Six.
The verse of the day was, "Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name; ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full." John 16:24 KJV.
I must say, the prayer I'd prayed,
Dear God, please help shelter me from the promiscuous,
(which I'd really wanted to phrase 'Dear God, save me from all these hoes,')
and Dear God, please protect me from the sins of extramarital sex and all the desires of the flesh relating to lust,
had worked pretty fucking well.
I'm sorry, God. Please, God, Christ Jesus, Holy Spirit, forgive me for the cursing.
My jeans hadn't been loose enough around my legs. Skinny fit, straight leg cuts had to feel somewhat loose or I'd spend the days feeling repulsive.
I hadn't realized at the time how wrong that was under God. Not only was vanity a sin, but to feel disgust towards even one's self was hate, and a sin in itself.
I remembered again how my wickedness had gone unpunished and unnoticed but afflicted those who I cared about around me.
My mother had received a degree in college to be a dietitian. My dad had worked out for three hours a day in college and did so through the rest of his life while I knew him.
Diets were a constant and imperative concept. Looking like that pasta has been getting the best of you! You're starting to grow tits, brother! I hate being so fat. I feel disgusting. You're eating too much ice cream. You keep that up and no one's going to like you.
As a teenager I grew to be grateful for it. So many kids, to my disbelief, had absolutely no idea how to look the way they wanted. Here I had been condemning them, another sin, for so foolishly whining about their figures as they stuffed their faces with all the wrong things.
Kristen.
Kristen, who'd once been a pudgy little girl, had evolved into a colorful image of what it looks like when Hot Topic happens to your family. Maybe she hadn't been the traditional definition of sexy, a sin again to look at anyone in such lustful ways, but she had a loud, vibrant personality.
I'd heard about the tragedies and horror of it before, but never had seen it like I saw so vividly in Kristen.
It, being anorexia.
Anorexia was like a demon that haunted men and women, girls and boys as a curse for living in vanity.
I watched Kristen slowly turn into a beautiful skeleton. Not thin enough to look repulsive but not thick enough to have any shape other than that of her bone structure. Luckily, that bone structure had given her hips that left my memory scarred in lustful imagery.
Before she had become that skeleton, though, or at least began to become that skeleton, I'd felt the words leave my lips and tongue like the venom of some deadly snake.
"I hate eating, it makes my stomach hurt," she'd say, and I never knew if it was the truth or a lie she'd told herself. It would've never been my place to judge, and even though I judged so many others I refrained with her as best I could.
I am a snake.
"Yeah, me too. I feel so much better the longer I go without eating. Its like it ruins everything and I want to go to sleep afterwards. Fuck eating," I said. In reality, it was true. When I did eat, I found that I'd shortly become foggy and exhausted. The feeling most people might get after drinking a wheat beer was the same feeling I got after consuming anything with any form of carbohydrate in it.
Also, I'd hated the feeling of anything being in my stomach. Ideally I'd eat only enough of specific foods so that my stomach didn't churn from sheer emptiness and didn't bloat from compounds that would absorb water.
She'd comment about her figure. I'd comment about mine. She'd told me countless times how much she hated how men would talk about how she looked or compliment her. She hated it because she refused to believe them because she knew it was bullshit.
Maybe somewhere in her heart she knew it was wrong because it had never been anything but words of lust and immorality. Worship. Idolatry.
On Kristen's wall had hung an upside-down crucifix in mockery of anyone who felt so taken aback or empowered by the sign of the cross.
At the time, I hadn't known that mockery lead to wickedness.
I never said anything positive about her body. I'd once read that pretty, gorgeous, cute, and the like were words praising external beauty. Hot, sexy, and their kin only begged sexuality. Beautiful, on the other hand described a brilliance and cherishing of the mind.
I had thought I'd loved Kristen. I respected her wishes against compliments and never said word of it.
It didn't occur to me until I'd realized much later what damage I'd been doing.
"I need to work out more, I'm starting to feel fat again," she'd say. She was five-foot-five and maybe one-hundred-twenty pounds at most at the time.
"Me too, I feel disgusting. I hate how when I sit down these rolls on my stomach form. Its so gross." I was five-foot-eight (and still am) and weighed only one-hundred-forty-five pounds.
The only logical reason for either of us to have wanted to work out would've been to build and strengthen muscle. We, two skinny, sexy, drug addicts had no right to think of ourselves as disgusting.
It was hate; It was lust; It was envy; It was vanity; It was gluttony.
Our diets consisted of cigarettes, liquor, herbal teas, crackers, blunts, bong rips, joints, (whatever food I'd eat in secret, away from anyone I might know), and water.
Water was healthy. Water didn't have calories.
As she progressively shrank and her wrists began to fit in my palms, I felt the wrath of my own self-depreciating words permeating through to her disease. Her curse.
Evil lead so many peoples lives because, like I said, it works. The vigilance she'd learnt from all of the days without food had given her confidence and a sense of control and power.
The weight fell off so fast and men, full of lust, begging for sin, came from out of the woodwork like worms.
