Tied to a Sharp Cross: A Broken Catholic Story

By John Doe

When I look back on the day it started, something that I always remember was how sunny it was outside. To be able to walk around, in Cork especially, and not need to worry about having a jacket, I was able to feel something that you don’t get much here– warmth. Thinking back on the day, it reminded me of what George Orwell wrote in his novel, 1984, “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” It may have not been the same horrors that were foreseen in his novel, but it seemed to be a sign for the hell I was about to endure. I saw them with a small stand handing out free coffee and tea. I went to get a coffee and they explained to me how they wanted to create a Catholic group for young people. I thought it was an interesting idea because my church at home was mostly older people, so to be with more people my age was intriguing. I decided to join and they made me sign a consent form with my phone number. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but this soon turned out to be one of my greatest regrets, I signed myself into a cult.

In my life, I guess I was just born Catholic. My family was religious, so I guess I was too. The main thing I knew about it was there was a man in the sky who would pass judgment if we followed what his teachings stated. I wasn’t a serious believer, but I did like to use the framework to help build a good moral compass. Back at home, there wasn’t a Catholic community that knew English, so we played a part in building one. In the span of a decade we grew to be a community of over 100, but even being a core member, I still felt different. 

Being a young child that was part of building a community, I was put on a pedestal as the “perfect Catholic child”, even though I wasn’t. It was strange not being a true believer in a group that believes you are. Maybe it was because I was born on the spectrum, but the way I absorbed the teachings really forced me to divide myself based on my mentality. I had to filter the accepted stuff in and keep the restricted stuff out. This eventually led to me having a second voice in my head, a whole other version of myself that I want to disassociate with, but they’re just stuck to me, voicing the intrusive thoughts that may not even be mine. In the end, it was hard. I couldn’t go to the cross with hope for forgiveness, I was on my knees begging for mercy. With my family being serious believers in the community, and not having many friends, I was all alone. 

When I met them, I thought it would be a nice opportunity to be with a community of people my age. Since it’s majority was students, I thought it would be a laid back group who used religion in a similar way as me. In the beginning, it was fine. Everyone was nice and every week we would all meet up on Sundays and have brunch together. There were even days when we came together to play board games, and through that, I was happy to see that the group was what I had hoped it would be. Then I noticed something strange, there would be times I may talk about something that wasn’t on par with the standards of their beliefs, and the feel of the room changes. The leaders’ expressions would shift, I would be given disapproving looks, and be told that what I was saying was wrong. 

When I first met them, they said that they were open to hearing all opinions, but I guess that may not be the case. I tried to ignore it, but then it kept on happening. From small anecdotes to even jokes and riddles, somehow religion has to always play a role in listening and criticizing everything. It was discomforting because I would always enter the room thinking I am being judged. Given how introverted I am, and how much social anxiety I hold, I felt obligated to reach their standards. Even though I wasn’t a serious believer in Catholicism, it was always something that was a part of me since birth. With me living on my own and taking responsibility for myself, the leaders were the closest thing to a mentor that I had.

Then the bible studies came in, and that's when I realised that I couldn’t take part in this anymore. The first lesson we were taught was about having blind faith and following what is being told to you. If someone says the plate is hot, don’t touch it–seems to be the explanation for following religious authority. The next lesson was about the use of religion, and when I told them the way I use it, they shut me down. They explained how it was the worst way, and how you need to dedicate your full life to Jesus. 

I noticed that they saw I was different the following week when they added me to a group called ‘Exodus 77’. It was a program to test your faith by completely disconnecting yourself. I couldn’t use technology, I had to fast for the majority of the week, take cold showers, I could only view Catholic media, and I would be assigned a person to overlook my progress. I’d had enough and left the group chat, then the voices came back. I would wake in a cold sweat, and would hyperventilate in the middle of the night. Even in a silent dark room, I never knew it could be so loud. After many nights, I lost my fear of death and found comfort in it, which was the scariest thing. Even after all the suffering, at least there was a way out.

I eventually broke and told my friends in the society I was in. From what I told them, they said I had most definitely got myself into a cult. They comforted me, and gave me the strength to block the missionaries and leave the group. From that point on they became more than friends, they became my family. The leaders still reside today, but I don’t fear them when they’re around. I learned to take pride in who I was, and that it's okay to be a broken Catholic. I can’t say that there's an easy lesson to this story, but I will encourage you that you shouldn’t let people or religion be the judge of who you are. Though these religions will try to encourage others to be a reflection of their saints, there is still beauty in being cracked, fractured, and broken.