Is it a sin to picture Jesus as a frat boy?
It occurred to me why I kept freezing every time I found myself in a room full of people.
New voices, new faces. Are they saying something? What are they talking about? Who's looking at who? What's their body language saying? Who is the leader? Who is following?
These were the immediate questions I'd shoot to answer wherever I went. When it came to a casual group setting where proper behavior's appearance wasn't explicitly stated, I struggled.
This Bible study group came with its own difficulties for me as well. Coming in as a chameleon wasn't going to be so much of an option if I was to be vulnerable, honest, or a good Christian.
I suppose I could, I thought, but I want to be the one who benefits from this. Not my a fake snakeskin of a persona.
In this group I tried my best to not solve et coagula their personalities. It also occurred to me that aside from whoever lead the group in prayer that there might not be any 'leader', or even someone to respect over anyone else.
On the car ride over I'd found out Manny had grown up in Juarez, Mexico. Juarez?! I thought. I just read a book about a guy who grew up in Juarez! It was really messed up! Everyone died, except for the bad guys! I realized how much I had missed reading. I felt like my writing and diction had been suffering and it had only been a couple days since I'd finished a book.
Manny told me about his 'testimony', or in non-Christian laymen's terms, why or how God found him. God is the main character of that story. You're a part of his story, not the other way around.
Those words made me feel a tad bit guilty. Even when I was focused on anything or anyone else, I still felt like I was fitting them into my story. I knew I was a character in other people's stories, but unable to come to a conclusion I digress.
He told me about growing up in Juarez, his uncle, his parents, the first church he ever went to, and what made him want to give his life to Christ. All in all, it was pretty inspiring. Manny clearly had at one point had a macho darkside that had been turned into this devout Christian man. You'd only ever be able to guess how aggressive he once might've been by how often he seemed to tackle his friends. Even then, it was all good-natured.
All men are created equal. Sure, but not in the eyes of men. I didn't yet have that kind of vision, and I knew that it was entirely easy and still habit to judge and criticize everything I laid my eyes upon to pieces. With these people, I really didn't want to take the chance.
I attempted a quick glance around the room. Bad idea. I wanted to stare. Don't do that, I thought. That's weird.
Suddenly it occurred to me that it might've not been weird. I wondered if these people even let that fit into their concept of what weird was. Sure, I could ask, "Hey, would it be weird if I stared at you and your friends?" which would most likely be answered by a yes, even if you meant to stare only a fraction of the time. The question itself made the notion unacceptable. I felt like a cultural anthropologist creating a write up of a foreign tribe. The only difference between me and an anthropologist was that I was already trying to leave my own kind to join the tribe, and I didn't even fully know or understand them yet.
Today, epiphanies were all around, buy one get one, take one for free. I imagined Jesus sitting behind me with a handful of pebbles that'd make the light bulb above my head light up when they hit me in the head. He continuously tossed them throughout the evening.
It was completely insane that I had even shown up to this in the first place! Stefany's words echoed maliciously in the back of my head from that morning on the phone.
"You're going to Church? You won't even last a month."
Just get up now. Walk home, go anywhere else but here. Run. Now. The thought danced in consideration before me. Staring hard at the pages I took notes on and concentrating so diligently on not lifting my eyes had left my vision blurry. I knew it was partially to blame on my pills. Pupils would lose their plasticity after being so focused on one thing for so long.
Addiction is when you choose to do something despite definite or possible negative consequences.
My eyes flickered nervously over everyone, dancing ever faster over Merry. I still wasn't sure why I still nervously choked around her. Maybe I still felt guilty for ever showing up in any way, shape, or form in her life. I could hypothesize a million and one reasons and would never take the time to figure out which one was the truth.
I considered what my story might've been as to how God found me. Seriously? Jesus dangled a pretty girl in front of me at work with a name that was far too easy to create magnificent word play out of and a pun that made me want to follow the Lord. Was I insane?
Yes, I calmly answered myself, you are. To me, I'd interpreted all the on-goings as the work of God. He'd brought Amanda back into my life just in time for me to have a friend who wasn't crushing on me, knowing I hadn't a phone to do the creeping myself, put that girl wherever she'd been and back to have her Facebook bio say that she loved Jesus, a girl who I nearly knew most of her friends, and when I'd gotten a new iPhone and mistakenly trusted Hajra with my hopeless romantic's musings been forced to begin speaking to her though I may have never done so myself. That lead me to call back upon Manny, who'd given me an invite years before, for what reason I'd never have understood, or accepted until God had thrown it on a platter for me like this.
Don't get me wrong, I was still only going to save myself. Or know God, and Christ Jesus.
Frat-boy Jesus.
