I Hate Myself On Sundays

Sunday came again today, God.

As much as I didn't want it to, it came like every other day.

Only it seems every other day I seem to able to count it all joy to face trials, to find hallow delight in spending quiet times with You, to serve eagerly, to wait patiently, to live fully.

But not on Sundays.


I get up, dreading each step of preparation — getting dressed, brushing my teeth, combing my hair. Each step takes me closer to church. And church is a place of disappointment.

I try not to have hopes anymore when I walk through the doors. If I don't expect anything, then there's less chance of being hurt. At least… that's what I tell myself.

I cringe at the thought of going to get a bulletin because I know someone will be there to greet me, wanting to shake hands and offer and cheery "Hello!"… inside I'm begging to be invisible. "Please don't see me… please don't touch me…" but I rarely get away with it. I try to get it over with as fast as possible.

I was told to sit in a certain spot each Sunday. I was thrilled at the prospect! I gave me a 'job', a place to fit, an idea of how to negotiate this horrendously large group of people milling in and out. But most Sundays now I think it was put upon me to do so just to put me somewhere

Guilt bites at me.

There are only 3 people I want sitting anywhere near me. When they aren't able to, I don't want anyone close.

Today was hard. Mom and Dad weren't able to make it at all today… the other was busy. But when that other actually sits beside me, I revel in how she's able to calm my fritzed nerves just by letting me watch how she interacts with people. But I have to see it to know it. If I can't see her, then I can't see. I'm blind… 'mind blind' some specialists call it.

Guilt continues to bite.

Needing that special someone ONLY to be within personal space of… it is a cumbersome burden for anyone. On the Sundays I'm alone, at least I know I'm not that burden that day. But I am not a puppy dog. I don't meant to be that nuisance tag-a-along. I just am. Some people mean well and are kind. But don't get in my space. It's reserved. Can't they see that, God?

Today, God, we heard a sermon on JOY.

I wanted to vomit.

I needed a drink.

No one can ever know the depth of joy I have in You. But Christians seem to think we need to appear a certain way… approach others a certain way… smile a certain way… maybe we do. I wish people understand a fuller range of expression though than angels singing on high.

And the guilt eats me alive.

I cannot engage people like the others do. But this is interpreted as having a lack of joy… lack of care… lack of concern…

We were told today that if we were going to make other people miserable, we need to get out of the way.

Okay, God.

Get me out of the way.

You've called me to be amongst Your people and I love You above all others… above all else. Thus I keep going every week. I keep preparing my body and mind every Sunday.

But I want to scream when strangers sit near me when I haven't invited them. I want to run when people reach out to shake hands. I want to sob with embarrassment when I wander around afterwards like that lost puppy, not knowing how to 'make small talk' nor do I care to.

Yet… where else can I be where there's people and not make life work, work, work all the time?

I am ashamed. I know You want more.

I am ashamed. I know many don't understand the puzzle of what certain people call Aspergers.

I am ashamed that many don't believe me that it affects me as it does.

I am ashamed that my Sunday afternoons are spent melting down in tears, trying to cope, to process, to understand conversations, to re-group and pep talk myself back to at least a functional level.

I am ashamed that I don't understand people's intentions, motives, reactions or desires… at least, not until later after I've worked it through.

I am ashamed that I understand people's intentions, motives, reactions or desires perhaps TOO WELL sometimes and speak out of turn or bottle it inside and let the paranoia build to destruction.

"Don't let the devil steal your joy"… I've GOT joy! DON'T THEY SEE IT????

"You need to have more people skills"… if I had a nickel for every time someone said that…

"You've got to get past this"… if only I could. Believe me, I fail you, me and God every Sunday. I don't need to have it rubbed in.

I hate myself on Sundays.

Why can't every day be a day where I fight to free people? Research trends, write letters, make plans, pray, meditate, offer soup, offer help…? Just be quiet and tucked away and serve my Lord?

Why church? Why such fear of the fake smiles knowing that perhaps many are terrified like I am?

It will take a good few hours to a day to overcome a Sunday. The d
ay of rest.

For me… it is a day of hell.

And I wish I could be different for it.

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