It’s morning. I’m still awake. It’s getting lighter outside.
Calvin’s questioning my sanity.
I’m right there with him.
These night shifts really know how to fuck me up.
And fuck me they do.
I’ve been going through some weirdness as well. Mostly, I’m disturbed by a particular dream I’ve had.
Over a year ago, I… decided for lack of better words that the faith life is not my life. Faith and religion isn’t and hasn’t ever been something incredibly dear to me. I’ve never had the conviction. I can’t.
I saw… or should I say “saw” people in my life that held God deep within their hearts. It was all around me. Then again, so was this distant faith that I found to be much more like my own beliefs.
My mother was the root of everything. She would wake up at around this hour (instead of staying up all night…) to read the bible. I used to curl up next to her as she’d read me a story when I was little. Through all her struggles, she put her faith in God to help her. I was taught to do that at a young age.
It was learned but not on my own.
I never felt that I had developed some sort of relationship with God. Or Jesus. Or any deity. When I had struggles, I prayed. Nothing happened. I never heard a voice. Nothing was leading me. I tried reading scripture. The connection was never made.
“You have to make the connection.”
I’m not denying that God is real. It may be. He or She may be. I don’t know. I just don’t like my eternal damnation being shoved down my throat every day.
Why is one religion “more right” than another? Why does believing in one save you whereas another one damns you?
I’ve been surrounded by people of extreme faith. My mother. My mother’s family. My elementary school. My middle school. My high school. My first boyfriend. My roommate. It follows me.
And in all honesty, I’m jealous.
I’m jealous that they have faith. I’m jealous that when they feel all alone, they feel like they have something they can turn to. I’m jealous that they have a community. I’m jealous that they have this connection.
Or that they’re able to convince me of their connection.
My dream… was bizarre. I had died. Heaven was this ice palace. Those who did not believe were unconscious outside in the icy tundra until they renewed their faith. Obviously, all the proof I needed was there. My faith “restored”, I entered. Heaven had a system. You were first sectioned into the things that you most valued. I value knowledge and philosophy. Then, you were again separated by age and gender. I was then assigned a room. They were large rooms with several beds scattered throughout. It was like church camp all over again. A bunch of girls already comfortable in their bunks… I was the newbie. I found my bed, which again girls were sectioned off by their zodiac sign (um…. ?????) and was told to go and get my clothes. More dividing. More so, each section had specific kinds of clothing they wore. Every thing always came back to God and Jesus. All thanks and praise. It gets weirder.
Love was a special topic. You meet your true soulmate in Heaven. When they arrive and the time is “right”, you are called upon. It’s a very special thing. God himself tells you that this is it and you are reassigned together.
Time was a very relative thing.
It was a weird crossover between Divergent, Orange is the New Black, and years of Catholic education bundled into one, twisted dream.
It makes me almost hate faith.