It was that point that the man sitting at the computer just three feet to the right of mine collapsed onto the floor. Sunglasses-guy with the baseball cap across from me immediately hollered out for someone to call 911. Boy Scouts CPR training and how to help someone who's in a state of shock flashed before my eyes all too fast to be of any use. All I could do was unplug an earbud and look at the man on the ground in front of me. Sunglasses-guy said he'd hit his head pretty good and when the guy finally got his bearings he claimed he had been feeling dizzy. He shook ever so slightly, like a trembling baby bird.
Low blood sugar was my first guess. They asked if he was diabetic and he said no.
Blood clot was my second guess. Dizziness? Seeing stars? Sounds like blood flow to his brain was interrupted.
I logged off of that computer and moved several farther down to the left. I felt feeling so insensitive and helpless, but I knew that if help really did arrive that I'd be useless and if anything in the way.
The ice-breaker question for Bible Study was to tell everyone what food we'd give the nutritional properties of salad if we could.
In the blink of an eye I visualized the late-night snacks I used to make in my parent's kitchen stoned. Captain crunch in the bottom of a glass, add in some cookie dough ice cream, pour in a lethal amount of fudge and caramel syrup with butterscotch chips, add another helping of sugary cereal and ice cream and syrup again and you had a delicious recipe for a horrible stomachache the next day.
A quirky fellow who sat to the right of me stated that he'd gladly shoot a cow between the eyes and eat it right where it stood if he could give it the properties of salad. I only said ice cream, choking on my social anxiety.
I watched from the corner of my eye across the room as Merry asked whoever she was sitting next to if I'd really just said I'd make salad out of ice cream. I listened to whomever she asked the question of explain that the idea was to give whichever food you chose the 'healthy' properties of salad.
"Oh," I'm pretty sure she said.
I wish I hadn't have choked up after I finished describing the delicious treat in my head. What had I been afraid of? Would they have chased me out of their Bible study with pitchforks for indulging so devilishly in late-night treats? Would they have known the idea had been originally concocted while I was higher than a kite? Needless to say I regretted my silence.
After the rest of the room had finished and Merry's turn finally came, she clarified once more what was being asked of her before she helplessly whined that she didn't know because she loved so many things before finally choosing Nutella.
I chuckled. Unable to decide because everything was too good and there were too many choices. Simple. Positive. Basic. I kicked myself for all the asinine behavior I'd show cased for her since meeting her. I kept my eyes down. I was so dumb.
The first time I'd met her she'd reminded me of all the good things I once was before I set out, hell bent on self destruction. I'd thought in awe that maybe if I'd have met her before so ruining so much of myself and trying to kill myself so many times that we might've at least had a good shot at being good friends. There was slight to no chance of that now, half because of how much of a abnormality I'd been and half because I'd lost so much of myself and nobody made friends with the dead.
The passage we read was Philippians 4:4-13.
I'd forgotten to mention my other anti-vulnerability self-defense technique for manipulating social situations.
After I'd realized in my later years in grade school that silently observing everyone intently made me stick out, and being caught so many times unintentionally staring at my peers or their feet lost in thought, I decided I had to develop an alternate outer facade.
One day someone had asked if I was staring off in the distance because I was high. At the time I said no, because the idea of me doing drugs was preposterous at the time. However, it did give me a good idea.
My eyelids naturally hung half-mast because when I opened them all the way my glance looked angry. Half mast looked must less analytical or expectant. Slightly slurring my voice and letting my words occasionally hitch in my throat as well as prefacing and re-prefacing every clause with man, dude, or bro gave the cold uncertainty and self-centered desire for self improvement shrouding fear a warm cloak. It became stupid uncertainty.
Go into any situation and introduce yourself as an idiot and you'll have nearly everyone in the room's trust because you've said you're an idiot and you look like an idiot. Enter claiming you're smart and you'll be challenged, questioned, and met with disbelief.
The passage essentially covered why you, a Christian, should not be anxious and instead should think upon things worthy of praise and through that find peace in Christ. It made a lot of sense, and I made a decent contribution to the group, making a couple of people laugh.
Like I've said before, I'd given up on praying because I'd done nothing in prayer but ask God for things.
God, help me with this etc. God, please don't let my girlfriend find out etc. God, please let this next stoplight be green.
Yeah, sure God could do those things but the idea of trying to get him to do those things on a regular basis and holding it against him that he didn't was no bueno.
The passage stated not to be anxious. I'm not sure what word they translated into anxiety, and I'm far too lazy to go look it up, but here's a couple of thoughts to ponder.
When you ask God for things, he doesn't give them to you. If you ask God for strength, He gives you the opportunity to be strong. If you ask Him for courage, He gives you the opportunity to be courageous. So on and so forth.
The oldest remedy to anxiety is eating food. This can be seen in animals as well as humans. When you become hungry you get anxious. Males and females in heat also become anxious.
Essentially, anxiety is your body's way of telling you that it believes you need to take care of something necessary to your survival.
