#patron saint of those with mental illness

[cellabella-illuminates]

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[mathemon]

Did you hear what they did to Saint Valentine?

He would have never supported the mentally ill or the LBGTQIA+ community.

Tell me you know nothing about history without telling me you know nothing about history

[pinknatural]

Pick out the biggest, reddest, juiciest strawberries. Wash ‘em real good. Lay them out on a tray covered in parchment paper. Pat them dry, and leave them out. Put some chocolate chips in a bowl, and microwave in 30 second intervals. After the chocolate is good and melted, pick up the strawberries by the stem and dip them in, coating them thoroughly before putting them back on the tray. 

Dean’s never made chocolate-covered strawberries before. Never had a reason to. It’s kinda nice, to dedicate all his focus to making sure the chocolate is covering up the berries evenly. To try not to get them to drip. 

Since moving into the Bunker, Dean’s found that baking is fun. He likes putting a bunch of stuff together and seeing delicious results. And chocolate-covered strawberries aren’t exactly rocket science, but he knows they’ll taste good and make Sammy happy and that’s all he really wants, right?

Plus, he thinks, gently placing another strawberry back on the parchment paper. He doesn’t think Jack has ever had a chocolate-covered strawberry before, and he can just picture the kid’s excited eyebrows at the taste. 

He picks up another strawberry, pinching all the leaves between his fingers so they don’t get chocolatey. He dips it nice and slow into the glass bowl, turning it gently as he brings it out of the chocolate.

“What are you doing?” 

Dean yelps, nearly dropping his strawberry. 

“Jesus christ, Cas, you snuck up on me!” he says, turning to glare over his shoulder. Cas is standing just behind him, staring curiously. He could’ve been there for two minutes or twenty. Dean didn’t even know he was in the Bunker, let alone the kitchen. “I’m not kidding about that bell, dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says. He doesn’t sound a bit sorry at all. Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to his strawberry, putting it on the tray next to the other completed ones. Cas moves in closer. “What is the purpose of this exercise?”

“Chocolate-covered strawberries,” Dean says. 

“I see that,” Cas says. He sniffs, as if the smell disagrees with him. “But why are you covering the strawberries in the chocolate? Is it for a spell?”

“No, it’s a dessert. Like a candy, I guess,” Dean says. “For Valentine’s Day.”

“Ah, yes,” Cas says. “Unattached drifter Christmas.”

Something in Dean’s heart stabs, at that. He hates that Cas has heard him say that, or heard Sam reference it, or whatever. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking away from Cas’ eyes. The strawberries are safer to look at. “I guess.”

Cas’ big hands enter Dean’s field of view, and he plucks up a strawberry. Not one with chocolate on it. A naked one. Despite himself, Dean looks back up at Cas. It’s hard to not look at him. He has a very nice face.

“What does chocolate strawberries have to with the patron saint of bees?” 

“Bees?”

“And epilepsy,” Cas says, squinting at the strawberry. “And the mentally ill. And happy marriages.”

“Uh, it’s more about the happy marriages thing,” Dean says. “Valentine’s Day is about love and shit.”

“And strawberries,” Cas says, nodding wisely, as if he understands everything. He sets the strawberry back on the tray. Dean’s not sure if he’s fucking with him or not. Surely after all this time on earth, Cas knows what fucking Valentine’s Day is. 

“You give the strawberries to your Valentine,” Dean says. “Or chocolate or whatever. Or those fucking disgusting chalky heart things. But Eileen loves chocolate-covered strawberries and so these are for Sam. To give to her.”

Dean told Sam to make his own chocolate-covered strawberries, but Sam said that either Dean could make them or he would buy some from the store. And Dean does not trust fucking Hy-Vee to have quality chocolate-covered strawberries. He picks up Cas’ naked strawberry--the last one--and dips it into the chocolate. 

“That’s very kind of you,” Cas says, watching him. “To help Sam out.”

“Whatever,” Dean mutters, holding the strawberry up so the excess chocolate can drip back into the bowl. “I wanted Jack to try some, too.”

