other theologians teach differently but this man was respected). It makes me want to retreat into a bubble and read only about the desert fathers who would not as much as look at a woman fully clothed. Men who I am sure are in heaven, rather than think about men who endorse "imperfect sodomy" as not sodomy, and not even a sin. Men who if I had to guess would say they are in the other place.

I am not going to call all men to believe. I call on them, but I understand if they do not. But I will call all men to live their lives as if they did believe, especially when it comes to seeking sensual pleasure, especially sexual pleasure. I only know from my own life. But seeking sensual pleasure was for me the greatest cause of anxiety and misery in my life and rejecting pleasure and learning to live without it has caused the opposite, a lasting peace. It has come to the point where the more sensual pleasure I avoid, the more peace I have. There are two components of peace working in my life. The belief that I am at peace with God, through repentance and confession and penance, which one can accept or reject (I wish all to accept it, but I know that many will reject it as mindless superstition). And the end of the slavery to sensual pleasure, which I believe will give many a real peace, even if they are not Christians. Most children are happy unless they are abused, and when they become more corrupted they become more miserable. The more they learn of sin the more unhappy they get. I believe the baptized are at peace with God but the unbaptized are also happier than they become when their innocence is lost. So I advise all men to try to regain that innocence. One can not unlearn what one has learned about sin, but one can end its mastery over one's soul. One can end the addiction. Every sensual pleasure is a drug and once it is kicked one will be happier without it that with it. The lack of all sensual pleasure paradoxically creates the greatest joy in the soul. I speak of pleasure as sensual delight. And with the suppression of sensual pleasure comes a greater spiritual pleasure which is not as high at a peak but sustained and persistent. And one can move the perverse things that one has learned from the front and center of one's mind and instead of them being the reason for one's living, instead make them silly shameful things that one used to do but has grown wiser than.

I tell myself I want to learn how to be happy when I suffer and am in pain. I do not have enough practice. I am not being abused and I am not ill, so I do not know how to practice suffering. I do not want to be violent to my own body. The most I have done is fasting. I am not fasting now, but I plan to take it up heavily for Lent this year. One meal and one cup of coffee would be a good goal. I would probably have to keep myself going with tea though, at least at first.

But what is a reason to live? God alone is all that matters to me. That is one thing I cannot overcome. All that matters in the end is God. My weakness is that I cannot imagine a world without God. I can imagine different Gods and different religions, but I cannot imagine no God. And with a God, I cannot get around the immortality of the soul. Sentience must be paired with immortality, otherwise it is a cruel joke or a complete waste of time. If one might think that eternal damnation is unfair, a thought which I can understand, I cannot but think that it is necessary for the world to have any purpose. Somehow in the mind of God it was acceptable to let many souls fall into eternal hellfire. I believe this, though I am not at the point where I do not wish that it were not so.

As frightening as the reality of hell is, as happy as the thought of heaven is. To imagine unending bliss without any more suffering. A crown of glory given to those who carry their cross. One can not speak much about heaven without sounding presumptuous or shallow. But the thought of it brings joy to the soul. If we have the pleasure of the joy of watching the sparrows chatter or the mourning doves coo, imagine if we have these joys and greater joys that never end but only increase as the time goes by and every moment of one's life is seen as a stepping stone towards such joy. Not pleasure, but joy. I see heaven as an eternity of joy and not an eternity of pleasure. If this makes sense, perhaps there will be pleasure as well, but the central happiness is joy. I think many see heaven as eternal pleasure, as if it is sleeping with a new beautiful virgin every night forever and ever. If there is anything as shallow and dirty as sexual intercourse in heaven I will be slightly disappointed. For if I were in heaven I would prefer to touch a woman's hand and look into her eyes and smile and that is enough. To gaze at the pure soul of Gemma for just a moment, or forever and ever, with the beauty of God in her face, no less than to look at the face of God himself. I can not speak of heaven. It is not filthy, it is the smile of a virgin, not the sighs of a fallen whore. Of what use is a virgin if all she is for is the destruction of her virginity?

There is someone who has lost her will to live. I have nothing to say to her. I do not know what to say. I would advise her to enter into the great silence. Into the great silence. And leave the world behind. There is no beauty left in the world. It is fallen. The only beauty left does not belong to the world as of herself, but is only that within the world that points to God. The beauty is the beauty of God Himself and how he is reflected in His creatures.

What does one see when one adores the Blessed Sacrament. One sees a little bread. But in the quiet of the night God is truly there looking back at you from the monstrance and if you ask Him to help you He will help you transform into a better person. He will give you peace, even in your suffering. Maybe I speak too broadly, I can only speak of myself. I would spend hours a day looking at Jesus if I could. Saying prayers and asking him what I always ask of him "Oh Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto thine heart". I do not know if I am sounding arrogant. I want to be innocent. Jesus was innocent and more pure than snow, yet He knew everything there is to know of sin, but was still innocent. I know a little, and the Lord knows I know only a little. As wicked as I was, when I venture out into the world I see depravity that makes my own depravity seem tame. But I sound like I think I am better than other people. What is one to do? If one believes one is at peace with God? What of others who do not share your religion and are therefore not at peace with God? His blood. Sprinkle it upon us and upon our children.

