Fundamental Independent Evangelical Bullshit, Suicide, and the Awakening of Truth
January 21, 2019 at 12:15 am
On December 3, 1990 my 6lb 8oz self was born into a Fundamental Independent Evangelical Baptist family. For those that had to re-read that and still have no clue what the fuck they just read, first Google the Duggers, then Westboro Baptist Church, and then smush those together. Very narrow-minded, all-or-nothing, bigoted, and fear-driven people.
God was our source of everything: peace, strength, comfort. We were nothing without god, and it was a religion of victimization and co-dependence. Without god, we were broken, useless, condemned, and weak. After my parents divorced, my mother dated women. When she was open about her sexuality, the church would shun her, and our family would stop talking to her. Once she repented and came back to god, everyone welcomed her back with open arms as if nothing ever happened. Even at the ages of 7 and 8, I saw this as being very harmful, toxic, hypocritical, and otherwise ridden with bullshit. Imagine that abusive cycle in a relationship... oh, wait.. that IS what Christianity is. Never mind.
In church, I was taught/told/commanded to never question, just accept and have faith. Questioning meant there was doubt, and god didn't approve of doubt. So trust his will, trust his plan, and make good choices and trust his will... wait... what?
I prayed the sinner's prayer several times. Each time, I had no faith. I went through the motions, faking it until i felt it, pretending to believe "just in case" and wondering why it didn't feel like I truly believed. Was I doing it wrong? Was I not trying hard enough?
When I was 19, I attended my last service in that church. I was relieved. Over the years, I have attended other churches, even churches of opposing religions. I've attended churches where pastors walked in pride parades, churches where pastors didn't preach fear and brimstone. But that belief eluded me... no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't believe.
Three years ago, I gave god one last try. I set my anger and questions at the altar, and laid a fresh slate before me. I bought a brand new Bible, downloaded devotional apps, looked up bible study groups, prayed before every meal and upon waking up and going to sleep, thanked god for everything, asked very little of him, bought Christian-based books, cut out music that wasn't Christian music, stopped cussing, and basically deep-throated the holy spirit like a cum-thirsty porn star. The belief wasn't there, but surely now that I was putting in the effort and doing everything right, it would come!
On February 21, 2016 I came home to a scene that made my reality crumble around me and on top of me. Two friends, both EMT/Firefighters, lay dead in pools of vomit and blood. My beloved friends had died after one shot the other several times, killing them, and then turned the gun on themself. When I called my grandmother to let her know what happened, and that I wouldn't be answering phone calls, my eyes were opened. She offered to pray, which to be fair, was fine. She had asked if there was anything she could do. "Can you bring them back?" She couldn't. "Can you make it possible for me to breathe love into bullet wounds so that I can bring them back?" She fought back tears, "No, sweetheart.. I'm so sorry." So she prayed. I wasn't eating, and no one cooking for me or flying out here could help. She did the only thing she knew to do, and I will never hold that part against her.
It is what came after that opened my eyes. Her reasons for this tragedy: god allowed this (me to find them/this happening at all, I don't know) because:
1. he was trying to get my attention because of things I won't get into here (I'm a demonic baby eater, don't ya know?)
2. he was testing my faith
3. he was punishing me (BBQed babies, man)
Those were fine with me. I hated myself, thank you depression and other bullshit. It was the fourth thing that set me off.
"Had they been saved, god would have maybe intervened. You need to pick better friends."
Then, in the next breath, "He has a plan, things happen for a reason. We have free will, and your friend made a horrible choice. Trust god's plan."
I was done. Absolutely fucking done.
This anger gave me courage to open my eyes. I went to a few more churches, but with a new goal: to see the idea of god with an objective mind.
Last August, I lost another friend to suicide. He was also a Paramedic/Firefighter. If I could have a brother, i would have wanted it to be him. Ray was the reason I got help for my own PTSD. He grieved our friends with me, encouraged me, motivated me to live life with more adventure and purpose. Then, a couple of weeks ago, my friend's 9-year-old son died from water intoxication. His organs were donated to at least 4 other kids, and he is now a superhero amongst the cosmos.
When Ray died, i got the same bullshit. God has a plan, blah blah blah fuck you blah. Pick better friends, blah blah bullshit blah. I was already gazing at the door of atheism. I was out of my seat, in the aisle, too afraid to move.
When Killian, my friend's son, died, my friend asked for thoughts. When people tried pushing god down her throat, I came to her defense. By this time, I was almost at the door.
Over the last few years, off and on, I have watched videos, read articles, talked to others, researched, thought on my own time... and wrestled with fear like my life depended on it. Because, for me, it was life or death.
I am at the door. My hand is on the doorknob. The door is opening, and I can see the light of reason and peace.
But what if hell is real? Fire and brimstone and eternal torment sound awful. But even if hell were different... my thought of hell was that it was a place that was farthest from love and peace. Well, shit. That's my life with depression. I am slowly grappling with this fear, and now...
I have one foot in the doorway. I am feeling peace.
But without hell, there is no heaven.
I never thought of heaven as a refuge for myself. That promise of peace never appealed to me. The only reprieve I had from life was the death that would come once I had the courage to pull that trigger and end my life. I didn't give much of a fuck after that, I just didn't want to hurt anymore. But the idea of being able to hug my Granny again and hear her laugh and feel her feather-soft hair against my cheek... the idea of being able to sit with my great-grandpa while he played his harmonica and sang.. those hopes would be gone. But that wasn't the hardest part.
I lost two friends to suicide, and one to homicide. No heaven means that my friends never found peace. That means that their lives ended in moments of torment and pain, and that there was no peace after. In the moments where I would sit and think about what I could have said to save them... in those moments when I was heartbroken and wanted to just breathe love into their bullet wounds and bring them back... it was eased with the hope that they were in heaven, a peace. When the image of my first two friends lying there would sear into my brain, I would imagine them in heaven, at peace.
I'm standing in the doorway. Belief is behind me. But my heart is breaking, and once i close this door behind me, it is closed.
I reject the idea of god. I reject the bible and its contradicitons and fairytales. I reject the idea of satan. I know where I stand, and holy fuck at the "spiritual" peace I have finally found.
Agnostic atheist... it resonates. It is my truth, my belief. I see truth in fact, in science, in proven things.
I've walked through the door. I'm not even turning back, my hand wants to close it. I feel peace.
How do I close this door? How do I silence that voice that tells me that satan has me in his cluthces? How can something you don't believe in harm you? It can't. Bible verses and threats of hell don't phase me. But that little voice.. it needs to fuck off.
Wherever my friends are, whatever happens after death, I can only hope that there is peace.
I came from a place of fear, and now, I am in a place of peace. This, to me, is the meaning of life.
