So, I took the GRE. And I’m still waiting on my scores. Besides that, I’m trying not to cuss out believers again. It’s really hard when they start calling me a murderer or claim I eat fetuses.because that’s what all nonbelievers do.
So instead of cunt punching folks, I’ve taken two modes of action: posting their stupidity(yes I blur names) or make jewelry. So far, the latter is winning.
What also helps is that I talk to a tight knit group of ex-pk folks. We all have our religious baggage, so no one really pulls the “you didn’t try hard enough” bullshit. Because we really really tried. Hell, if my psychiatric bills point to anything…it’s that I tried too damn hard. But believers don’t want to admit we are out there. Because it blows their whole worldview out the water. If a person can love god so much and after so much time and effort, walk away, where does that leave them? If they weren’t dealing with some gross sin, or bitter, then who is really saved?
If they have legitimate concerns, do we have to listen? And then the fear sets in. will I catch their skepticism? Is this a phase? Are they sinning with their doubt?
And it hurts, because I question myself too. Is this the right choice? Is god really not real? Shit just happens?
As a former Charismatic, it’s hard not to slip into old modes of thinking. I have to constantly remind myself that no one “knows my sin” or is inside my head but me. To think of it, to see the damage, it breaks my heart. Because I inflicted this on myself and others. Just to please “god” and true believers. I wanted, no, craved that acceptance and love. I wanted that assurance that I’d be in heaven and that my broken life had redeeming value. I continually emptied myself because the church said I was just a vessel. That the self was sinful and not to be trusted. I cut myself in two, because I believed that I was sinful, awful, dirty. I was shit on god’s shoe. Nothing I’d do would be good enough.
So I subjected myself to abuse. The pain was my “will being broken” and god getting the glory. Whenever I’d think that I was going too far…I’d rebuke the devil and pray for hours.
By the time I got to where it felt like a literal fight for my soul, I started failing classes, having intrusive thoughts, and nervous tics. I was falling apart, and I did not know how to ask for help. So, I tried to kill myself. I thought that death would be a respite compared to the mental anguish I was facing. I wanted oblivion. I thought I’d be doing everyone a favor, especially my youth church. They got tired of my questioning, my doubt. So they gave me over to “Satan”. Because obviously I was in rebellion. That’s the only reason I could be so sad, twitchy, and not eating..right?
I received their judgement as rejection. And it got a whole lot worse before it got better. I still struggle with self-image/esteem and rejection, but on the flip, I stand up for myself more. I laugh more. I feel more. Yes it’s scary, but it’s a good scary. Therapy and medication are a freaking wonderful thing. That plus good friends has me where I am. I call myself strong now.
Sure I do what ifs, but life is worth living. Not over-guessing. I’m still learning, but I still have hope.
Thanks for staying with me folks,