Losing My Religion
Dear loved ones,
It is a beautiful sunny and warm day here in Toronto Canada. Perfect weather for suntanning on my balcony. I love it. Today I am wearing a bikini because my daughter is also suntanning and she said she doesn’t want to look at my boobs while we are having a conversation. I get it, just weird and funny too. I prefer to be in the nude though.
I got thinking that I have not mentioned anything about my first husband in this blog and how there is a big gap in my personal story. Everything fits together like a big jigsaw puzzle and all the pieces were necessary. Let’s call my first husband Cleve for reference, although that is not his name.
Cleve and I married young, he was 19 and I was 20. We were both virgins on our wedding night. He hung out in the bathroom for 2 hours afraid to come out and be with me, that is how shy he was and inexperienced. I didn’t have a clue either so I hid under the covers. Isn’t this sweet. Smiley face.
We finally got together and had 3 babies, one right after the other. So, Cleve is the father of my 3 children and I didn’t have any children with my second husband although I wanted another one just to cement the relationship. It didn’t happen as it turned out. He was too old for this responsibility and he had already had his children from his first marriage.
Cleve and I belonged to and were raised in a religious organization that was cult like (but aren’t they all) and it completely controlled our lives and influenced everything we did and every thought we had. They had their noses in our bedroom too.
Cleve was a pretty good husband but he was way too immature and self-centered. To be polite, he had the emotional maturity of a 2-year-old. In fact, he was known to lie on the floor and kick his feet like a spoiled brat when things didn’t go his way. In our religion the man is the head of the family and makes all the important decisions and his wife (me) had to listen and follow her head and be subservient and obedient. As you can well imagine this didn’t go over too well with me. It was not possible or logical or reasonable to keep supressing myself into this mould.
I became very ill and was dying. I lost 40 lbs and was thin to begin with. I almost lost the battle to live. My children were the only ones worth living for.
The doctor’s fought hard to save my life and I finally let them help me. I had been brainwashed to believe that god didn’t want me to save myself by accepting a blood transfusion. The night before a major surgery, my doctor spoke to me and said that I may not live during the operation and maybe would not see my children again, was I really sure of my stand on not accepting a blood transfusion. I told the doctor that I didn’t want to die and I didn’t want to leave my children without their mother and please do what you need to do to save my life, but do not let my husband know or do not even let me know. I signed all the necessary papers.
I do not know for a fact if I received a blood transfusion and not a word have I spoken about this until a few days ago when I told my daughter this secret, and now I am telling you.
That day, quite a few years ago now, was the day I lost my religion.
Thank you for reading my blog post today. I love you all very much and am confident that you will understand my decision. Hugs & Kisses, Summerhill Lane