“You say that like it will make me think you less kind,” Cas says. Dean is tempted to throw him out of the kitchen. But goddamnit, he likes Cas and likes when Cas hangs out with him and asks stupid questions about Valentine’s Day. But knows that Saint Valentine is the patron saint of epilepsy, or whatever. Ugh. 

Dean never knows when Cas is leaving, anyway, so he’s gotta take all the time he can get. He leaves his strawberries behind and fetches another glass bowl. The white chocolate chips are already out, beside the opened bag of regular chocolate chips. 

“I thought you said white chocolate was an abomination,” Cas says, watching Dean pour some into the bowl. 

“It is,” Dean says. “But it will look fancier this way, trust me.” He puts the bowl in the microwave, punches in a 3-0-enter then turns around to look at Cas. He’s inspecting the neat line of chocolate-covered strawberries. They’re a little messier than Dean wants, but hell, it’s his very first try. 

“I don’t understand why you would put the chocolate on the strawberries,” Cas says. “My understanding is that strawberries are perfectly good on their own.”

“Dude, bacon is perfectly good on its own and we put chocolate on that,” Dean says. He crosses back to the counter and picks up a strawberry by the stem, holds it out to Cas. “Go on, try it.”

He expects Cas to take the strawberry from him--chocolate end first, and then he’ll get chocolate all over his fingers and Dean will die a million deaths watching him lick the chocolate off. Instead, Cas does something a thousand times worse and leans forward, biting into the strawberry without taking it, like Dean’s feeding it to him or some shit. 

Dean has a vision of a picnic somewhere, red and white checkered blanket and all. The sky is blue and the grass is soft and Cas’ head is in Dean’s lap and Dean’s feeding him strawberries and kissing him between each one. 

But instead Cas just--doesn’t break eye contact. Just stares, as he bites into the strawberry, chews and swallows. 

“Good?” Dean says, mouth dry. 

Cas closes his eyes, licking his lips. “Mmm, very.” He straightens back up. Even though he licked his lips, he missed a little--has a chocolate mustache. Dean has the insane urge to lick it right off his face. 

“Uh, you got some--chocolate,” Dean croaks instead. He mimes with his own thumb. Cas swipes the chocolate and succeeds in smearing it everywhere. 

“Did I get it?” he asks, and his wide blue eyes hypnotize Dean into reaching forward and wiping the chocolate off Cas’ face with his own fingers. Then Dean licks the chocolate off his thumb. 

Then Dean realizes that the microwave is beeping and the white chocolate’s first 30 seconds have been up for a long time, and he should probably go get that, and he escapes across the kitchen. 

“The strawberry molecules and chocolate molecules are very pleasing together,” Cas says. “Do humans put chocolate on other fruits?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, stirring the white chocolate frantically. If he doesn’t look at Cas maybe Cas will think that what just happened was normal, and that Dean isn’t fucking insane. “Uh, apples, bananas, pineapples. I think I saw it on kiwi once. Uh, maybe orange slices.”

“Fascinating,” Cas says. Dean puts the white chocolate back into the microwave. “Yes, I think Jack would like that very much.”

“Good,” Dean says. He goes to the fridge, gets a beer. Opens it on the side of the counter and takes a big swig. The microwave beeps.

It’s all melted. Dean grabs a spoon and goes over to the berries. He is not confident about this part at all, but crazyforcrust.com said to use a spoon. And hopefully he can get, like four or five good-looking ones for Sam, and the rest can be for him to pig out on on the fourteenth alone in his room while he tries not to wonder where Cas is. 

He dips the spoon into the white chocolate and covers it, then raises it over a strawberry and zig-zags over it, letting the white chocolate drip and drizzle overtop.

“See?” Dean says to Cas, who he knows is watching. “You can hardly taste the white chocolate this way but it looks good.” Well, it doesn’t look bad. Dean’s sure they’ll look better as he goes.

“I see,” Cas says. He points to the drizzled strawberry. “Are you giving that one to Sam?”

“No,” Dean says. “That one was just a practice one.”

“Good,” Cas says, and he picks up the strawberry by the stem. Dean’s never, ever seen him go for seconds before, but he makes a mental note of it. But then Cas turns the strawberry around, unmistakably offering it to Dean. “You should have one. You made them.”