I believe that the same anxiety that weighs down on your shoulders can be the same energy you use to stand up taller.
I'd started noticing that everyone in the Church group had migrated to the south side of town to be closer to the community. They were all centering their lives around their Church.
It hit me that a lot of my relationship problems could've been prevented if I had been learnt in these ways at the time.
Many times I'd centered my life around my significant other. I'd grown up with my parents centering their lives around one another, and the rest of my family did the same thing for the most part. Families were centered around themselves. They weren't centered around Church, and that's probably where they went wrong, or for the most part could've avoided a lot of problems if they had been centered around the Church instead.
I knew from personal experience that I'd often found pride, jealousy, envy, anger, and sexual immorality ruining my relationships. It was because I was putting so much of my own energy into being centered around that other person or the wrong things and whatever things that came of it mimicking fruits of the Spirit were actually only man made and led only to wickedness.
I'd bet money that if I had a reason to be honorable or commendable rather than because it's a good thing to do I would've done it. It's too easy to feel empty when your pride runs low and your emotions dwindle to shallow if you don't have something backing up your beliefs. That's why faith is a good thing for the most part.
I'd been frustrated by a meme I saw the other day. The message was simple; you aren't a good person if the only reason you behave as such is the promise of divine reward.
I'll admit that at one point I stood far on the other side of that message. I know the logic, I believe it too. However, as much as I know that it wouldn't be a good Christian of me to really believe in what I'd feel inclined to say, but I wish someone would shatter their beliefs and leave them so dissolute that whatever pride they take in being good was gone so they could understand why the promise of divine reward works.
The fact is that behind every person who makes that claim as the meme did is a very very strong personality led by a very prominent ego and pride through and through.
That night three years ago might've been described by some as ego death. I'll tell you that when I first heard the concept described to me I became so terribly disturbed and panicked that I immediately went home and attempted to calm myself for hours.
The moment that ego and pride is gone is the moment that person breaks and doesn't value good anymore. At that point it simply becomes observation, and the reason it takes Christ to save people from sinning is because sinning works wonders.
Yeah, you probably haven't ever read these words written by a Christian before, but evil pays, sinning is glorious and rewarding, and it works a lot faster than faith in Christ.
I'm not going to lie to you. There's no big secret; the reason people do evil and continue to do evil is because it's awesome.
Now let me leave you the disclaimer here. Don't go thinking that there's no catch to any of that.
Most people think of Hell as a place that you go to when you die. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to break the bad news but it really isn't. I like to quote a bit of a song by Bring Me the Horizon here;
"There is nothing above, there is nothing below; Heaven and Hell lives in all of us...
There is a Hell, believe me I've seen it. There is a Heaven, let's keep it a secret."
In those days after that fateful night three years ago I faced a lot of fears many would consider irrational. I read up on a lot of things that most people, superstitious or not, refuse to look into.
You don't die in and then go to Hell. No, Hell comes looking for you. Hell sinks it rotten teeth into your dreams long before you die. Hell shows you the darkest, most demented parts of everything that you once loved until you can't love them anymore. Hell sets fire to your soul in ways you'd have never imagined possible and once you see it... You'll never forget it.
I'd read into what was called the Lucifer Experiment. I hadn't believed it at first until I was already using it to my advantage. I'll tell you most of the LaVeyan satanism stuff is made up and not worth a read. There's this thing called the left hand path, the path of descent. Whatever got Lucifer out of Heaven, basically. Long story short, it works. I'd found myself in my own apartment, having everything I wanted, and the only thing I was giving up was my soul.
I hadn't had much value for my soul at the time, so what did I care? All that came with that broken soul was hurt, and I relished the idea of being able to cut it out completely like some festering sore.
Eventually it catches up to you. Just like an empty sea shell invites whatever-creatures-inhabit-sea-shells and the idle mind is the devil's playground, you can't hide forever.
I'd never felt like I had so much unrequited potential. I could think clearer and sharper than ever before, I had ultimate control over everything I did. The only thing I hated was the emptiness, and closing my eyes.
And mirrors.
The thing about living without a soul is that you don't have desires. You don't have needs, you don't have feelings. You have to account for that in everything you do so you don't burn out or get unhealthy.
You'll feel horridly empty. All of the memories and simple bits of life disappear to clear way for whatever it is you're attempting to accomplish. You close your eyes and there's absolutely nothing but flesh and fire hurtling towards death. There's no romanticizing, nothing special.
Mirrors horrified me. I've heard eyes are a window to the soul, and maybe that's why looking into a mirror was the only way for my soul to see what was going on. You look at the reflection and it's really not someone you've ever seen before. If you can get close enough to look into your eyes you'll see the closest thing to a pair of dead irises with a fire behind them still and rushing blood.
That's just the beginning of it. However, for now I'll digress to why Christianity's a better idea, you know, if you don't want to horrify yourself when you look in the mirror or hear about your behavior and actions from others.
