The weight of reality is worth it.
May 12, 2012 at 12:11 am
(This post was last modified: May 12, 2012 at 12:27 am by Annik.)
Sorry, it's a touch much.
I haven't been an atheist as long as some, I haven't even been one for a year (although sometime this summer will mark that milestone), but I have far left my Christian life behind.
When I was younger, Church was something of a pain for me. I wasn't a particularly girly youth and the thought of wearing a frilly dress and shoving my feet into nice shoes didn't really appeal to me. I have fond memories of the church that baptized and watch me grow. Most of these memories were cookies and game , but there is a fondness. I do remember thinking from an early age that the pastor didn't actually know who I was. An indignant thought about him not knowing me well enough to rest his hand on my shoulder stands out in most of my memories of the pastor greeting families as they exited the church. I did not like to be touched as a child.
Church became a little more important to me when I got into middle school. As a Lutheran, it was high time for me to be confirmed as a member of the church. I went to all the classes and made some friends. As a budding teen with few friends and strange hobbies, the company and unity was more than welcome. I participated in services, got confirmed and went to church on a semi-regular basis, even if it meant the dress.
It was around this time I realized I never prayed outside of church or the words your parents make you say before you go to bed (which I did not understand). I awkwardly began forcing myself to pray. It was sporadic (I am not good at remembering to do things), but I would speak to some unknown being with the hope that it would have mercy on me, but I never prayed for anything specifically for myself, and I made a pact I never would. I am a stubborn girl; I like to do things for myself.
Come high school, my self-esteem plummeted. I think that's when the depression started. I tried to pray more, but it was feeling more and more awkward. I would break my pact and pray for the pain to do away or for someone to come along and relieve the crushing loneliness I would feel each day. I felt like I was talking to no one and nothing in my life changed.
Faced with this uncomfortableness during prayer, a lack of warm belonging or presence of God in church and the treatment of homosexuals, irreligious, the downtrodden, I began revising my views. There was no ever present "God". I couldn't let go of the concept just yet, I just adopted a more deistic (but not completely) view on things. God couldn't save me from my loneliness because he had a strict 'no-interference' policy. This kind of god was much easier to plug into science ("God just sparked the Big Bang! God just set evolution into motion!") because even as a Christian, I could not reject science. I felt an ease, as if God was just watching, but leaving it up to me. I also because sure that my lifestyle would lead me to Hell. I cared less with each passing day.
By the time I got to college, I rarely thought about God. I remember rolling my eyes at my mother's suggestion of finding a church. I still believed, but I'd come to the conclusion that anything but private worship was boisterous. Conveniently, I rarely had the motivation to worship. I couldn't help but think it wasn't worth the time. I'd see the Jesus-Freaks on campus and remark on how strong their faith was. I don't recall thinking that positively.
I met Hovik a year after that. He was incredible. Everything I had wanted in a man, strong, handsome, freakishly intelligent and he would do all kinds of nerd-things with me. We fell in love and because best friends at the same time. It was awesome. But Hovik was an atheist. I hadn't really encountered one before, and I had never thought that one didn't have to believe in God. I still had my faith, though, and I was obligated to defend it.
He never pressed his atheism on me and I didn't have any issue with his non-belief. However, he'd ask my views on things, what I believed and why. At first, I was eager to show off my science-friendly version of God. After a while, the conversations made me uncomfortable. There were too many things I had no answers for. Hovik made too much sense. I asked him to stop asking about it and he obliged.
After I didn't feel the need to defend my beliefs, I started evaluating them. Not from a believer's point of view, I because unbiased. After some time, something clicked in me. I didn't believe in any of the folklore that was written in the Bible, I didn't agree with a lot of the moral center-points of Christians, I didn't worship, I didn't care to worship. My heart wasn't into this whole Jesus thing because I didn't really believe in it. I didn't believe in it. No God, no Jesus, no Heaven or Hell... Just me.
At first, I was scared out of my mind. How could it just be me out here? There would be no one to help me out, no one to look after me. I felt like an old friend had died. Christianity was culturally conditioned in me, I didn't have the first clue as to functioning without it. And then I realized that it was me all along. I was always alone, standing on my own. I still cried for a week, but that feeling is long gone.
Since then, I've experienced an unbridled passion for knowing. I found myself sketching more, taking more pleasure in my work, reading non-fiction and articles. I dropped 40 pounds and started smoking weed. I really started living. And, I mean, it feels wonderful. There's freedom, lightness, wonder and beauty that most religious people will never have the context for.
That's my story. It's pretty boring, but it's mine.
td;dr: I got older and didn't care about Jesus anymore.
I haven't been an atheist as long as some, I haven't even been one for a year (although sometime this summer will mark that milestone), but I have far left my Christian life behind.
