#grieving god

[unpackingbaggage]

I think I’m slowly healing(religious). It’s not efficient but I think I’m moving forward.

[winged-thinged]

There’s a church outside the window by my bed

(I don’t ever want to step foot in there again.)

Every Sunday I can hear the bells all peal

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

They ring out at a quarter to ten

(I don’t ever want to bow my head again.)

Calling erstwhile followers to heel

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

The rising voices of the holy men

(I don’t ever want to be seen by them again.)

Praise God, his glory all to tell

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

Kneeling on the wooden end

(I don’t ever want to bruise my knees again.)

They profess themselves all sinners, bound for hell

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

I remember, I remember when

(I don’t ever want to join hands with them again.)

I would feel that rush of rising zeal

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

I would touch and taste the holy bread

(I don’t ever want to put it to my lips again.)

I would let the blood and water spill

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

I would let my hands and mouth turn red

(I don’t ever want to watch them bleed again.)

I would make myself into a sacred meal

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

I talked to God like I was talking to a friend

(I don’t ever want to talk to Him again.)

I wish I still believed that it was real

(I remember how good it used to feel.)

[unpackingbaggage]

Genuinely not certain how I’m supposed to deal with the horrors while also deconstructing from Christianity.

My brother and SIL were talking yesterday about how hard 8th grade was but I’m kinda like - it was honestly fine? I was much more at peace and certain of my role in the world than I am now.

Back then, I thought there was a powerful God in charge who loved me. I know I’m supposed to be happy that I’m free from God now but I’m not. I want that back. I sometimes have to pretend I still have God to calm down.

[winged-thinged]

I'm not the rebellious type, is the thing. I'm the caring responsible type, the goody-two-shoes overachiever, the killjoy stick-in-the-mud, the anxiety-prone rule-follower. If I could have, I would have gone to church every week and brought food for the funerals and sang in the choir. I would have volunteered to host bake sales and help serve meals to the homeless, even though I hate talking to people. I would have followed the rules. I would have introspected. I would have talked to God every day, like he was my best friend, and I would have forgiven him ten hundred times for falling short on me. I would have studied the Bible like it was one of my shows, learned everything I could about God, and committed it to the bottom of my heart. I would have loved my brother for all his flaws, and I would have dutifully taken care of my parents in their old age.

But I can't. I don't fit there, anymore. They don't want me. They don't treat me well. They don't hold up their end of the bargain, don't return service for service or love for love. I'm not welcome, because I cannot repress the thing that I am that they hate and fear, because I cannot be dishonest, cannot pretend to worship what I know is wrong. Because the falseness of their faith cannot stand up to my earnest devotion to it. Even approaching it with love, with compassion, with the humble desire to understand—it just doesn't hold together.

[unpackingbaggage]

Tonight is one of those nights I’d give anything to go back to having a God.

[unpackingbaggage]

@deservedgrace I am still thinking about how you said grieving religion is grieving the fantasy of what it was supposed to be. I was like !! That’s the key!!

I couldn’t get over my parents until I let go of the idea that they’d ever be better and accepted who they actually are. This is the same! I feel like I know the way forward even though I’m not there yet.

[unpackingbaggage]

What’s crazy about deconstruction that I think my raised-agnostic friends don’t get is that God wasn’t a belief for me. He was a FACT. The factiest fact that ever did fact. He was more real to me than anything else. He was more real to me than anything about myself.

Learning he (probably maybe) isn’t real is an indescribable mindfuck. Learning I can do whatever I want is a small consolation for having my entire universe upended.

[unpackingbaggage]

Honestly, if there is no God and everything is random chance, but pretending there is a god, a god I get to create that is actually loving, makes my life better, what’s the harm in that?

The harm is in theology fosters dehumanization & abuse.

I miss feeling like I always have someone with me. I miss having an object for my gratitude. I miss having a sense that I have a loving parent who is taking care of me.

Maybe it’s ok to play pretend?