Because I’m As Cursed As Richmond

I swear, everything makes the gears in my head start turning lately. Tonight’s catalyst? A scene from this week’s episode of Ted Lasso. (I don’t think what I’m about to say spoils the whole thing, but here’s your chance to walk away?)

I Am Rebecca

I am a late-comer to the Ted Lasso craze, but I got hooked on it a few months ago after several people recommended it and two of my friends decided to just turn it on one night while I was at their house. 

Although I relate to bits and pieces of several of the characters, I see a lot of myself in Rebecca. Her husband left her for another woman (same). She tries to put up a positive front (same). And, lately, she’s been questioning her beliefs after some of the things her mom’s psychic said begin happening (kind of same, minus a psychic).

Tonight, though, it was that scene in the waiting room for me. I have moments like the one Rebecca has every single day. Everywhere I go in public, I become acutely aware of the fact that I’m often the only person there alone. When someone ran a stop sign and almost hit me the other morning, I briefly wondered who I’d tell someone to call if I needed medical care. I come home to an empty house half of the nights each week. The list goes on and on.

Honestly, though, it’s not the loneliness that eats away at me so much as the fact that I had someone who wanted to be my “forever person,” and I watched them slip away in what seemed like a matter of minutes. It’s like the Universe said, “Ah, yes, I see you there and I know what you want… but I’m afraid the answer to that is no.”

None of like rejection. It stings. But, usually, when another human tells us no, we can eventually rationalize it in a way that removes at least a portion of that pain. Our friends and loved ones even stroke our egos and offer words of encouragement while absolving us of any blame.

When our Higher Power tells us no, though? Well, that’s something entirely different. 

As Cursed As Richmond 

I told Emily (and several of my friends) that I firmly believed she was my redemption arc. She was one of the few people who knew me inside and out. She knew about my past, and she showed me time and time again that, despite what I’d been told or experienced in my past relationships, I was actually worthy of love and happiness.

It’s often hard to see this situation in a way that makes sense. It’s even harder to not see Emily’s death as God’s way of saying “no.” 

The idea that Richmond is “cursed” comes up in virtually every season of Ted Lasso so far. And, honestly, I often wonder the same about myself.

I’ve always felt “different” from everyone else. I know that many people don’t always feel like they “fit in,” and I’ve accepted that I’m too much for most people to endure. And, to be perfectly honest, I’ve grown comfortable with being a social outcast.

However, I also frequently feel like I’m too much for God, too. 

I told the people in my Disciple class last Wednesday that I feel like The Bible has been used against me a lot in life, and if I’m going to Hell, then so be it. Although most of them chuckled a bit at my dramatics and tried to make me feel better, I couldn’t tell them the extent of it. And before now, I’ve only told one person all of these things, and that’s Emily.

I remember in middle school when I tried to confide in a teacher about some of the things my “boyfriend” was doing to me. He responded by saying, “Now, he goes to my church. He’s a good Christian boy. He wouldn’t do those things.” And I internalized that as, “You’re the problem, not him. God loves him, not you. You’re cursed.”

I also remember hearing people I went to school with talking about how God always answers their prayers. For an entire month, I prayed to die because it’s the only solution I saw to escaping what was happening at the time. When it went unanswered even after me attempting with a combination of medications I had access to, I decided that clearly God didn’t care about me enough to answer my prayer (flawed logic, I know).

By high school, I was fully aware of my sexuality but very closeted. In Sunday School one week, our teacher brought up homosexuality being a sin. I pushed back a bit and asked for references to that in The Bible. By the end of that conversation, I left the room feeling completely defeated because, although I’m supposedly made in God’s image, a part of my identity is not accepted by God (supposedly).

I’m mentally ill, I’m divorced, I’ve attempted suicide more than once. I am very openly gay at this point, I’ve had sex outside of marriage, and I once drunkenly kissed someone in a nightclub. Hell, I had a miscarriage which to some people might as well be an abortion. I feel like there’s been a point in my life where nearly every aspect of my existence has gone against what’s considered “good” in the eyes of the Lord.

What Do You Do When God Says No?

One of the things I loved about my relationship with Emily was the fact that we could openly talk about our faith. She never once thought I was crazy, which is pretty impressive given that I told her my entire theory about purgatory and how this theory could help unite many world religions. She also never once judged me for all of my questions and worries about faith. 

But, the one thing she always argued with me on was when I would say anything about not being worthy enough or being “too much” for God. Because, according to her, that’s just “not possible.”

Even though Emily’s death felt like God slamming a door in my face, I’ve tried really hard to “keep the faith” because it’s yet another connection to Emily. 

After decades of feeling “cursed,” I really started to find my footing with faith again, just like the matchbook and the woman’s tongue-tied moment made Rebecca wonder if the psychic was right. But, like the phone call from the doctor, everything since October 19 has felt like a constant reminder that I’m not worthy. 

I wish I could ask Emily so many things right now. But, here I am, alone in my bedroom, wanting to know why not.


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