When I was younger, Church was something of a pain for me. I wasn't a particularly girly youth and the thought of wearing a frilly dress and shoving my feet into nice shoes didn't really appeal to me. I have fond memories of the church that baptized and watch me grow. Most of these memories were cookies and game , but there is a fondness. I do remember thinking from an early age that the pastor didn't actually know who I was. An indignant thought about him not knowing me well enough to rest his hand on my shoulder stands out in most of my memories of the pastor greeting families as they exited the church. I did not like to be touched as a child.
Church became a little more important to me when I got into middle school. As a Lutheran, it was high time for me to be confirmed as a member of the church. I went to all the classes and made some friends. As a budding teen with few friends and strange hobbies, the company and unity was more than welcome. I participated in services, got confirmed and went to church on a semi-regular basis, even if it meant the dress.
It was around this time I realized I never prayed outside of church or the words your parents make you say before you go to bed (which I did not understand). I awkwardly began forcing myself to pray. It was sporadic (I am not good at remembering to do things), but I would speak to some unknown being with the hope that it would have mercy on me, but I never prayed for anything specifically for myself, and I made a pact I never would. I am a stubborn girl; I like to do things for myself.
Come high school, my self-esteem plummeted. I think that's when the depression started. I tried to pray more, but it was feeling more and more awkward. I would break my pact and pray for the pain to do away or for someone to come along and relieve the crushing loneliness I would feel each day. I felt like I was talking to no one and nothing in my life changed.
Faced with this uncomfortableness during prayer, a lack of warm belonging or presence of God in church and the treatment of homosexuals, irreligious, the downtrodden, I began revising my views. There was no ever present "God". I couldn't let go of the concept just yet, I just adopted a more deistic (but not completely) view on things. God couldn't save me from my loneliness because he had a strict 'no-interference' policy. This kind of god was much easier to plug into science ("God just sparked the Big Bang! God just set evolution into motion!") because even as a Christian, I could not reject science. I felt an ease, as if God was just watching, but leaving it up to me. I also because sure that my lifestyle would lead me to Hell. I cared less with each passing day.
By the time I got to college, I rarely thought about God. I remember rolling my eyes at my mother's suggestion of finding a church. I still believed, but I'd come to the conclusion that anything but private worship was boisterous. Conveniently, I rarely had the motivation to worship. I couldn't help but think it wasn't worth the time. I'd see the Jesus-Freaks on campus and remark on how strong their faith was. I don't recall thinking that positively.
I met Hovik a year after that. He was incredible. Everything I had wanted in a man, strong, handsome, freakishly intelligent and he would do all kinds of nerd-things with me. We fell in love and because best friends at the same time. It was awesome. But Hovik was an atheist. I hadn't really encountered one before, and I had never thought that one didn't have to believe in God. I still had my faith, though, and I was obligated to defend it.
He never pressed his atheism on me and I didn't have any issue with his non-belief. However, he'd ask my views on things, what I believed and why. At first, I was eager to show off my science-friendly version of God. After a while, the conversations made me uncomfortable. There were too many things I had no answers for. Hovik made too much sense. I asked him to stop asking about it and he obliged.
After I didn't feel the need to defend my beliefs, I started evaluating them. Not from a believer's point of view, I because unbiased. After some time, something clicked in me. I didn't believe in any of the folklore that was written in the Bible, I didn't agree with a lot of the moral center-points of Christians, I didn't worship, I didn't care to worship. My heart wasn't into this whole Jesus thing because I didn't really believe in it. I didn't believe in it. No God, no Jesus, no Heaven or Hell... Just me.
At first, I was scared out of my mind. How could it just be me out here? There would be no one to help me out, no one to look after me. I felt like an old friend had died. Christianity was culturally conditioned in me, I didn't have the first clue as to functioning without it. And then I realized that it was me all along. I was always alone, standing on my own. I still cried for a week, but that feeling is long gone.
Since then, I've experienced an unbridled passion for knowing. I found myself sketching more, taking more pleasure in my work, reading non-fiction and articles. I dropped 40 pounds and started smoking weed. I really started living. And, I mean, it feels wonderful. There's freedom, lightness, wonder and beauty that most religious people will never have the context for.
That's my story. It's pretty boring, but it's mine.
td;dr: I got older and didn't care about Jesus anymore.
![[Image: SigBarSping_zpscd7e35e1.png]](https://images.weserv.nl/?url=i169.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fu224%2FUchiha_Kina%2FTags%2FSigBarSping_zpscd7e35e1.png)
![[Image: hoviksig-1.png]](https://images.weserv.nl/?url=i82.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fj241%2FDieste%2Fhoviksig-1.png)