While her skin might've been turning yellow, it didn't show from beneath her make up. Besides, her eyes were so captivating that you'd only be able to notice anything aside from what she wanted or what she felt or what she wanted you to believe she felt if you'd taken enough time with her for her to grow tired and let down her guard.
She hadn't been the first anorexic I'd been with. I'd been with another recovering anorexic who'd been to the hospital multiple times and had began to have heart problems from the lack of nutrition.
In vanity, I'd done the same thing with her. She stopped eating so much and started to speak less and less of her love of food.
One night I'd clearly had the opportunity to have my way with her, but I'd stopped because this was before I'd intentionally began to turn my back on God, and wanted to take things slow and make it special.
I'd kissed her with my hands feeling up her thighs. Aside from the kiss being, well, unsatisfactory, I'd stopped dead in moving forward.
Her thighs. I can still remember exactly what they felt like in my arms.
At the time I'd cared for her and hadn't thought to associate disgust with her, but the only closest words that came to mind were horribly sad.
It felt like two loosely filled a water balloons around thin, hollow bone. I moved my hand up and down her thighs, trying to appear natural (probably failing), unable to grasp what could've possibly caused what felt like such a deterioration of flesh.
Her flesh hung off of her like laminated hunks of roast beef. Underneath her pretty, pale skin must've been malnourished, hollow meat.
I couldn't have brought myself to have sex with her until much later in my life, when the idea of sin and taking advantage of something helpless and weak made me feel horny.
I am SO thankful, God, that I'm past that, now.
Digressing, of course, when she'd cheated on me and broken up with me, first as a joke and then revealed as a truth, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to say it but thought it best anyways, I'd called her a slur of hurtful yet true words that left her unable to go to school the next day.
I'd been called to the office at school, accused of bullying. Even then I loved and craved my value of honesty, so with a smile I handed my phone to the principal and told her to look. I said,
"Tell me if there's a single word I'd said that wasn't true."
She laughed.
"See?" I felt empowered.
"But... was it really your place? You're not in trouble, but don't talk to her anymore."
"I believe it was. Someone's got to tell people when their wrong, and even if I took it a little far, I felt right in doing so." I judged. I felt righteous. It was all sin.
She got a whole lot skinnier after that.
"I know I said my heart beats for you. I was lying, girl; it beats for two.
Because I've got your love while I've got these vices.
Everything I touch turns to stone; so wrap your arms around me, and leave me on my own.
Take back every word I've said, ever said to you."
Vices.
Next
The verse of the day was, "Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name; ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full." John 16:24 KJV.
I must say, the prayer I'd prayed,
Dear God, please help shelter me from the promiscuous,
(which I'd really wanted to phrase 'Dear God, save me from all these hoes,')
and Dear God, please protect me from the sins of extramarital sex and all the desires of the flesh relating to lust,
had worked pretty fucking well.
I'm sorry, God. Please, God, Christ Jesus, Holy Spirit, forgive me for the cursing.
My jeans hadn't been loose enough around my legs. Skinny fit, straight leg cuts had to feel somewhat loose or I'd spend the days feeling repulsive.
I hadn't realized at the time how wrong that was under God. Not only was vanity a sin, but to feel disgust towards even one's self was hate, and a sin in itself.
I remembered again how my wickedness had gone unpunished and unnoticed but afflicted those who I cared about around me.
My mother had received a degree in college to be a dietitian. My dad had worked out for three hours a day in college and did so through the rest of his life while I knew him.
Diets were a constant and imperative concept. Looking like that pasta has been getting the best of you! You're starting to grow tits, brother! I hate being so fat. I feel disgusting. You're eating too much ice cream. You keep that up and no one's going to like you.
As a teenager I grew to be grateful for it. So many kids, to my disbelief, had absolutely no idea how to look the way they wanted. Here I had been condemning them, another sin, for so foolishly whining about their figures as they stuffed their faces with all the wrong things.
Words are the blood of consciousness. As diseases of the body could be prevented by bandages, distances, and medicine; consciousness remained vulnerable indefinitely until you realized it needed protected. Often by then it was already too late.
Kristen, who'd once been a pudgy little girl, had evolved into a colorful image of what it looks like when Hot Topic happens to your family. Maybe she hadn't been the traditional definition of sexy, a sin again to look at anyone in such lustful ways, but she had a loud, vibrant personality.
I'd heard about the tragedies and horror of it before, but never had seen it like I saw so vividly in Kristen.
It, being anorexia.
Anorexia was like a demon that haunted men and women, girls and boys as a curse for living in vanity.
I watched Kristen slowly turn into a beautiful skeleton. Not thin enough to look repulsive but not thick enough to have any shape other than that of her bone structure. Luckily, that bone structure had given her hips that left my memory scarred in lustful imagery.
Before she had become that skeleton, though, or at least began to become that skeleton, I'd felt the words leave my lips and tongue like the venom of some deadly snake.
"I hate eating, it makes my stomach hurt," she'd say, and I never knew if it was the truth or a lie she'd told herself. It would've never been my place to judge, and even though I judged so many others I refrained with her as best I could.
