Coming Out of the Broom Cupboard

I've separated this from my normal journal because I think it is a more significant event in my life than thoughts on life and bad childhood memories. It has affected me substantially, and given the negative reactions I've had in the past, I don't want any negativity I am given to impact the rest of my work. If you're going to hate, hate here.

So...I'm a witch.

There, not much of a blunter way to say it. It's not as simple as it sounds, yet it's the sentence I wish that I could say and be given no abnormal reaction. It hasn't happened yet, but I live in prayer. I should probably explain.

If you're following my journal entries, you'll know that I went through a phase when I was young involving my faith and my religious beliefs. It all centred around the absence of my mother and who was to blame, whether it was me, God or somebody else. Eventually, at a young age, I concluded that it was nobody's fault and life was just unfair; so I became atheist. In Year 7, I decided to start afresh in a new school without my violent tendencies. Anger management was a bomb, so was counselling because I found each and every session condescending and degrading (if you've had good counselling experiences, well done, you did a lot better than me.) So I turned to meditation, but, still rather inept around religion, the only faith I could connect to meditation was Buddhism, so I put myself under that label. Of course, having such little in common to Buddhists over than a belief in meditation and reincarnation didn't work, so I dropped the label and became intertwining beliefs of agnostic and existentialist, wondering but not knowing, and not knowing or caring depending on what mood I was in.

In Year 10, everything changed. I was introduced to a girl who I had never had much interaction with except through a mutual friend and now, our joint Art lessons. Quite early on, she told me her religion; Wicca. Also known as a branch of Paganism, and or, witchcraft. Some might have recoiled, others might have had the sudden mental image of a lightning-scarred teenage wizard. I was neither, rather, I was intrigued. I wanted to know more, and after extensive research, I slowly and surely discovered my religion.

The best way I can describe it is how I often hear others describing inspiration, a certain "click", as if suddenly everything around you converges and synchronises with you. As if, in that moment, you know that the information you read are what you were always meant to know, or the practices were what you were always capable of, deep inside you. It would all have been well and good, I was ecstatic, I felt like I'd found my place.

Of course, there were contributing factors against me. I lived in England, a country notoriously dominated by Christian doctrines for many years, and Wicca had a bad name amongst those I knew. A really bad one.

Everything was certainly converging on me, and I was pretty sure that it was going to attack.

The End

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