When my friend says that she hates to see me lose my connection to Jesus…
I’ve never been very good at lying with important things.
I wish I still had the stupid optimism that God cared and that somewhere, somehow, he was working it all out for me for my good like the Bible says. I can paraphrase scripture quite well, but to feel God’s presence, I haven’t felt it in a long while now and I wonder if I’ve ever felt it in the first place. Maybe I was just delusional in my love for God, except now, I don’t think it matters anymore.
I used to miss Him so much. I used to love Him so much also. God was everything for me for a while. I couldn’t wait to finish this life just so I could be in His presence. I thought God would save me. I thought that in all the religions in all the world, if everyone was so against God, then there must really be a God and they’re all afraid of Him. He must be the only real thing. And I believed. I didn’t believe Jesus to begin with, but if Jesus was God and I believed in God, then I believed in Jesus as well too as Jesus was and is God. And so I stuck with it. I found something that filled the empty hole in my heart, that plugged up the yearning I had for something more, for a life with meaning and purpose.
I had always been involved with the supernatural and with magic, no matter how much I avoided it or tried to ignore it. It was a recurring theme in my life from childhood and even now. Now, I hardly do anything magical. I simply have bad dreams, give no more thoughts to them, and keep moving. God didn’t take away my bad dreams, even after I got baptized. Things in my dreams would taunt me and hurt me because I was so in love with God and Jesus. It would be worse. It didn’t get better. And demons didn’t flee at the name of Jesus. It made me wonder if I even had the right Jesus and not some guy named Jesus (Hey-Seuss). The only change that came from me giving my life to God was that I didn’t feel the emptiness in my heart anymore. I feel it now. I just ignore it. That emptiness, that hopelessness, yeah, it’s all there again.
I lost my faith in God after realizing one day that God didn’t love me. He didn’t want heathens and people who converted. We weren’t his first choice. We were never his choice. We were only a substitute for the Jews that He loved, the Jews that He tried to provoke to jealousy through giving us some of His great love. We were just an afterthought. And if the Jews weren’t such stuck up and self centered jerks, if they loved God like how He loved them, then none of us, no one would’ve been saved. We are at best, second in God’s great love, and at worst, we are just a tool to be used and manipulated by God to create what He wanted. I had no answers. God gave me no answers. And thus, I spiraled downward, wanting to know why I wasn’t as loved as I thought I was, or worse, why I wasn’t even loved at all.
Rachel, the girl with the tattoos who came with her mother and her mother got sent away, the one I called my best friend at one time and the one who calls herself Zim…I thought God wanted me to be nice to them and take care of them. And because I’m a horrible person, I told them that. I told them that I was only good to them because God wanted me to be. And I believed that. I couldn’t stand either mom or daughter, yet, I grew to love Zim because she reminded me so much of my idiotic wayward goth and rebellious little sister that I left behind. The were about the same age. I loved Zim like my sister. Sure, I was possessive, but there has never once been an instance in my entire life where I wanted to be gay. Never ever. And her mom got put in the shu and she would go out every day and yell for her mom. And every day, I would pray to God that she didn’t get caught so she didn’t end up in the shu either. And no matter how long Zim stayed at the window of the shu, talking to her mom, she never got caught. I was happy my prayers worked. And then one day, I said something to Zim that I didn’t even realize the truth of. I told her that if every prayer I prayed was answered by God, then it probably wasn’t God who answered my prayers. It was probably something else. And that’s the truth of it. I don’t think God was anywhere at all. It was something else pretending to be God for me. Something else wanting me to be foolishly and blindly follow in the name of god’s will when it was never God to begin with.
And isn’t that the story of men? We follow the will of God and commit atrocities. Through blind faith and vigilance, we killed and slaughtered and pillaged and burned and crucified and hurt. Perhaps it was never God that spoke to any of us at all, for I am reminded of one truth from the Bible, “This world belongs to him, the prince of the air, for he is the prince of this world”. The devil is the prince of this world and he owns it, therefore, until Jesus comes back to take this world after the tribulation, we are all servants of the devil.
I used to like the occult. All that stuff: magic, tarot cards, spirits, the dead, demons, visions, the future, etc, etc, I used to be interested in it and I used to search for it. I used go to psychics for readings and was the jerk who read them and told them they abused whatever ability they had so I was going to take it. I was the jerk who would mess with psychics hours on end just to laugh at them because there was nothing that anyone could tell me that I didn’t already know about my own future. Only idiots allowed other people, not very good ones at that, to determine their fates. Me? I decided my own fate always. I was the jerk that witches pleaded with to leave them alone because they were afraid of me. I was the jerk who pulled demons out of little kids and stuck them inside the flesh and blood vessels of others who had at least some 25 years left to their short lifespan.