I am a snake.
"Yeah, me too. I feel so much better the longer I go without eating. Its like it ruins everything and I want to go to sleep afterwards. Fuck eating," I said. In reality, it was true. When I did eat, I found that I'd shortly become foggy and exhausted. The feeling most people might get after drinking a wheat beer was the same feeling I got after consuming anything with any form of carbohydrate in it.
Also, I'd hated the feeling of anything being in my stomach. Ideally I'd eat only enough of specific foods so that my stomach didn't churn from sheer emptiness and didn't bloat from compounds that would absorb water.
She'd comment about her figure. I'd comment about mine. She'd told me countless times how much she hated how men would talk about how she looked or compliment her. She hated it because she refused to believe them because she knew it was bullshit.
Maybe somewhere in her heart she knew it was wrong because it had never been anything but words of lust and immorality. Worship. Idolatry.
On Kristen's wall had hung an upside-down crucifix in mockery of anyone who felt so taken aback or empowered by the sign of the cross.
At the time, I hadn't known that mockery lead to wickedness.
I never said anything positive about her body. I'd once read that pretty, gorgeous, cute, and the like were words praising external beauty. Hot, sexy, and their kin only begged sexuality. Beautiful, on the other hand described a brilliance and cherishing of the mind.
I had thought I'd loved Kristen. I respected her wishes against compliments and never said word of it.
It didn't occur to me until I'd realized much later what damage I'd been doing.
"I need to work out more, I'm starting to feel fat again," she'd say. She was five-foot-five and maybe one-hundred-twenty pounds at most at the time.
"Me too, I feel disgusting. I hate how when I sit down these rolls on my stomach form. Its so gross." I was five-foot-eight (and still am) and weighed only one-hundred-forty-five pounds.
The only logical reason for either of us to have wanted to work out would've been to build and strengthen muscle. We, two skinny, sexy, drug addicts had no right to think of ourselves as disgusting.
It was hate; It was lust; It was envy; It was vanity; It was gluttony.
Our diets consisted of cigarettes, liquor, herbal teas, crackers, blunts, bong rips, joints, (whatever food I'd eat in secret, away from anyone I might know), and water.
Water was healthy. Water didn't have calories.
As she progressively shrank and her wrists began to fit in my palms, I felt the wrath of my own self-depreciating words permeating through to her disease. Her curse.
Evil lead so many peoples lives because, like I said, it works. The vigilance she'd learnt from all of the days without food had given her confidence and a sense of control and power.
The weight fell off so fast and men, full of lust, begging for sin, came from out of the woodwork like worms.
While her skin might've been turning yellow, it didn't show from beneath her make up. Besides, her eyes were so captivating that you'd only be able to notice anything aside from what she wanted or what she felt or what she wanted you to believe she felt if you'd taken enough time with her for her to grow tired and let down her guard.
She hadn't been the first anorexic I'd been with. I'd been with another recovering anorexic who'd been to the hospital multiple times and had began to have heart problems from the lack of nutrition.
In vanity, I'd done the same thing with her. She stopped eating so much and started to speak less and less of her love of food.
One night I'd clearly had the opportunity to have my way with her, but I'd stopped because this was before I'd intentionally began to turn my back on God, and wanted to take things slow and make it special.
I'd kissed her with my hands feeling up her thighs. Aside from the kiss being, well, unsatisfactory, I'd stopped dead in moving forward.
Her thighs. I can still remember exactly what they felt like in my arms.
At the time I'd cared for her and hadn't thought to associate disgust with her, but the only closest words that came to mind were horribly sad.
It felt like two loosely filled a water balloons around thin, hollow bone. I moved my hand up and down her thighs, trying to appear natural (probably failing), unable to grasp what could've possibly caused what felt like such a deterioration of flesh.
Her flesh hung off of her like laminated hunks of roast beef. Underneath her pretty, pale skin must've been malnourished, hollow meat.
I couldn't have brought myself to have sex with her until much later in my life, when the idea of sin and taking advantage of something helpless and weak made me feel horny.
I am SO thankful, God, that I'm past that, now.
Digressing, of course, when she'd cheated on me and broken up with me, first as a joke and then revealed as a truth, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to say it but thought it best anyways, I'd called her a slur of hurtful yet true words that left her unable to go to school the next day.
I'd been called to the office at school, accused of bullying. Even then I loved and craved my value of honesty, so with a smile I handed my phone to the principal and told her to look. I said,
"Tell me if there's a single word I'd said that wasn't true."
She laughed.
"See?" I felt empowered.
"But... was it really your place? You're not in trouble, but don't talk to her anymore."
"I believe it was. Someone's got to tell people when their wrong, and even if I took it a little far, I felt right in doing so." I judged. I felt righteous. It was all sin.
She got a whole lot skinnier after that.
"I know I said my heart beats for you. I was lying, girl; it beats for two.
Because I've got your love while I've got these vices.
Everything I touch turns to stone; so wrap your arms around me, and leave me on my own.
Take back every word I've said, ever said to you."
Vices.
Next
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