Missing my way home

I'm in another one of my melancholy moods again. To my right is a box of scarves that I use as hijabs whenever my heart starts crying out for the religion of my childhood... My relationship with religion is complicated that way. I guess I don't owe anyone an explanation, but still. It's painful having to go on this merry-go-round of identity, and I can't help but wonder if I'll ever truly heal enough from my childhood to be able to make it back home to Islam... if that's what's meant for me.

I just miss having the security of thinking that my deeds could get me to Heaven; that it was partially in my own hands and in my own control. I also miss having a plan for my future where I'd get married and have a family. My other parts don't have the same sentiments, and if they do they are divided on the matter.

I just want to be able to go home... but I wonder if that will ever be possible again...

I don't wish this pain on anyone, truly. Losing your culture and your home religion is a pain that is so unbearable and shatters your very idea of who you are as a person... It hurts so very much... and I miss my family too. The family that separated from me for speaking out against some familial abuse. Even if they did me wrong by doing that, they were the only family I knew for a long time...

I'm going to try to be kind to myself about this, but it really does sting.