Christianity works because, pardon me, not only does Jesus Christ save you because he died for your sins, but because it provides something for you to center your life around that is a sure-fire way to be loved, be happy, and feel peace.
Trust me, it works. I have terrible, terrible panic attacks and even I hate to admit that you really can just give it all to God and feel peace. All you have to do is have faith, as corny as that sounds.
You can feel loved because Jesus is there. You can feel safe because God is guarding your heart. You can feel peace because God, Christ, and his Church have got your back.
Keeping everything right in reality is something you can pray for guidance with but ultimately your job. That's why you think on the things that are listed in Philippians 4:8 I believe, because that's what will help you, give you peace, and rid you of anxiety.
The group-regrouped and several kids went around sharing. I say kids because no one looked over the age of thirty. Of course, the only people I remember talking was Brad, who was leading the group, Akeem, who asked to go to the bathroom, Manny, who surely said something profound, and Merry, because her voice still sounded like music and what she said bit at my heels a little.
It sounded like the weight of people relying on her was heavy, and she was glad that she had God because she couldn't save anyone, or everyone, which went on. She mentioned her grandmother dying, a few other hard things she was going through, and how she didn't think people should dwell on their past because God is good and He forgives you and so on.
I felt guilty. It felt like the same speech she'd probably gotten sick of me. I felt like a dirt-bag for calling her that night I got plastered and passed out on the side of the road. I felt guilty for asking her anything, I felt guilty for even being in the same room as her honestly. I felt guilty because I'd given her reason to tell me that she didn't want to lead me on. I felt guilty because I knew that even though I had never explicitly stated it, or probably did drunk, like when I told her she had the face of an Olympian, she probably felt like I was one of those people she might've felt inclined to save. The only reason I say that is because anyone that I open up to begins to feel an urge to save me after they see how bad I can get.
Unfortunately for me and anyone else who knew about it, I'd shown a whole lot of how bad I can get to her and hadn't known her more than a month.
She could've been anyone, but somehow the stars aligned and she happened to have a name that would make me pay attention to what I'd done.
I knew it was something I'd have to pray about, but I felt like it was something I'd have to pray long and hard for.
Or
I checked the digital calendar on the computer's toolbar. The seventh of October landed on Saturday, which would most likely be the most time I had to wrestle with the anxiety I felt... regarding that abscess of guilt festering in my soul.
Or
Most assuredly wouldn't feel, because I'd be able to refill my Xanax.
One of two things was bound to happen: I'd either completely lose whatever anxieties I had regarding all the guilt, or I'd be able to break myself down enough to figure out exactly what it was I was so worked up about.
I couldn't really lie to myself, I felt something. The tragedy is that typically me feeling anything led to nothing but confusion, upset, and shock. I was an infinite source of mixed signals. I didn't know myself and whatever I really did want was typically unapparent or nonexistent. I knew what made me smile, what made me laugh, and what made me frown, furrow my brow, and be flustered.
The less I said, the better I felt until I felt worse and said more until I felt worse enough to say less until I felt better.
I thought back to how badly I'd wanted to hear that music, how desperate I was for it. Maybe, since that's how some people might've felt about sex, it was lust, and therefore a sin. I'd started to believe that wanting anything more than whatever anyone else wanted was a sin because... well, I didn't know.
I'd sat hating myself for what I was without guilt. I was a romantic, meaning that I'd romanticize things. I was obsessive, meaning that I'd drive theories into the ground long after I'd realized they were probably not worth thinking about just because I wanted to see how far it could go. I was logical, and I knew the error of my ways and didn't often do anything about it.
Nobody's perfect right?
Romanticizing things led me to obsess over things I shouldn't be obsessing over. I felt in my heart how wonderfully easy it would be to begin to be honorable and turn towards the right things, think about the right things, but refused to. I felt like obsessing about Christ while at work and going about my day would leave me manic.
I could solve so many problems on my own and with Christ but sat frozen and unwilling to do so because I was afraid.
I was afraid of peace. I was afraid of confidence, of honor, of anything good.
I'd often made up far more problems than I actually needed assistance with simply because I felt otherwise I'd have absolutely no reason to talk to anyone, and if you couldn't tell, I had a whole lot of rubbish to get off of my chest.
I imagined my new friends looking at me in disappointment. It made me feel disappointed too. If I had all of these answers, why didn't I simply start answering my own questions and stop being such a disease?
I'd seen more of Amelia today, loved it, and refrained from being hateful towards her mother.
I managed to not be hateful towards Steven, or anyone else in my inbox whose messaged I deemed to not truly beg of a response.
I manged to not think of what people were saying to be all too deeply, because to obsess over what people said to me would've been dishonorable.
I felt at peace, or at least as peaceful as I deserved to feel with all that I hadn't yet done.
