I wonder what kind of person I would have or could have or should have been without other people around me; the people I mean, most of all, are the ones that made the biggest impressions on me during my “sponge” years; made me what I am; made me, despite me….
I’m pretty positive that up until my 5th year, that I wasn’t racist, politically active, religious, civic minded or had an opinion on any singular complex subject really other than the hard learned fact that I didn’t like the looks or taste of leafy green foods or their seedlings.
Oh, I was also born knowing that I hated tomatoes. I knew that from the get-go. It’s in my DNA.
Guess what “wasn’t” in my DNA?
Anger (Self righteous anger, I mean)
I had jealousy and envy. I wanted a BB gun too and I was upset that everyone else seemed to have one but me.
But, was that jealousy or did I just want to fit in?
I know for a fact that I learned hate, true hate, in and around the 6th grade.
Before hate, we’ll heretofor(sic) [from here on out] refer to the period of time of my “normal” childish tantrums and hissy fits as BH (Before Hate)
I hated everyone.
They made fun of my tennis shoes covered in pig shit.
They made fun of my crooked, buck teeth.
They made fun of the fact that I seemed to be the only human on earth to get lice in my hair every other week.
They made fun of me because I rode the bus, even though they did to but, I had to sit in the front. They sat in the back.
They was cool, man.
They made fun of my clothes, my books, my pecker, my nose, my eyes, my fingers…etc!
They tormented me because I was too beaten down at home to stand up to anybody, and they knew I was scared.
You see, I was too used to being told that I was stupid and lazy; a piece of shit, and I believed it.
If my Dad thought that about me then it must be true.
After all, he was my hero.
Hero’s don’t lie.
I just thought of something.
Maybe the reason I can’t or we can’t, remember much of our first few years isn’t because we were too young; maybe it’s because we never had too much of a traumatic event to scar us and cause us too subconsciously start marking time by the painful events in our lives, not the good times.
I don’t think parents have any idea of the monsters they can create with a word or none.
I’m doing a lot of soul searching in my life right now.
I don’t know if it’s a phase that all 51 year olds go thru; you know, facing our mortality and morality…..looking back?
I am a Mormon and I am beaten down by regrets.
They are as real and fresh to me now as the past instant they became a regret.
“Let go, let God”
I don’t have that much faith.
No, wait…let me rephrase that.
Someone, in my youth told me that God was vengeful, God was jealous, God should be feared and worshipped.
God is Love. A God of peace. A God of forgiveness that drove Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden forever, flooded the world and watched his very own son die on a tree….
I have no idea which God is which.
I have faith.
This is my faith. This is what I believe.
Suicide is a sin.
That is why I am still here. That is the only reason that I am still here.
Someone, somewhere, sometime BH told me that killing someone or even yourself was the worst kind of sin.
I know that burning in hell was mentioned as one of the least torments shelled out to killers, by God, of any type.
What is weird is that I am a Mormon that believes in a literal hell. The residual threads of my Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal upbringing are still tied to me somewhat.
I don’t know why, it’s probably just a description; Hell I mean, of a terrible place to frighten uneducated and unsophisticated peoples enshrouded in the superstition and ignorance of an ancient time and place.
I am a Mormon in a constant non-stop struggle with myself and my inner monsters, a never ceasing battle between my mind, my heart and my regrets.
I have the forgiving others part down, pat! No problem.
I forgive, I forget; to an extent. I’m only human, dammit!
Of course I’m still hurt and bitter about some things people have done to me but, I don’t beat them over the head with it; I’d welcome them back into my life and never think of those things again and sing and dance and throw flippi’n flower petals all over the place if they’d just let me….
How come I can know that people change, that stupid shit happens, that family is family and no one else seems to?
I’m having a little petulant party this evening it seems.
I’m a Mormon that can’t forgive himself.
Where is the faith that I need?
I would kill for the faith of a mustard seed.
“Let go, Let God”
He has enough to worry about, or, he’s quit worrying.
Why should he listen to me, I’ve lied to him before.
I have gone to the well too many times.
I am a Mormon and I do not believe that God is that forgiving. There is evidence in the Bible that he has his days….
I am a Mormon that believes that I am already in Hell.
I am a Mormon that believes that I am already on the lowest level, the terrestrial, of the 3 degrees of glory. (look it up)
This is as good as it gets for me.
Pain still hurts here.
Here’s the twist….
What if my life sux until my last few minutes and then all of a sudden…POOF!
I understand it all….
Suddenly I know why I suffered or thought I suffered or, I come to the realization that I am actually really here on earth and that HELL is real, and I’m going there FIRST CLASS! No customs to declare!
What if I find out that God had originally sent me here to back up Christ during his trial, help him escape and I got drunk, just like I always do….and he gave me eternal life to feel the regret!!?? FOREVER!!!!
I am a Mormon fighting alcoholism and depression.
No, I am not drunk. I am depressed but, I am writing about it and working thru it, or trying to.
That is how I roll.
I heal myself bit by bit by writing, confessing….bitching at the injustice of it all.
Why couldn’t I have had a normal life?
My God, is this a normal life?
I just remembered something as I stared off into the writer idea abyss….
I have a whole body, even my appendix.
I have my sight, my hearing, my mind, my memories, my sense of humor…
I have a wife that loves me and a step daughter that is planning on putting me in the cracker house.
I have a job I love and I have hope.
I haven’t decided which is better yet, hope or faith.
I know I’ve written about this quandry of mine a few times and I feel like I’ve reached a happy medium between the two.
I was feeling bad, down in the dumps.
So…I wrote about it.
I worked thru it, a little.; and I feel a little better.
I am a Mormon, I am a sinner that never quits trying to be better.
God knows this about me, if nothing else, that I am always trying to be a better man.
He might not talk to me anymore but, I know he knows.
I have faith in that fact.
And that’s better than nothing.
Thx for reading