I was a horrible jerk all around and I didn’t care because there wasn’t a meaning to life and none of this mattered. Invisible worlds. Invisible things. Stupid people who thought I could control the elements and worse, control demons—none of that mattered. It didn’t give me meaning to life. It didn’t tell me why in the world I was stuck here carrying around this slowly decaying carcass of rot. It didn’t kill me any faster.
God made it mattered once. Once long ago when I loved Him. And I resent Him for that glimmer of hope, for that idiotic vision of something holy and wonderful. My curse words have gone from fuck to Jesus Christ. It’s blasphemous, I’m sure, but it’s not intentional. It wasn’t as if I hated God enough that I started replacing my curse words with the name of Christ. Maybe on the inside, I hated God enough that I started replacing my curse words with the name Christ. It’s been a recurrent habit I need to break since hating God would waste too much energy spent for nothing. It only started after God and I had a misunderstanding and His silence isn’t an acceptable answer. Of course, I’m not entitled for an answer, and I used to get upset about that, but I don’t really care anymore. An answer. No answer. Silence. It’s all the same thing. Just the shadow of a supposedly loving God being His lovingly self.
Going back on topic to magic and the occult and the supernatural and tarot and such things, I used to care for them. I used to seek power. I used to crave knowledge. Now? I’m old. I’ve retired. I don’t care if the world ends today or if demons appear. I don’t care if I live or if I die. I don’t make a difference. I’m weary of this place. I’m even more weary of the other places, places I used to go hide and play in because this place is more annoying than having to sit through an opera of fat singers whose voices can shatter my ear drums. I have great disdain for this world and for all in it. It’s similar to a boil that festers and bubbles and hurts and pops with disgusting yellow green pus that smells like week old fish and boiled eggs soaking up the sun’s rays in the middle of a heap of reeking trash decomposing on the back of an overcrowded boat somewhere very close to the equator on summer solstice, the longest and hottest day of the year. I don’t care for magic and such frivolous shiny things anymore.
I’m not interested in dying gods on dying worlds saved by traveling mortal men (Angelus). Nor am I interested in horned gods who pretty much violate and rape unsuspecting and unwilling women and call that a tribute worthy of a favor (Ceros). I’m not interested in sacrificing virgins (as if such a thing even exists outside of very young children or infants). I’m not interested in the power plays of summer and winter courts (the faes). I’m not interested in blue wolves (Shaar) or demons (Az and Yaar and others). I’m not interested in pulling demons from people (too many idiots to name). I’m not interested in the others (the green eyed monster, etc) and I’m definitely not interested in my dreams anymore or why I have them (I’m looking at you, Death, and the various many ways I suffer and die in the dream world). I’m not even really interested in zombies nor vampires nor dragons and unicorns. There’s only one thing I’m interested in and it has nothing to do with magic or the occult or religion or spirituality at all. And that is a very long road ahead.
The love I had for God, of wanting to be the perfect Christian, the perfect wife, the perfect sexless humanoid angelic like being in the afterlife and whatever other things I believed in, it was all delusion. I am happy for people who believe in such things and I wish them all the best with whatever prayers I still have left in me to pray with, but it’s not for me anymore. Christianity was never meant to be for me. I tried it. It fit perfectly. And then I came out worse for wear because of it. I became someone else I wasn’t. I became this unblemished image of something so unattainable that the higher I climbed to reach it, the farther I fell, and the harder I hit the ground. The more broken I became. No one fixed me. I had to either fix myself or simply break to pieces.
I am not miserable. Rather, I am old and weary and I don’t care for the vapidness of this world or this place or this journey we call life or what comes after it or whatever happens to any other life that exists outside of my own since we’re all in the same boat anyhow. My bones creak. My mind is fraying at the edges. My heart is bleeding dry. I am tired. I don’t understand how many people can’t seem to understand that. They think I hate the world because I’m miserable. No, I hate the world because it’s full of stupid people and I don’t have the patience to deal with anyone’s stupidity or butt hurt feelings. I’m perfectly fine in my feebleness. Everyone else is helter skelter.
I don’t think God is for me. We will see. I don’t expect anything. Expecting things just makes you disappointed when things you hope for don’t happen.