There was one problem.
It occurred to me why I kept freezing every time I found myself in a room full of people.
New voices, new faces. Are they saying something? What are they talking about? Who's looking at who? What's their body language saying? Who is the leader? Who is following?
These were the immediate questions I'd shoot to answer wherever I went. When it came to a casual group setting where proper behavior's appearance wasn't explicitly stated, I struggled.
This Bible study group came with its own difficulties for me as well. Coming in as a chameleon wasn't going to be so much of an option if I was to be vulnerable, honest, or a good Christian.
I suppose I could, I thought, but I want to be the one who benefits from this. Not my a fake snakeskin of a persona.
In this group I tried my best to not solve et coagula their personalities. It also occurred to me that aside from whoever lead the group in prayer that there might not be any 'leader', or even someone to respect over anyone else.
On the car ride over I'd found out Manny had grown up in Juarez, Mexico. Juarez?! I thought. I just read a book about a guy who grew up in Juarez! It was really messed up! Everyone died, except for the bad guys! I realized how much I had missed reading. I felt like my writing and diction had been suffering and it had only been a couple days since I'd finished a book.
Manny told me about his 'testimony', or in non-Christian laymen's terms, why or how God found him. God is the main character of that story. You're a part of his story, not the other way around.
Those words made me feel a tad bit guilty. Even when I was focused on anything or anyone else, I still felt like I was fitting them into my story. I knew I was a character in other people's stories, but unable to come to a conclusion I digress.
He told me about growing up in Juarez, his uncle, his parents, the first church he ever went to, and what made him want to give his life to Christ. All in all, it was pretty inspiring. Manny clearly had at one point had a macho darkside that had been turned into this devout Christian man. You'd only ever be able to guess how aggressive he once might've been by how often he seemed to tackle his friends. Even then, it was all good-natured.
All men are created equal. Sure, but not in the eyes of men. I didn't yet have that kind of vision, and I knew that it was entirely easy and still habit to judge and criticize everything I laid my eyes upon to pieces. With these people, I really didn't want to take the chance.
I attempted a quick glance around the room. Bad idea. I wanted to stare. Don't do that, I thought. That's weird.
Suddenly it occurred to me that it might've not been weird. I wondered if these people even let that fit into their concept of what weird was. Sure, I could ask, "Hey, would it be weird if I stared at you and your friends?" which would most likely be answered by a yes, even if you meant to stare only a fraction of the time. The question itself made the notion unacceptable. I felt like a cultural anthropologist creating a write up of a foreign tribe. The only difference between me and an anthropologist was that I was already trying to leave my own kind to join the tribe, and I didn't even fully know or understand them yet.
Today, epiphanies were all around, buy one get one, take one for free. I imagined Jesus sitting behind me with a handful of pebbles that'd make the light bulb above my head light up when they hit me in the head. He continuously tossed them throughout the evening.
It was completely insane that I had even shown up to this in the first place! Stefany's words echoed maliciously in the back of my head from that morning on the phone.
"You're going to Church? You won't even last a month."
Just get up now. Walk home, go anywhere else but here. Run. Now. The thought danced in consideration before me. Staring hard at the pages I took notes on and concentrating so diligently on not lifting my eyes had left my vision blurry. I knew it was partially to blame on my pills. Pupils would lose their plasticity after being so focused on one thing for so long.
Addiction is when you choose to do something despite definite or possible negative consequences.
My eyes flickered nervously over everyone, dancing ever faster over Merry. I still wasn't sure why I still nervously choked around her. Maybe I still felt guilty for ever showing up in any way, shape, or form in her life. I could hypothesize a million and one reasons and would never take the time to figure out which one was the truth.
I considered what my story might've been as to how God found me. Seriously? Jesus dangled a pretty girl in front of me at work with a name that was far too easy to create magnificent word play out of and a pun that made me want to follow the Lord. Was I insane?
Yes, I calmly answered myself, you are. To me, I'd interpreted all the on-goings as the work of God. He'd brought Amanda back into my life just in time for me to have a friend who wasn't crushing on me, knowing I hadn't a phone to do the creeping myself, put that girl wherever she'd been and back to have her Facebook bio say that she loved Jesus, a girl who I nearly knew most of her friends, and when I'd gotten a new iPhone and mistakenly trusted Hajra with my hopeless romantic's musings been forced to begin speaking to her though I may have never done so myself. That lead me to call back upon Manny, who'd given me an invite years before, for what reason I'd never have understood, or accepted until God had thrown it on a platter for me like this.
Don't get me wrong, I was still only going to save myself. Or know God, and Christ Jesus.
Frat-boy Jesus.
