Two years ago today, it was announced at my local Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses that I was no longer one of them. And that's when the shunning began. I had attempted to send out a letter to a few of my close friends before the announcement was made as to why I was leaving so they wouldn't be shocked and at least I could say goodbye. One friend, who I'd known since I was 5 years old responded with anger. Another refused to speak to me, even before the announcement was made. Of all the people I knew and loved my whole life in that group, there was only one that wished me well.
I was alone the night the announcement was made. I heard it through a hook up patched secretly into the meeting's phone line. I was at a cottage, supposed to be enjoying a much-needed holiday. J was working that week and would arrive later. But I was alone when the announcement was made. And I cried alone.
When I was 15 my grandfather died. I was alone when I got the call from my parents. I cried alone then too.
J is gone now. The last witness to my jw past. I have been perusing photos today. We were happy once. We shared a lot of good times. Now they are gone. Like all the others in those photos. They are all gone. It is unlikely I will ever see these people again. Just like I will never see my grandfather again. Part of me has died along with each of them. And here I am, once more crying alone.
It is raining outside my window as I type this. The sky is gray, heavy with sadness. My heart feels like it has sunk into my stomach.
I do not yet feel the freedom of being released from the Matrix. The illusion was a warm blanket in a harsh world. All I feel is grief. The grief of what will never be again. And the unanswerable question of whether it ever was to begin with.