“But--” Dean starts to say, and then Cas brings it up, so it nearly touches Dean’s lips. He looks at him with the same kind of focus he gives to a hunt, or smiting demons. 

“Eat it,” he says, nudging Dean’s lips with the fruit. Dean opens his mouth and bites into it. Maybe Dean would lay his head on Cas’ lap in their picnic, and Cas would feed Dean. 

The strawberry is good, probably. Dean’s not really sure what it tastes like. All he can see are Cas’ eyes, boring into his. 

Dean swallows. 

“You don’t have any chocolate on your face,” Cas says. He sounds disappointed. Dean can’t unpack that. 

“That’s ‘cause the chocolate is less melty,” Dean says, mostly on autopilot. He feels a million miles away. “Cause it’s starting to harden.”

“Okay,” Cas says. “Can I help with the drizzle?”

“Oh,” Dean says, shaken out of some kind of trance. “Sure. Get a spoon.”

Cas fetches one. He holds it like an instrument of war. Dean loves him so fucking much.

They drizzle white chocolate over the strawberries. Cas does it so precisely his drizzles look like they came from the store. Dean’s drizzles improve. He makes a couple decent ones. For Jack, he guesses, ‘cause the ones Cas made should probably go to Sam.

“I gave you a strawberry,” Cas says out of nowhere. “And you gave me one. Does that make us Valentines?”

Dean freezes. 

A moment later, his heart restarts and he looks at Cas, who is solemnly drizzling. Then he looks innocently up at Dean, and Dean realizes that Cas has absolutely been fucking with him this whole time. Absolutely knows about Valentine’s Day, absolutely ate that strawberry out of Dean’s hand on purpose. Dean narrows his eyes at him. Cas tilts his head. 

“You’re a menace,” Dean grumbles. 

“That’s not a no,” Cas says. 

“You’re right,” Dean says. “I guess it does make us Valentines.” Cas smiles, a tiny, private thing, and then looks back down at his drizzling. 

“Good,” he says quietly, and Dean ducks his head, cheeks warm and heart fluttering, and he lifts up his spoon. 

It’s kind of cold in Kansas in February, but Dean imagines him and Cas wrapped in blankets,  feeding each other chocolate-covered strawberries in front of the TV. This time, he thinks, he’ll actually taste the strawberry. And you know what? Dean’s sure that those strawberry molecules and those chocolate molecules are gonna be fucking fantastic.

Especially if he gets to kiss them off Cas’ lips. 

(ao3)

[banishedchildofeve]

˚｡⋆ Patron Saints that help guide us through the year

₊⋆·˚ ⁀➴ ༉‧₊˚. ₊ ⊹ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✧˚ .

- St. Dymphna ; the Patron Saint of mental illness.

while it can hard for us to admit that we are struggling mentally on a serious level, we have all had moments of feeling very low. i personally have struggled, and so struggle with, anxiety, depression, anger issues etc. these have been serious issues for me and i learnt a prayer i will link - here - that has helped me know St. Dymphna. ˚࿐

- St. Vitus ; the Patron Saint of oversleeping.

we have all overslept once, if not maybe multiple times a week or month. for some, oversleeping is a rare misfortune, but for others, including me, oversleeping is a regular problem and has affected my life in a various of negative ways. here is a - link - to a prayer that i found. ˚࿐

- St. Phillip Neri ; the Patron Saint of joy (and friendship).

i dunno about all of you guys, but i have lost more friends then i have gained since leaving high school. this isn’t a bad thing as a lot of the people i spent time with weren’t very nice, but like most people, i am always wishing for more friends. friendship is so important, and i read up about St. Phillip Neri and learnt so much. he is also the Saint of Joy! here is a - prayer - ˚࿐

- St. Padre Pio ; the Patron Saint of stress relief (and adolescents).

we all get stressed, duh. stress can take a toll on so many aspects of our lives, including our health on a long-term scale. trying to reduce stress is ironically, quite a stressful process. i have found peace in a plenty of Bible verses that talk about being calm and trusting God. i have also found peace in Padre Pio, a Saint who i knew about long before God called me to Catholicism. i have him on a bracelet, haha. here is a - prayer - by St. Padre Pio i have found, and also a - prayer - TO Padre Pio. ˚࿐

