Losing my religion

I've just this minute come back from mass. It's five to ten on a Sunday and I still have that feeling of goodness. But Lord knows how long it's going to last. And I do mean that. Only the Lord knows.

I've been Catholic all my life. My mother is a very active Catholic, my father a very lapsed Catholic. It's nice that in their adult years they are opposite to their childhood years. My mother wasn't very active in her youth, while my father was an acolyte and used to have afternoon tea with his parish priest. So anyway, we were raised like good Catholic children- we went to single sex Catholic schools, went to mass every Sunday, made our First Communion were Confirmed and did our bit in the parish. That hasn't quite carried over into our adult lives. My elder sister doesn't go to church any more (though she's incredibly pious and holier than thou sometimes), my brother hasn't seen the inside of a church since his confirmation (oh, and I forget, the baptism of his illegitmate son. But that's for another day). I think my younger sister goes but I wouldn't swear that on a stack of bibles.

After a long absence, I started going back to church when I still lived in Preston (originally called Priest Town. Coincidence?) and became heavily involved in the parish. I joined the church choir and felt like I'd found my niche. I was never happier than when I was singing and especially when I got to sing songs from my Trini hymn book. I volunteered to help serve tea after mass, was involved in organising our parish summer barbecue. I also became very good friends with my priest. I felt like I belonged and it was brilliant.

Thing is, my life wasn't great but when I was in that church or in the presbytry, everything felt like it was going to be ok. Some of my happiest memories of recent years are of sitting in my priest's library, chatting or listenting to music or of singing the Hail Mary during communion or hanging around having tea with everyone in St Thomas' room after mass on a Sunday. Those were times when I felt like no harm could or would ever come to me.

I kind of fell off the wagon when I moved down to Crewe. I felt like I was being unfaithful to my old parish by going to church here. But last year, I found my way back and now I go whenever I can. I've been away for a few Sundays, but once I'm in Crewe, I'll go. I feel great during mass, responding in the right way, saying the doxology taking bread and wine. I feel calm, happy, like I could be the best possible person I could be. I pray for forgiveness, pray for my family and friends, pray for strength, pray for the world.

Then I leave and come home and it literally all goes to hell, with me cursing my neighbours for having a Husky dog in the world's tiniest flat or imagining myself fucking (and I do really mean to use that word) someone who isn't my husband. If I was really a good Catholic, wouldn't I be all magnanimous and shit and let them enjoy their pet and be able to banish all thoughts of adultery (even if it is with a celebrity) from my mind?

I believe in God. I know I do. I believe in the foundations of Catholicism, and I think I'm basically a kind and caring person. If I do all this, then why am I still so selfish and petty and bitchy? Sigh! So now I'm worried as to WHY I'm going to mass. I mean, I'm trying to live my life like a good Catholic, but I'm failing miserably. I've been a not very nice or good person recently and I feel like a hypocrite when I go to mass. But then I ask myself, if I didn't go to mass at all, wouldn't that be a whole lot worse?