belly-flopping into the lake of fire

“Pie is an irrational number, incapable of being made into a fraction, impossible to divide from itself. So, too the soul is an irrational, indivisible equation that perfectly expresses one thing: you. The soul would be no good to the devil if it could be destroyed. And it is not lost when placed in Satan’s care, as is often said. He always knows exactly how to put his finger on it.”
-Horns by Joe Hill

I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell.

It seems like such a casual conclusion to an insignificant life, a lazy indifference to a devastating destination.  I'm definitely not happy about it but I feel calm.  In fact, I think I'm more disturbed by now undisturbed I am by it.  How can be so blasé about baking in eternal hellfire?  Maybe it's because it is too terrible to conceive.  Or maybe I feel deep down in my heart that I'm truly not deserving of damnation.  But hell is not determined by good deeds or being a good person.  It's salvation through Jesus, which I'm not sure I have.  It's about having a personal relationship with Christ, which I definitely don't have.  The more I learn about Christianity, the more I realize how far away from it I am, how I'm confused by certain aspects or flat our disagree with others.

I already knew there were several parts of Christianity I wasn't following.  There's that whole bit about loving your neighbor, which is a problem for me because I pretty much hate everyone.  And through stumbling upon other Christian teachings, I found out, much to my surprise, that anxiety and depression are symptoms of sin.  And since I believe I fit those labels, it makes me wonder if it's all my fault, if I've done this to myself.  I can't help but to think of my horse-faced counselor in college.  He sat in his chair, his gray hair pulled tightly across his temples, hanging in a limp ponytail, telling me that a lot of my troubles were brought on myself.  He said I assigned different roles to different people in my life.  Some were executioners, others were saviors.  And I fulfilled the role of victim.  He did have a Jesus beard so maybe there's a connection there.  But at the time I didn't need to hear that.  It didn't seem like the best idea to tell me I was bringing all the pain I was feeling on to myself.  Even if it was true, it felt like there should have been a better way to go about it.  Telling a depressed person it's all their fault?  What good is that supposed to do?  Are they expected to snap out of their sadness?  It only plunged me deeper because not only was I going through all of this grief, I was told it was all my fault, that it was all pointless, that I could have controlled it, that I could have done without it, that I might have been happy.  No, I did not feel better.

But I prayed through it and tried to rely on God.  Things got marginally better.  That could have been God at work or that could have simply been life unfolding as it randomly does.  So there was no reassurance.  There was no proof or confirmation.  It was most likely chance, something easily explained away.  Easily dismissible.  God felt easily absent.  But I kept going, kept praying, kept relying because you don't give up on God when it's hard.  But when things are easy, it's easy to be a Christian, easy to praise God for all the good in your life.  Yet it feels nearly impossible to hang on to the hope of something greater when your world is in shambles.  Obviously, it can be done.  Good Christians do it every day.  I have an acquaintance whose life is worse than mine in many aspects and yet she still has a strong faith.  I envy her a lot.  I have it better in so many ways, but worse in others.  I look up to her an wonder how she does it.  I suspect a big part of it is because she grew up in church.  Her parents were strong Christians and instilled that into her at an early age.  I didn't grow up that way.  For her, her faith was as natural as her arms and legs.  For me, faith always felt like having an extra arm attached to my forehead.  It never quite felt right.

It's just hard to talk to a God who doesn't talk back.  It's hard to put faith in something that seems so distant and unattainable.  It's hard to believe in good when you feel bathed in bad every day of your life.  My mind is diseased and my body is deformed and I can't see the justice in it, especially when I called out for salvation so many times, read my Bible, prayed, listened for God's voice many a night and never got so much as a whisper.  I felt like I followed the "rules" but every Christian has a different set of rules, another aspect of the religion that frustrates me.  Go to any church, any religious leader, and they'll all tell you there's only one way to reach Jesus, but they each have their own "one way."  I've been told to just follow me heart and pray about which way to go and believe in that but what if I believe in the wrong way?  Take a look at my life and you'll see I'm not good at making decisions.  I tried to have faith, tried to press on through prayer because people told me that God was still there, God was still with me, working through me, even if I couldn't feel it or hear it.  And I tried to believe that but belief only goes so far without a little evidence, faith only goes so far without a little bit of confirmation.  None of which I have received.  The wind never blew, my heart never stirred and my soul never stilled.

I've heard it all before.  I know God doesn't always answer prayers.  I know God doesn't always answer people directly.  I know God is supposed to be there.  I know God does in fact speak to us but that I'm not listening properly or that I just can't decipher his secret messages sent to me in my alphabet serial or blessed fortune cookies. People always seem to have a way to vouch for God.  They say God speaks through signs and signals and people and convenient little answers like that, answers that don't reassure, only confuse.  I could say I stopped at a stop sign the other day.  Is it not just a physical sign but also a sign from God that I should stop worrying about things ('cause you know worrying is a symptom of sin!) or is it just an everyday ordinary stop sign?  How can you differentiate between the daily and the divine?  You can glean signs from anything but is that religion or an over-active imagination?  I know faith is supposed to jump in at some point.  Trust that God will show you the way.  Trust that you will be shown the light and the path.  And that's all nice and good and supposed to make me feel better but it doesn't.  I feel I've done my part pretty well and naturally I'd feel a little less apt to act when I feel no progress has been made.  It's just so exhausting to put so much energy into something that may or may not be there, something that may or may not even care about you, something that no one can guarantee will come through for you, something that no one can guarantee you will be able to receive.