- St. Expeditus ; the Patron Saint of procrastination.

if someone says they don’t procrastinate, i’m 99.9% sure they’re lying. you do it, i do it, we know it’s bad, but it can be so hard to fight sometimes. good thing we have St. Expeditus! here is a - prayer - that we should all recite daily. i wish you the best! ˚࿐

- St. Anthony ; the Patron Saint of lost things.

my keys, my glasses, my card, sometimes even whole outfits or pairs of shoes… how many times a week, even a day, do we lose things we own? i’m sure we all know about St. Anthony, most atheists know about him, but i often find myself forgetting that he is there for us. a - prayer - to the finder of those annoying lost items.

- St. Jude ; the Patron Saint of lost causes (and “impossible” circumstances).

we have all thought a situation we’ve been in is completely and totally helpless. we’re stuck, there’s no way out and this feeling might just be forever. despite how hard these moments are, however long or short they may last, they do always end. we end up feeling better. however, that’s not to say that that feeling of helplessness isn’t so hard to bare. i’ve been there, i understand. i only recently learnt about St. Jude, (prior to this, the only ‘jude’ i knew of was the Beatles song… forgive me…). thankfully, St. Jude represents hope for the hopeless and miracles for all of us facing those helpless circumstances. - prayers

₊⋆·˚ ⁀➴ ༉‧₊˚. ₊ ⊹ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✧˚ .

i hope this was somehow useful. God bless you. <3

౨ৎ

i also just make up my own prayers to Saints when needed. sometimes we don’t resonate with a prayer, and that’s okay. i often add to prayers or find myself reciting my own. i linked prayers for suggestions, not as some sort of strict guideline :)

౨ৎ

[houseofcatwic]

Move over, St. Patrick … Today is also the Feast Day of St. Gertrude of Nivelles, patron saint of cats and those who love them, travelers in search of lodging, gardeners, and those with mental illness …

[leroibobo]

the church of saint george monastery in al-khader, palestine. this is one of the two major shrines of st. george in palestine, the other being in lydda. saint george is believed to have been imprisoned here, and the chains which fettered him are believed to have provided him with his healing powers. pilgrims may place a chain around their neck then step through it with the help of resident clergy to prevent mental illnesses.

saint george is the patron saint of palestinian, lebanese, and syrian christians. for muslims in those and surrounding areas, he's been syncretized with extra-quranic prophet al-khadir. they've also been syncretized with other biblical and mythical figures, including the jewish prophet elijah. so it's no surprise that, like many middle eastern religious sites, this church has historically been a place for pilgrimage for christians, muslims, and jews alike. palestinian christians and muslims continue to patronize the site today - they both picnic on the monastery's grounds on saint george's feast day.

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in Irish History | 15 May:

In the Liturgical calendar, it is the Feast Day of St Dymphna. According to tradition, she lived in the 7th century and was the daughter of a pagan Irish king and his Christian wife. She was murdered by her father. St. Dymphna is the patron saint of the nervous, emotionally disturbed, mentally ill, and those who suffer neurological disorders – and, consequently, of psychologists, psychiatrists,…

[forget-meabh-not]

We feel embarrassed about asking this, but could you aid us in getting a new collective name? We seen a bunch of people requesting Celtic names and it looked cool.. /w\ could we have one too? (We’re making a list of names we think we’d go by collectively)

(We originally wanted names that’s based off / meaning or surrounding creation, celestial/space themes, or machine/android themes…)

- The Corporate Tower

Dymphna

pronounced DYMPH-nuh

The name comes from a legend of a martyred saint who was said to be the patron saint of the mentally ill and those who experienced trauma :3!

Aisling

pronounced ASH-luhn or AES-lin

it means dream or vision !

hopefully one of these will maybe work ?

-Link

[clovers-practice]

intro post!!

my name is Clover! i am a Nondenominational Catholic (kinda a witch?) very interested in early church teachings, Gnosticism, folk Catholicism, and Christian mysticism + witchcraft.

I was raised Evangelical but left the church early on. I felt the call of Our Lady of Sorrows and eventually converted to Catholicism on 3/14/24.

