I was born into a religious home. I was raised "non-denominational Christian", though different teachers at different times went as far as teaching me that the earth was less than 6000 years old and evolution was a lie placed by Satan to confuse us. I genuinely studied and argued that because a flagellum worked, God had to have created it. It took many years for my later, complete rejection of religion to reach a healthy place. Nowadays I believe that while faith can be the most devastatingly destructive elements of modern society, it can also bring happiness, joy, and peace to a life. While I hold no faith or belief in a deity myself, I no longer hate or revile those that do.
The writing below is from January 2005. I have not updated my edits, it is as it was when I was 18 years young. I first shared it with my then girlfriend. We often discussed religion, and ultimately it was my rejection of Christ's teachings that was the final straw in our destructive and messy teenage romance. After her, I shared it with many of my peers. I was home-schooled, and my "peers" were almost exclusively through the church. I do not believe this helped my ongoing feelings of angst and rejection I was feeling. If anything, this writing is something of an expression of that anger.
The writing below is from January 2005. I have not updated my edits, it is as it was when I was 18 years young. I first shared it with my then girlfriend. We often discussed religion, and ultimately it was my rejection of Christ's teachings that was the final straw in our destructive and messy teenage romance. After her, I shared it with many of my peers. I was home-schooled, and my "peers" were almost exclusively through the church. I do not believe this helped my ongoing feelings of angst and rejection I was feeling. If anything, this writing is something of an expression of that anger.
For those that have seen those eyes.
May God forgive me for what I have done…
And in the morning, if I dare rise.
May I forever weep, and mock the sun.
A dark pair of piercing eyes stares at me unblinkingly. I couldn’t actually make out the expression on the face in which these eyes were mounted. Those eyes were loud. They screamed without cessation. They hold pain, and hatred. I've seen hardened eyes before... but I’ve never seen such malice, such anger, so intact. No, these words signify natural human emotions. These eyes did not convey emotion to me. Pure essence streamed towards me through the void, yet what reached me was the void itself. In that moment, it was wrath itself. Those eyes will haunt me till the day that I forget who I am. I don’t think any true human soul will ever truly understand those eyes. I know that I never will, the best that I can do is visualize the essence; the terror that I felt when I saw those eyes. They say that eyes are a window to the soul. Maybe that is why I am still so frightened. The soul that I saw underneath those eyes, held no love, no joy. No happiness had ever entered through the portal that they are, to whatever twisted existence was trapped behind them. It isn’t even possible for a member of the human race to achieve the level of pain that hid behind those eyes. With a great deal of struggle, I pulled my gaze away, and realized that there was a visage surrounding those eyes. This face was hardly worth mentioning, because the face itself hardly existed, as near as I could tell. It was like a wisp of smoke. This formless face held the bitterest countenance I had ever seen. It was as if the eyes were the true being, and the rest of his body was merely a physical extension of the essence of wrath that I had yet to clear from my mind. In that moment I lived forever.
My eyes opened in a flash, and the image was gone. I still can’t shake the terror that “dream” gave me. Like some sort of ironic gift. I stood in the shower shaking for at least half an hour that morning. And when I finally did step out, and put on my best Sunday dress, I had just started to clear my mind of those eyes. I know what they meant. I still don’t give a shit. Let the nightmares come. I still will not let it go.
