Ed

Ed couldn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept properly for weeks now. It began with one or two nights of tossing and turning for an hour or so, until his mind eventually stopped whirring and let him drift off. But soon, alarmingly soon, it developed into a persistent, nagging insomnia which drained him of all energy and enthusiasm, leaving him vacant, listless and dispassionate. An awkward position for a vicar to be in. He knew everyone expected him to be patient, caring, wise and simultaneously bold, visionary and indefatigable. But he felt none of these things. Could his parishioners see through the thin veneer of patience and vibrancy which he put on for their benefit? Surely they could tell by now that their vicar just wasn’t up to the job.

The irony was that the job had reduced him to this state in the first place. The ever-lengthening list of sick and elderly to visit, the exhausting counselling of young men in the throes of the Dark Night of the Soul, the endless, cripplingly mundane meetings, populated by people who seemed psychotically driven to make sure the church lounge was painted exactly the shade of beige they wanted. It all combined to leave Ed’s head spinning, even late into the night.

An unfortunate side-effect of the insomnia was that it left Ed more disposed than usual towards navel-gazing. A better man, a wiser, more godly man would surely be able to handle these pressures, he thought. Did it reflect on his own spirituality that stress drove him to insomnia, not prayer? If he was plagued by this inconsequential yet strangely debilitating affliction, how could he still tell his flock he believed in a God who healed? Wasn’t he living a lie, just pretending that he was OK? And the more Ed drifted towards self-recrimination, the more time his insomnia granted him to think it all over. More and more time, confronted with his own darker side; the vices and character flaws he couldn’t seem to shake off, his fondness for cigarettes, alcohol and internet pornography. More and more time, lying in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, quietly hating himself. Which of course took him deeper and deeper into the grip of self-recrimination. It was all so neatly self-perpetuating.

Ed couldn’t see the situation improving any time soon. He decided this was just a cross he’d have to bear. Particularly since his sexuality was so glaringly at odds with everything everyone believed about him and expected of him. Material for months of lying awake, in that one fact alone. No doubt about it, a vicar’s lot is not a happy one. Especially when the vicar is gay.