Religion has always been a pretty big part of my life, whether I’ve liked it or not. As a baby, my parents dedicated me to Christ in front of an entire church congregation. We went to church every week without fail since my mom worked as a Sunday school teacher for several years. I even went to a Baptist elementary, middle school, high school, and now university.
My original choice in university was one with a better known writing program, but my mom said that I either choose the school she wanted me to go to or I wouldn’t go to college at all.
I picked the lesser of the two evils and decided a college degree at a place I probably wouldn’t be happy at to not getting one at all.
All of this being said, it’s really no surprise that I decided to become a Christian when I was barely seven years old.
Fast forward to now, I hardly like to associate with the term. I’ve been treated very badly by other Christians in my past. They judged me for things about myself that I have zero control over. There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing had changed. I’d been the same person for as long as they had known me.
I’m still very hurt over that experience. I rarely share personal information that isn’t easily accessible to others anymore. I’m just too scared about how others will react. Even my own family tried disowning me over this.
I have a hard time trusting the plastic smiles that greet you at the church door. They don’t care about you. They just care about your tithe and if you’re actually going to turn it in.
I try to have a positive relationship with God, but these past nearly five years or so have done nothing but absolutely shit on me. I used to be an athlete with a great future ahead because I had the best work ethic of anybody I knew and I could run on fumes onto the very end. I could pull all-nighters and finish that project early because I knew how great I would feel seeing everyone’s Facebook statuses blow up about how stressed out they were about that paper or poster or whatever the fuck we were told to slap together. I used to be able to lift over half my body weight and now I can barely make it up a staircase in a reasonable amount of time.
Everything I’ve worked for just keeps getting taken away from me while I see everyone else moving on ahead. What have I done wrong?
Tonight I went to a worship service and I couldn’t help but get angry. I usually end up getting angry at those types of things now. They always say count your blessings, but how can I do that when I’m pretty much on the verge of losing a major organ and I’m stuck in a hole of constant medication? I had to actually sit for most of the time because my knees were in a lot of pain.
Standing gets annoying when your legs suddenly have an extra pulse.
However, one of the singers would interrupt every once and a while to have his own little pep talk with us and I couldn’t help but wonder how he would react if he were in my situation. First of all, he probably wouldn’t have been jumping around on that stage, but trying to conserve as much energy as he possibly could.
Would he still be singing praises to God or would he be asking the question I ask every day: “Why me?”. Would he be as upset with God as I am?
Why create perfection and allow it to fall so much? Why allow disease and sin to run as rampantly as it does?
I know everyone says that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, but I really wish he would’ve chose someone else to test as harshly as he has me.
All of this better make a damn good book someday. And it’s isn’t going to be some Christian bookstore inspiration porn, either. It’s gonna be exactly like me: real, authentic, and a bit of an extra kick of poop humor.
I’m sorry if this rubs the wrong way with you, but I’m angry and I feel like I have a valid reason to be. You don’t just go from perfectly healthy to chronic illness and be ok with it.
I’m old enough to know exactly what I’m missing. I remember vividly what it was like to be healthy and I hate it.