I am autistic and Religion is my special interest, mainly Abrahamic but i adore pagan religions as well.

I follow the teachings of St. Mary of Magdala and Mary Mother of God, but some other saints I work with are:

St Dymphna, patron saint of the mentally ill, incest survivors, those with epilepsy and many more

sleeping St Joseph, patron saint of sleep

St Zita, patron saint of maids, domestic servants, and cleaning

I use this blog to document my studies, take notes, do research, talk about my saints and overall practice. I'd love it if you came on this religious journey with me!

My asks are open so don't be shy! Ask questions, tell me about your own practice, whatever you like! this is a safe space for EVERYONE regardless of race, sexuality, gender, past or present. (Do be respectful though, hate will be deleted)

this is a sideblog so any follows are from my main, but I usually reblog before I follow!

Have a wonderful night/day! blessed be!✨✨

[ettawritesnstudies]

16! for the all hallows eve game, if its alright!

16. St. Dymphna

This is a sad story, but an important one <3

St. Dymphna was born in Ireland sometime in the 7th century. Her mother was devoutly Christian, but her father was a pagan. When she was 14, she devoted herself to Christ and took a vow of chastity. Soon after, her mother died, and her father took it hard. He started going insane, and when his advisors suggestted he try to remarry someone as beautiful as his wife, he decided instead to marry his teenaged daughter.

Dymphna, understandably, ran away from home with her priest friend, and settled in Geel, Belgium, where she used the last of her wealth to found a hospital for the poor and sick. Her generosity turned to renown, and her father discovered her location. He killed the priest and tried to demand Dymphna return to Ireland and marry him, and when she refused, he killed her too. In great charity, she forgave her father, and after he left, the people of Geel buried the young saint and her priest. This began a tradition of caring for the mentally ill and many miracles are attributed to her shrine as the patron saint of those suffering from mental illness.

All Hallows Ask Game

[cellabella-illuminates]

May 15th - Happy feast day to St. Dymphna, patron saint to those who are suffering from mental illness!

[iphisesque]

i do find it very distasteful though how many presentations and votives to st dymphna will whitewash her narrative if that makes sense. it's always "patron saint of the mentally and emotionally ill" and then sometimes her other attributes and only seldom do people actually add "patron saint of incest victims". i am perhaps not the most credible person to speak on this topic but if you're worshipping a saint you can't just pick and choose their attributes (especially if they're so few like in dymphna's case, it can be a bit of a different story when it comes to those saints with dozens of patronages on them). there's a stigma

[dzgrizzle]

Today is not only St Patrick's Day; it is also the Feast Day of Gertrude of Nivelles, the seventh-century woman who was known for her hospitality. She is also considered to be the patron saint of cats.

Gertrude lived in what is today Belgium, but she had close ties with Irish monasteries. Her Vita states that Gertrude was "an intelligent young woman, scholarly and charitable, devoting herself to the sick, elderly, and poor," who memorized much of the Bible, as well as books on theology and law. She cared for orphans, widows, captives, and travelers—and welcomed cats into her home. She is also considered the patron saint of the recently deceased, those with mental illness...and anyone who has a morbid fear of mice!

[theparadoxmachine]

I need to explain why this man means so much to me.

I grew up in the 90s, actually a little too young to have watched him the first go around. But growing up, I feel like every show I watched had a storyline where the main character has to learn the lesson Be Yourself. And that's a fine message. But those characters were specifically designed to appeal to a mass audience of kids. They were everyman style characters. And frankly, it's easier to Just Be Yourself when you're an everyman and the weirdest thing about you is that you still play with Barbies in middle school (everyone did this I think) I liked those characters fine too. There's nothing wrong with Lizzie MacGuire or Ginger Foutley. But they weren't me. The characters that most resembled me were usually in episodes where the lesson was Don't Judge a Book By Its Cover. See it's a lot harder to swallow the lesson of "Just be yourself! Give people a chance to know the real you!" When you're weird. And I was WEIRD.