It was that point that the man sitting at the computer just three feet to the right of mine collapsed onto the floor. Sunglasses-guy with the baseball cap across from me immediately hollered out for someone to call 911. Boy Scouts CPR training and how to help someone who's in a state of shock flashed before my eyes all too fast to be of any use. All I could do was unplug an earbud and look at the man on the ground in front of me. Sunglasses-guy said he'd hit his head pretty good and when the guy finally got his bearings he claimed he had been feeling dizzy. He shook ever so slightly, like a trembling baby bird.
Low blood sugar was my first guess. They asked if he was diabetic and he said no.
Blood clot was my second guess. Dizziness? Seeing stars? Sounds like blood flow to his brain was interrupted.
I logged off of that computer and moved several farther down to the left. I felt feeling so insensitive and helpless, but I knew that if help really did arrive that I'd be useless and if anything in the way.
The ice-breaker question for Bible Study was to tell everyone what food we'd give the nutritional properties of salad if we could.
In the blink of an eye I visualized the late-night snacks I used to make in my parent's kitchen stoned. Captain crunch in the bottom of a glass, add in some cookie dough ice cream, pour in a lethal amount of fudge and caramel syrup with butterscotch chips, add another helping of sugary cereal and ice cream and syrup again and you had a delicious recipe for a horrible stomachache the next day.
A quirky fellow who sat to the right of me stated that he'd gladly shoot a cow between the eyes and eat it right where it stood if he could give it the properties of salad. I only said ice cream, choking on my social anxiety.
I watched from the corner of my eye across the room as Merry asked whoever she was sitting next to if I'd really just said I'd make salad out of ice cream. I listened to whomever she asked the question of explain that the idea was to give whichever food you chose the 'healthy' properties of salad.
"Oh," I'm pretty sure she said.
I wish I hadn't have choked up after I finished describing the delicious treat in my head. What had I been afraid of? Would they have chased me out of their Bible study with pitchforks for indulging so devilishly in late-night treats? Would they have known the idea had been originally concocted while I was higher than a kite? Needless to say I regretted my silence.
After the rest of the room had finished and Merry's turn finally came, she clarified once more what was being asked of her before she helplessly whined that she didn't know because she loved so many things before finally choosing Nutella.
I chuckled. Unable to decide because everything was too good and there were too many choices. Simple. Positive. Basic. I kicked myself for all the asinine behavior I'd show cased for her since meeting her. I kept my eyes down. I was so dumb.
The first time I'd met her she'd reminded me of all the good things I once was before I set out, hell bent on self destruction. I'd thought in awe that maybe if I'd have met her before so ruining so much of myself and trying to kill myself so many times that we might've at least had a good shot at being good friends. There was slight to no chance of that now, half because of how much of a abnormality I'd been and half because I'd lost so much of myself and nobody made friends with the dead.
The passage we read was Philippians 4:4-13.
I'd forgotten to mention my other anti-vulnerability self-defense technique for manipulating social situations.
After I'd realized in my later years in grade school that silently observing everyone intently made me stick out, and being caught so many times unintentionally staring at my peers or their feet lost in thought, I decided I had to develop an alternate outer facade.
One day someone had asked if I was staring off in the distance because I was high. At the time I said no, because the idea of me doing drugs was preposterous at the time. However, it did give me a good idea.
My eyelids naturally hung half-mast because when I opened them all the way my glance looked angry. Half mast looked must less analytical or expectant. Slightly slurring my voice and letting my words occasionally hitch in my throat as well as prefacing and re-prefacing every clause with man, dude, or bro gave the cold uncertainty and self-centered desire for self improvement shrouding fear a warm cloak. It became stupid uncertainty.
Go into any situation and introduce yourself as an idiot and you'll have nearly everyone in the room's trust because you've said you're an idiot and you look like an idiot. Enter claiming you're smart and you'll be challenged, questioned, and met with disbelief.
The passage essentially covered why you, a Christian, should not be anxious and instead should think upon things worthy of praise and through that find peace in Christ. It made a lot of sense, and I made a decent contribution to the group, making a couple of people laugh.
Like I've said before, I'd given up on praying because I'd done nothing in prayer but ask God for things.
God, help me with this etc. God, please don't let my girlfriend find out etc. God, please let this next stoplight be green.
Yeah, sure God could do those things but the idea of trying to get him to do those things on a regular basis and holding it against him that he didn't was no bueno.
The passage stated not to be anxious. I'm not sure what word they translated into anxiety, and I'm far too lazy to go look it up, but here's a couple of thoughts to ponder.
When you ask God for things, he doesn't give them to you. If you ask God for strength, He gives you the opportunity to be strong. If you ask Him for courage, He gives you the opportunity to be courageous. So on and so forth.
The oldest remedy to anxiety is eating food. This can be seen in animals as well as humans. When you become hungry you get anxious. Males and females in heat also become anxious.
Essentially, anxiety is your body's way of telling you that it believes you need to take care of something necessary to your survival.
I believe that the same anxiety that weighs down on your shoulders can be the same energy you use to stand up taller.
