Faith

From as young as I could remember, I was raised to believe that God could fix all. I was raised to understand that with God, life would be like the feeling a soul would get when it finally enters heaven. I was told that one day, I would be there; that I would be reunited with all those that I lost. When our dog died, I was told that he went to heaven. Then the cat went with him; dancing on the clouds. What they forgot to mention was that the clouds weren’t always there. Heaven was described to me as a beautiful place where you could have anything you ever wanted. God delivered no pain, no suffering, no lies, no deceit, no death, no empty promises, but most important to me, no distrust.

From as young as I could remember, I was raised to believe that the devil was the reason for all the pain that God fixes. I was raised to understand that with the devil, life would be like the feeling you get when fire consumes your skin; as if someone set a match to flammable liquid consuming your body inside and out. That liquid was your tears. I was told that the devil gave all living things pain, suffering, lies, deceit, death, empty promises, and distrust.

And when I would speak wonderful words of you, you would call to check up on me for the 20^th time that day; but now, I finally understand why they said “speak of the devil.” 

The most important thing to me is trust. It wasn’t always, but then I felt the bubbles of tears behind my eyelids ready to pour down my face into of pile that was my emotions, just waiting to be stepped on.

When I was an infant, I was baptized. When I was in second grade, I made my first reconciliation. When I was in third grade, I made my first communion. I didn’t do these things because I understood what they meant or because it was what I wanted. I did it because it was what you wanted. You wanted me to have the faith that you do. You wanted me to believe in something so much greater than myself. You wanted me to believe that God would help me in my time of need. You wanted me to believe that if I fall, faith will lift me back up. You wanted me to believe that any problem I had could be fixed with a little work and a prayer. Believe this: I’ve tried. I’ve tried too many times to count. Over and over and over again I prayed just waiting for that thing you call faith to come and save me from the rope around my neck that was my life. Insanity – doing something the same way, multiple times, and expecting different results. Your so called faith drove me to insanity. Every night I expected my prayers to be answered, and despite these prayers, every morning I could still take oxygen into my lungs.

I prayed that you would realize the pain you caused me every time you would say something that showed the lack of faith you had in the truth of my words. I prayed to forget that night as easily as you did. I prayed that you would remember the pain you caused me, but in order to remember something, you actually have to care enough to think about it. I prayed that I would stop remembering that night every time I hear a wine glass hit a surface or I see a bottle of alcohol in a store. I prayed that my mind would block that night from me like the alcohol blocked it from yours, but I could still write it down word for word to this day.

When insanity was too much to handle, I stopped praying. I have grown tired of being insane. I am tired of praying for a fix when I know that there is no medicine for the pain I am feeling. I am tired of praying for a life where deceit and death do not exist. I am tired of feeling like the space in your mind is filled with all the good you did when the space in my mind is cluttered with the times you have failed me. I am tired of trusting my life with something that has never given me a reason to trust it.

And you ask me why I don’t have faith.