I now realize that I am in fact a traumatized, mentally ill neurodivergent queer woman, but back then I was a Weird Girl. So yeah good for you Lizzie, you're not getting bullied for ribbon dancing but what were my peers supposed to do with someone like me? I was reading Poe at the age of 8. I was quiet and liked fire and wanted to be a war goddess while being afraid of everything. The family joke was that I was actually from another planet. I was processing trauma I didn't know I had while listening to John Williams and Fleetwood Mac while everyone else was listening to Hansen and the Spice Girls. I loved reading about curses and cryptids and medieval torture devices. No amount of just be yourself messages from cartoon preteens was going to cut it.

But then there was Pee-wee. Pee-wee was WEIRD. His entire thesis statement was weirdness. He was the Patron Saint of Weirdos. He looked me dead in my eyes and, as Paul said on Portlandia, told me BEING WEIRD IS NOT A CRIME. When someone with a pet pterodactyl and a talking armchair tells you it's ok to be yourself, you fucking believe them. He walked the weird walk and took as many weirdos along with him as were willing to join him. And there were many it turns out.

Would Pee-wee think my love of horror and death was weird? Probably. Would he think it was weird that I make friends with moths and wasps and spiders and snakes? Yeah. But you better believe he'd take one look at my gothy apartment and put me right at the top of his list of people to call when it was time to decorate for Halloween. I'd have been on the guest list for his Halloween parties every year. Because being weird wasn't something that needed to be forgiven or tolerated. Being weird is a GOOD thing.

I have had such a strange emotional journey lately but where I've landed now is this. I'm not sure I can live for myself right now. But I'm going to do my best to stick around. For him. For Pee-wee and for Paul. Because I know he'd want me to. He'd want me to live and be weird and rejoice in my weirdness.

And he was always there. During bouts of depression and hardship, through all my health problems. His natural soft speaking voice always resonated at the perfect frequency to calm me down during my anxiety attacks. When I was stuck at home with spinal fluid draining into my brain, I played Pee-wee's Big Adventure, because it made me happy and because the dvd always restarted without prompting so I never had to get up if I lost the remote amongst my messed up sheets.

I met him in 2017. I pushed back all my social anxiety and went alone to my first convention because he was going to be there. Doing the terrible math, this would have been around the time he probably got diagnosed. I will be forever glad I went. I was speechless but I shook his hand and held it and tried to thank him, to convey without words how and why he's one of my favorite people in the whole world. The line for the meet and greet was over 2 hours long. He had to leave in the middle to get something to eat. He went to every single person in line and apologized and promised he would be back. I regret I'll never get to bring him muffins. But he was by all accounts one of the sweetest men in the world and I'm going to spend a lot of time missing him. And rejoicing in my weirdness. Because being weird is not a crime. Because he'd want me to. Because weirdos have to stick together.

And given the people I met at that convention, I think it's safe for me to paraphrase the words of Blanche Devereaux here and say, if love can help you wherever you are, you've got it. More than you could ever know.

I love you and I miss you.

[my-violent-valentine]

February 28th: Saint of the Day – Saint Romanus, patron saint of drowning victims, mental illnesses, and mentally ill people.

Oftentimes, I ponder about the meme of 2023 being so bad that you’d turn to some form of Christianity. My holy savior was 100mg of divinity that would induce mania enough that I could drag myself out of my January rot with chattering teeth and twitching limbs. Without my fix, I functioned in the endless abyss of an unmarked grave, trapped in the cemetery of my summers, living off my brain-defaulted autopilot; Kim Gordon, Robert Smith, The Chameleons, a bottle of SVEDKA at 7 PM.

I struggle to remind myself that I can’t wash down Sertraline with vodka while secretly begging I’ll black out like I used to. I like it when my body can perform, but I’m not conscious – eye-fucking in a worn Manhattan club while liquors and faces whirl, kissing someone I wouldn’t if I was sober, sex where I fall off the bed, a twenty-nine year old’s phone number that’s marked green, stumbling too close to the yellow lines on the way home.

Sometimes, I wonder when the concept of religion derailed from my life despite twelve years of Catholic school and long Sunday school mornings. Maybe it was the first time I thought of kissing my friend Natalia when I was ten, our shoulders pressed together on the bus, our faces so close I could see the ruptures in her dry lips and smell she'd only eaten strawberries for lunch. Her potent aura of Polish descent, and cheap hairspray, and outdated Bath and Body Works was my first taste of intoxication, her skin sticking in my teeth and lingering gently on my tongue.

