Recognizing that the problems of one person in a world like this don't amount to half of a hill of beans, there are enough strange things about my misadventures of the last few decades to warrant a bit of a general hullabaloo along the lines of mores, tempore, etc. Or perhaps these sorts of things are less rare than I think.
If my family had been farmers in Nebraska, I'd have a fairly good idea of how to play things. But, things being as they are, it's a little like escaping from a hypnotist and then being mugged seriatum by three roving gangs of psychologists. The framing of the event becomes a bit wobbly.
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Increasing thoughts of Orthodox spirituality as a path that might offer a bit of space from the usual suspects while still heading the right direction up the mountain. Probably a wiser course than jumping to another Abrahamic channel entirely.