I'd started noticing that everyone in the Church group had migrated to the south side of town to be closer to the community. They were all centering their lives around their Church.
It hit me that a lot of my relationship problems could've been prevented if I had been learnt in these ways at the time.
Many times I'd centered my life around my significant other. I'd grown up with my parents centering their lives around one another, and the rest of my family did the same thing for the most part. Families were centered around themselves. They weren't centered around Church, and that's probably where they went wrong, or for the most part could've avoided a lot of problems if they had been centered around the Church instead.
I knew from personal experience that I'd often found pride, jealousy, envy, anger, and sexual immorality ruining my relationships. It was because I was putting so much of my own energy into being centered around that other person or the wrong things and whatever things that came of it mimicking fruits of the Spirit were actually only man made and led only to wickedness.
I'd bet money that if I had a reason to be honorable or commendable rather than because it's a good thing to do I would've done it. It's too easy to feel empty when your pride runs low and your emotions dwindle to shallow if you don't have something backing up your beliefs. That's why faith is a good thing for the most part.
I'd been frustrated by a meme I saw the other day. The message was simple; you aren't a good person if the only reason you behave as such is the promise of divine reward.
I'll admit that at one point I stood far on the other side of that message. I know the logic, I believe it too. However, as much as I know that it wouldn't be a good Christian of me to really believe in what I'd feel inclined to say, but I wish someone would shatter their beliefs and leave them so dissolute that whatever pride they take in being good was gone so they could understand why the promise of divine reward works.
The fact is that behind every person who makes that claim as the meme did is a very very strong personality led by a very prominent ego and pride through and through.
That night three years ago might've been described by some as ego death. I'll tell you that when I first heard the concept described to me I became so terribly disturbed and panicked that I immediately went home and attempted to calm myself for hours.
The moment that ego and pride is gone is the moment that person breaks and doesn't value good anymore. At that point it simply becomes observation, and the reason it takes Christ to save people from sinning is because sinning works wonders.
Yeah, you probably haven't ever read these words written by a Christian before, but evil pays, sinning is glorious and rewarding, and it works a lot faster than faith in Christ.
I'm not going to lie to you. There's no big secret; the reason people do evil and continue to do evil is because it's awesome.
Now let me leave you the disclaimer here. Don't go thinking that there's no catch to any of that.
Most people think of Hell as a place that you go to when you die. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to break the bad news but it really isn't. I like to quote a bit of a song by Bring Me the Horizon here;
"There is nothing above, there is nothing below; Heaven and Hell lives in all of us...
There is a Hell, believe me I've seen it. There is a Heaven, let's keep it a secret."
In those days after that fateful night three years ago I faced a lot of fears many would consider irrational. I read up on a lot of things that most people, superstitious or not, refuse to look into.
You don't die in and then go to Hell. No, Hell comes looking for you. Hell sinks it rotten teeth into your dreams long before you die. Hell shows you the darkest, most demented parts of everything that you once loved until you can't love them anymore. Hell sets fire to your soul in ways you'd have never imagined possible and once you see it... You'll never forget it.
I'd read into what was called the Lucifer Experiment. I hadn't believed it at first until I was already using it to my advantage. I'll tell you most of the LaVeyan satanism stuff is made up and not worth a read. There's this thing called the left hand path, the path of descent. Whatever got Lucifer out of Heaven, basically. Long story short, it works. I'd found myself in my own apartment, having everything I wanted, and the only thing I was giving up was my soul.
I hadn't had much value for my soul at the time, so what did I care? All that came with that broken soul was hurt, and I relished the idea of being able to cut it out completely like some festering sore.
Eventually it catches up to you. Just like an empty sea shell invites whatever-creatures-inhabit-sea-shells and the idle mind is the devil's playground, you can't hide forever.
I'd never felt like I had so much unrequited potential. I could think clearer and sharper than ever before, I had ultimate control over everything I did. The only thing I hated was the emptiness, and closing my eyes.
And mirrors.
The thing about living without a soul is that you don't have desires. You don't have needs, you don't have feelings. You have to account for that in everything you do so you don't burn out or get unhealthy.
You'll feel horridly empty. All of the memories and simple bits of life disappear to clear way for whatever it is you're attempting to accomplish. You close your eyes and there's absolutely nothing but flesh and fire hurtling towards death. There's no romanticizing, nothing special.
Mirrors horrified me. I've heard eyes are a window to the soul, and maybe that's why looking into a mirror was the only way for my soul to see what was going on. You look at the reflection and it's really not someone you've ever seen before. If you can get close enough to look into your eyes you'll see the closest thing to a pair of dead irises with a fire behind them still and rushing blood.
That's just the beginning of it. However, for now I'll digress to why Christianity's a better idea, you know, if you don't want to horrify yourself when you look in the mirror or hear about your behavior and actions from others.