Those arms were my first God.

They were taken away from me before I learned to kneel at her altar one Sunday when my old-school baptist teacher cursed “all homosexuals to damnation”. She was maybe seventy-five with a stiff blonde wig that I thought was too real in my impressionable mind, but the way her aged black wrinkles looked at me when the words rolled off her lips and hung in the air knocked the last bit of air from my lungs, sending my mind spiraling. I was a normal student, with a normal family, and a normal mind, and I normally prayed every night, and I only sometimes, normally, thought of kissing her.

If I turned back to Natalia’s village, would I turn to a pillar of salt?

I never overindulged after that, the tenderness for her was replaced with a level of platonic love and closeness that I searched for in everyone and have never fully found again. I’ll never know if I actually loved her, but I thought maybe if I could get the seed of her romance out of my mind, I could be redeemed in the eyes of God. Or maybe just the firm eyes of that teacher that seemed so sure, too sure. Did I pray every night because I thought I should have, or was I praying to not be seen for who I am, and who I was becoming?

Saint Romanus— Ava Wilson, 2024.

[splishsplashyouropinionistrash]

tell me about the catholic saints and flower language you're obsessed with

!!!!! i'm so glad you asked !!!!

okay so my absolute all-time favorite saint is saint dymphna of ireland. she's the patron saint of the mentally ill, survivors of incest, and also (sometimes) survivors of both sexual and domestic abuse. when she was fourteen, her mother died and her father, "in his grief" (not an excuse -_-) decided that he wanted to marry her instead. dymphna fled to modern-day belgium to the town of geel and ended up founding one of the first mental hospitals. her father tracked her down only a year later and killed her. she was canonized only a few years after her death, and people call her "the lily of eire". she was literally younger than I am, but shes credited with helping hundreds of thousands of people. people came from all over Belgium to visit her hospital. it's insane.

saint olga of kiev is another really fascinating one. so before she did any of what got her canonized (trying to spread christianity to kievan rus in modern day russia) she was this super badass vengeful icon. when her husband igor was murdered by drevlians, she hunted down and killed all of those involved (like the queen she is). she was also a big fan of arson. like, a huge fan. me too, girl. when she was baptised, she took on the anglican name helena (or elena, we're unsure). she's the patron saint of widows and converts, but many have also dubbed her "patron saint of vengeance" which is just so badass.

also there's like ten different patron saints of rats which is just.... so wild.

fun facts, there's a catholic chapel just off of broadway, st. malachy's, that's known as the actors chapel. they offer a saturday mass in between the afternoon and matinee performances along with sunday services, so lots of religious actors end up there. they have a shrine to some of the saints related to the performing arts at the back of the chapel. i was in NYC this spring, and i was lucky enough to be able to sit through a saturday mass there before I went to see some like it hot (if you haven't seen it, you should. SO. GOOD). the chapel is absolutely stunning. i also got to go to (and sing in!!!) st. john the divine's cathedral (the largest cathedral in the US, it was INSANE) and st. patricks cathedral. cathedrals are so stunning, the architecture is absolutely insane and i go feral just thinking about it. every day i long to go back, it was that gorgeous (I'm not even religious, but religious architecture just DESTROYS me. huge fan). but i digress.

some pictures of st. john's tho!!!

sorry if they're a little blurry, i was too excited to hold still.

okay but flowers!!! i love flower language, i think it's so fascinating. i actually got into because of this book I read, the grace year by kim liggit (must-read btw, so beautiful)

okay but anyway, my absolute favorite flower is the aster, specifically blue china asters (I liked them so much I named myself after them) they look like this:

they're gorgeous. anyways

so blue asters are a symbol of trustworthiness and wisdom, and china asters symbolize love and faith. asters are a breed of daisies, which symbolize innocence, new beginnings, and joy. daisies are also commonly used in herbal medicine, specifically medicine related to mental wellness. there's layers to the meaning, which is one of the things i love so much about it

i just !!! love things !!!! and nobody irl wants to listen to me rant about this shit !!!! bless you remi !!!