I am a glutton. I eat too much food and drink too much coffee. It is not making me unhappy, but I would be better off if I were more penitent. I may not have the will until Lent. I should go back to my rice and lentil diet with one egg. That would be a good way to live. I am looking forward to Lent. I want to be good. And temperance makes me happier, even though all men are drawn to be slaves to their desires. So that is my reason to live.

Immaculate Conception

Just a diary note today. On Sunday we had a High Mass for the Immaculate Conception. Notably Ronan was there, but so was angry Tom. Ronan did not want to sit at the same table with Tom. So what to do? I wanted to talk to both. So I stayed after Mass with Ronan for about twenty minutes and then went late to the diner with everyone else, including Tom. The thing is I lost my two books. I brought my Little Office and Way of the Cross to Mass because I planned on going to a couple of Churches early and praying in them. I did not use them because outside of the first Church I wanted to pray in I met Chris and he wanted to go walk across town to "the upper room" so I went with him. But I lost my books. I am not sure where. I am hoping that I lost them at Church and someone picked them up, probably Jan, and kept them and will return them to me next Sunday. If not I will have to buy them again. I really use them. Often. To pray. They are both published by Angelus Press and I like them both.

Ronan told me he will be there one Sunday in January. Though I also love Tom I hope he will not be there that week so Ronan will come out with all of us to talk. I like talking to him and he can talk to other people who he does not know well because he rarely comes to Mass because he has to work.

I don't know if I have anything interesting to say in this post. Just a diary note. My mother scolded the neighbor lady so now I do not think she wants to be friends with me anymore. She was talking to me and told me to take her name out of my phone so I did. So I may have lost a friend.

None of us know what to do during a high Mass. We only ever have Low Masses. So we don't know when to sit and kneel and stand. I try to follow the other people, but sometimes some people do different things and I do not know who to follow. I know when to do everything during a Low Mass. Father Sulzen seems to want to have more High Masses for us and now that we have the Lovely Helena to play the organ we can do it. We do not have incense though. Perhaps the fear is we would set off the sprinklers.

I just read an article about Thomas Merton. If true, he was not much of a monk. It accused him of bad things, and it was not from a traditionalist source. Another reason not to read Seven Story Mountain (which my father bought for me). It would be interesting to try to be a monk. I do not think it is possible for me but it would fit my life well. So I wish you well, my readers. I do not know how many of them are real people and how many are bots. But I do get some views. I wish you all well.

Elvia

So I went for a ride in a car today. I saw my neighbor lady while walking to Church today. She is there to pick up her daughter from school at 2:45 every day. I like to go to Church at that time to pray the Way of the Cross. She invited me into her car, or ordered me, the same. Her name is Elvia. We exchanged cell phone numbers. She asks me why I don't have a girlfriend and told me I should have a baby. I say I can't have a baby without a girl who wanted to have my child. She laughs. I asked her if I could get a pretty girl and she laughs. She told me she wants to have another baby and I said she didn't look pregnant and she said, not yet! She wants to wait until her child is older I guess. Her daughter is five. I saw she had two rosaries and a brown scapular hanging from her rear view mirror which I pointed out to her. She asked me if I Rosary and I said I had one in my pocket and she told me I should wear it around my neck. And she looked at my neck and touched me and checked under my collar with her hand to see if I had a Rosary there. And she combed my hair with her hand. My hair was wet with snow. I think a woman touching me in that way is a sign of flirting and sexual interest. But it has been a long time. My mother and father do not trust her and think she wants to steal my identity, or perhaps marry me for some reason, perhaps to become a citizen (I do not know if she is one) or for some kind of tax or welfare scheme. I am friendly with her because it is nice to have a friend. I do not have many friends. And she is a woman and all women are charming, even if she is not my type. But they do say with good reason a man's type of woman is the woman who is interested in him. She asked me where I was going to and I told her to 102nd street and she offered to drive me. When her daughter got into the car she drove me there and we had a little talk. Then I thanked her and got out of the car and walked back to Church where I said my prayers and then home.

I don't know why she is interested in me talking to me, a crazy poor man of no note. Perhaps she does want to take advantage of me or maybe she just thinks I am handsome. Every time I see her she acts happy or is happy and wants to talk. Maybe she is friendly to everyone for all I know. But my parents do not trust her and get upset when I talk to her. I just want to be friendly and nice to our neighbor and be friends.