Forgive me, for I have sinned.”
Just kidding. I don’t care. After four stints at Good Sam in twelve months, around sixty days total, for very serious suicidal ideation, my trespasses seem trivial. Even though a sin is a sin.
Yet, I wonder, is a sin a sin if committed in the midst of hypomania? If the search for belonging driven by a less than present mind causes me to act in ways with which the church disagrees? Or, more importantly, with which God (supposedly) disagrees? Is that still evil? Am I that much more evil because of my illness?
Sometimes I act without my frontal lobe. It quite simply turns off. It turns back on, eventually; I return to reality and think, “fuck, what have I done? I’m going straight to hell, aren’t I?”
I’m a five-star sinner, always, but especially when ill.
My Catholic and Protestant friends have reassured me I am not, after all, going to hell.
So now what? Well, I wandered into Mass today and found myself praying a prayer for a dear friend and a prayer for myself. No, I didn’t ask for forgiveness. I’m not ready for that. I asked for help.