I guess when I really think about, both hell and heaven and the devil and God are too huge to comprehend.  I suppose the prospect of hell can't terrify me enough because I can't grasp it enough.  But I'm definitely not happy about it.  I don't want to go to hell but I also don't really feel like doing anything to divert my soul into a different direction.  I've tried to hold on to God for so long, clinging to his cloth but it always felt like I've been flung away by his foot.  As if I didn't belong.  As if I was separated from God before I ever had a chance to connect.  Damned from day one, perhaps.

This existence already feels like hell anyway.  Maybe I'm not scared because I already feel I have one foot in the fire as it is.  Of course, nothing on Earth can compare to the sizzling spikes waiting on the other side but that doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm already burning.  I'm down, despondent and indirectly dead.  A shell housing nothing.  A heart engulfed.  Yet I lower my head, raise my hands, and call out into the silence once more and hope someone, something out there is listening and cares.  I don't want to give up on God even though I don't think it's doing me any good.  But I hope by trying to continue, I'm at least earning some kind of points, hoping that God at least sees and perhaps appreciates the effort, even if he'd never admit it.

For me, hell feels more of a sure thing than heaven and while I definitely don't want to go to hell, just knowing, just feeling like I have a clear-cut destination is almost comforting.  I spend so much time worrying about where I am, what I'm doing and where I'm going.  I'm always making plans and never acting on any of them.  In my present situation, I am unsure of everything.  I don't know who I am or what I am.  I don't know if I have any real friends or anyone who truly cares for me.  And while I used to take comfort in knowing God cared for me, I don't feel that way anymore.  I'm unsure of my talent and my kindness.  It's all been fakery, a trick I used to fit in.  But there is no fitting in.  Life slams into you and out of you no matter who you are and then you die and that's it.  Life sucks and then you die.  You go to hell and then you fry.  Or maybe you do go to heaven or maybe you simply break apart in the dirt.  There is a path for everyone and I'm sure of at least two of my possible paths and neither one brings comfort.  But then again I'm used to the uncomfortable, the small nicks and cuts at my hands and fingers, the pinpricks of life and death that jab at me consistently.  And I've realized that I cannot stop it, that having a positive attitude or faith will not save me from serious pain.  Yes, I know everyone goes through pain but I am not everyone.  I am no one.  I am nothing.

But I am a sinner.  Although I'm not truly educated on Christianity, I knew from an early age that Christianity focused largely on the negative aspects of humans.  We are all wicked and it is in our nature to be so.  We all fall short of the glory of God.  We all deserve hell.  And to me, at twelve years old, I thought it was quite odd that this man with the gray hair and bulging neck veins was screaming at me from his pulpit, red-faced and sweating, telling me I deserved hell.  I was just a kid.  What had I done that was so wrong?  Because I didn't have Jesus in my heart?  But I made straight A's.  Didn't seem fair.  And even now, it still doesn't seem fair.  I may not be a good person but I act like one.  I do good things for people.  I have made people's lives easier just by being there because I help others.  And I've accepted Jesus into my heart many times, praying nightly that I'll be saved.  Yet, I don't feel saved.  I don't feel Jesus.  I only feel emptiness because I am constantly kicked in the balls by the very people I try to help.  I lend a helping hand and get swatted away.  And after a while the goodness just kind of faded away because it never made a difference, so why not embrace that evil nature that all the uptight Christians preached about?  If I was going to go to hell anyway, I might as well earn it, right?  It all seems so pointless, such a waste, to be born only to die and fry.  Yet, I could go against my nature and try to be a good Christian and deny myself and torture myself and be made to feel like a piece of garbage simply because I was born a sinner and maybe God will have mercy on me.  Or maybe he won't and all that self-deprivation will be for naught.  But it all feels for naught.  Life, death, people.  All overrated.  None of it as good as you hope.

And yet we are supposed to fight against our evil natures, suppress ourselves for the greater good, for God made us in his image but decided to let the devil install our wicked ways.  But what good does denying myself do when it only drives me deeper into a depression?  I am not strengthened by my faith.  I am not empowered by prayer.  I do not feel satisfaction from doing good or bad or anything at all.  If there's anything about Christianity I will agree with, it's that I am just another loser.  I don't think I'm deserving of hell but I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up there.  Because, try as I might, I'm just not good enough of a Christian.  I am wholly empty.  I have a low tolerance for the world's obstacles.  I am not ashamed of my weakness.  It's just who I am.  I'm a sinner and sometimes I revel in it because sinning brings some satisfaction into my sick existence.  I don't do it because it feels good to be bad.  Sometimes it just feels good to feel at all, to shake off the consistent cling of death.  I am evil in the eyes of Christianity just by being human, just by being alive.  So, why should I fight my nature?  I'm starting to cave in and I'm realizing it's much easier not to fight it, to just let myself be enveloped by the evil that was always there from the beginning, waiting for me since I worked my way out of the womb.  I've asked God for strength.  I've asked God for purpose.  I've asked God for proof.  My answers came in the form of my hollowed-out heart.  I'm most likely going to hell, so why should I sit idly by and let myself slip into the suffering? I might as well dive right in because maybe it was where I was destined to end up all along.

I still believe in God.  I just don't believe God believes in me.