Christianity works because, pardon me, not only does Jesus Christ save you because he died for your sins, but because it provides something for you to center your life around that is a sure-fire way to be loved, be happy, and feel peace.
Trust me, it works. I have terrible, terrible panic attacks and even I hate to admit that you really can just give it all to God and feel peace. All you have to do is have faith, as corny as that sounds.
You can feel loved because Jesus is there. You can feel safe because God is guarding your heart. You can feel peace because God, Christ, and his Church have got your back.
Keeping everything right in reality is something you can pray for guidance with but ultimately your job. That's why you think on the things that are listed in Philippians 4:8 I believe, because that's what will help you, give you peace, and rid you of anxiety.
The group-regrouped and several kids went around sharing. I say kids because no one looked over the age of thirty. Of course, the only people I remember talking was Brad, who was leading the group, Akeem, who asked to go to the bathroom, Manny, who surely said something profound, and Merry, because her voice still sounded like music and what she said bit at my heels a little.
It sounded like the weight of people relying on her was heavy, and she was glad that she had God because she couldn't save anyone, or everyone, which went on. She mentioned her grandmother dying, a few other hard things she was going through, and how she didn't think people should dwell on their past because God is good and He forgives you and so on.
I felt guilty. It felt like the same speech she'd probably gotten sick of me. I felt like a dirt-bag for calling her that night I got plastered and passed out on the side of the road. I felt guilty for asking her anything, I felt guilty for even being in the same room as her honestly. I felt guilty because I'd given her reason to tell me that she didn't want to lead me on. I felt guilty because I knew that even though I had never explicitly stated it, or probably did drunk, like when I told her she had the face of an Olympian, she probably felt like I was one of those people she might've felt inclined to save. The only reason I say that is because anyone that I open up to begins to feel an urge to save me after they see how bad I can get.
Unfortunately for me and anyone else who knew about it, I'd shown a whole lot of how bad I can get to her and hadn't known her more than a month.
She could've been anyone, but somehow the stars aligned and she happened to have a name that would make me pay attention to what I'd done.
I knew it was something I'd have to pray about, but I felt like it was something I'd have to pray long and hard for.
Or
I checked the digital calendar on the computer's toolbar. The seventh of October landed on Saturday, which would most likely be the most time I had to wrestle with the anxiety I felt... regarding that abscess of guilt festering in my soul.
Or
Most assuredly wouldn't feel, because I'd be able to refill my Xanax.
One of two things was bound to happen: I'd either completely lose whatever anxieties I had regarding all the guilt, or I'd be able to break myself down enough to figure out exactly what it was I was so worked up about.
I couldn't really lie to myself, I felt something. The tragedy is that typically me feeling anything led to nothing but confusion, upset, and shock. I was an infinite source of mixed signals. I didn't know myself and whatever I really did want was typically unapparent or nonexistent. I knew what made me smile, what made me laugh, and what made me frown, furrow my brow, and be flustered.
The less I said, the better I felt until I felt worse and said more until I felt worse enough to say less until I felt better.
I thought back to how badly I'd wanted to hear that music, how desperate I was for it. Maybe, since that's how some people might've felt about sex, it was lust, and therefore a sin. I'd started to believe that wanting anything more than whatever anyone else wanted was a sin because... well, I didn't know.
I'd sat hating myself for what I was without guilt. I was a romantic, meaning that I'd romanticize things. I was obsessive, meaning that I'd drive theories into the ground long after I'd realized they were probably not worth thinking about just because I wanted to see how far it could go. I was logical, and I knew the error of my ways and didn't often do anything about it.
Nobody's perfect right?
Romanticizing things led me to obsess over things I shouldn't be obsessing over. I felt in my heart how wonderfully easy it would be to begin to be honorable and turn towards the right things, think about the right things, but refused to. I felt like obsessing about Christ while at work and going about my day would leave me manic.
I could solve so many problems on my own and with Christ but sat frozen and unwilling to do so because I was afraid.
I was afraid of peace. I was afraid of confidence, of honor, of anything good.
I'd often made up far more problems than I actually needed assistance with simply because I felt otherwise I'd have absolutely no reason to talk to anyone, and if you couldn't tell, I had a whole lot of rubbish to get off of my chest.
I imagined my new friends looking at me in disappointment. It made me feel disappointed too. If I had all of these answers, why didn't I simply start answering my own questions and stop being such a disease?
I'd seen more of Amelia today, loved it, and refrained from being hateful towards her mother.
I managed to not be hateful towards Steven, or anyone else in my inbox whose messaged I deemed to not truly beg of a response.
I manged to not think of what people were saying to be all too deeply, because to obsess over what people said to me would've been dishonorable.
I felt at peace, or at least as peaceful as I deserved to feel with all that I hadn't yet done.
There was one problem.
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