Be good. Be nice. Behave. Be a perfect Christian. I know, and I try. The voices in my life keep telling me how wonderful I am: such a good friend, son, and teacher. Is there really no one else that has anything left to teach me? Sure, I can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but just because I don’t listen doesn’t mean I don’t need answers. Screw you. You really think that you have anything left to teach me? You have never seen those eyes. You will never know that essence of pain. You are too trapped. You’re just like me. You live out your life in your little box, where Jesus saves, and God is always listening. I refuse to believe that God has ever seen those eyes. The mere gaze of God would destroy the evil that that sinister phantom of my mind represents. A plan for everything you say? Why not just say “no pain, no gain”? You are just scared. The worst fate your puny psyche can imagine is death. Well who gives a fuck about death? We all die, and I want you to just imagine, how many people have you killed? None you say? How many people have you laughed at, scowled at, ignored? You aren’t sure? Yea, I would lose count too. I have lost count. I don’t think I am any better, I just think that you are ignorant. Do you really think that Jesus saves? Then what the hell is your problem? Why is it that Jesus is only your savior when you are safe in your church, in your youth group, teaching Sunday school? When you walk out, with that happy, joyful feeling in your heart, in your soul, do you consciously decide to keep it to yourself? Or are you just faking. You are a Christian right? Well guess what, for every friend that you didn’t tell about Jesus, you are a murderer. And don’t think I mean with words. Words mean shit. We have all heard fools screaming on street corners, calling for the people to repent. On a side note, do you think those idiots actually believe that
screaming at people to repent; will really change any souls? You can’t convince people to believe you; it’s about how you live your life. If you are praying to God in the morning, and fucking some random whore you picked up in a bar the next, what the hell are you? A Christian? I don’t believe you anymore… What? Yea, bullshit you aren’t that bad. You don’t have sex, you don’t drink, you don’t do anything really bad! Right, more bullshit. How the hell can you teach kids with that lying mouth? I’ve seen you, I know you. You walk into the world, straight through those “doors of God”, and what are you then? You are a lying, vain, bitter, rumor mongering, sad, and decrepit soul. When is the last time you made a sex joke? Last time you swore about one of your “friends” behind
their back? No, no I don’t think that I am any better then you, I just don’t fool myself into thinking that I am somehow “good”. You know what? I’m done, screw you, I don’t want to talk to you, or any of your kind again. You sure as hell don’t understand those eyes. And you sure as hell don’t have the answers I need.
I’m glad I installed this radio, had to drop enough cash to buy a nuclear sub to get it, but it’s worth it. These musicians know what I mean. Their hateful words reek of someone that has seen those eyes. How could someone so angry in recording not have seen those eyes? The nice thing about this stereo system is that it can get really loud. I have been pulled over twice for having my speakers too loud or some shit. They let me off easy; it isn’t hard to fake a smile and a sincere apology when you are staring down a ticket. It’s probably bad for me, but I need something, anything, to drown out my thoughts. Was that church really that bad? I sure did a great job though, alienating all of my old friends at once that is. Where the hell am I? Shit, I’ve done a fine job of losing myself this time.
What street is that? Shit. This music is too loud. Is that Main? Damn, what time is it? Shit. Looks like I am going to be late for work again.
Another day, another dollar, the story of the rest of my life it seems. I can’t say that I'm not glad to be here. So long as I stay as busy as I am, I don’t have to think about those eyes, or how I fucked up at church this morning, or how those songs that I listen to don’t really mean shit. All I have to do is my
job. Sure, my job involves pushing around the old, dying, and dead, as the faceless company I work for does its best leech impression on those debated Medicare dollars. I don’t ever want to live that long. You can’t move on your own, and when you do, you just fall and break another hip. Since you are so bedridden, there is nothing to do really, except let the catheter drain all the piss out of you, and shit yourself every once and a while. Your own private little joke, a game of, make the nurses wipe your ass so you can let out that last runny ounce or two, just as they reach down. At that point, your life is pretty much a memory. Or not, who knows, maybe I’ll grow up and get a fun neural degeneration disease. Forget who I am, who I loved, who loved me. I wonder if I would be sad. I mean, I won’t remember any life aside from that as a senile vegetable, so what would there be to mourn? O yea, I love my job. Thank you little old lady, for shitting on my shoes, as I try to take you for an X-ray, I really appreciate that. Thank you, incompetent nurse, who neglected to tell me about the infectious, antibiotic resistant disease that woman, had in her stool. Fuck. Looks like I get to head over to occupational health for the rest of my shift. I love my job.
Another six hours wasted trying to sleep. What the hell good is it? I never feel rested, and I know that I will see those eyes again.
Those eyes again. I am paralyzed, those eyes have moved much closer. It is as if they are staring straight through me. The same panic, same terror, takes control of me. And those eyes almost seem more evil than last time, if that is even possible. Words this time, pour out of the shadow surrounding the abomination, and assault my mind. The sheer volume of these vocal screams deafens me, and I now not what they screech.
………………………………
I am pained to read back to who I was. Pained because of the pain I was feeling then, and because I was such a little shithead about it. Growing pains.
Comments
Post a Comment