I was born into an Episcopalian family, borderline hardcore. (My
great-grandfather was an Episcopalian priest). I always believed in God
in one way or another for the largest part of my young childhood. That changed
when my sister died of cancer.
I started questioning this
"almighty god" that I had spent a large part of my thoughts on, and
wondered what reason God had for taking my sister from my family. It
wasn't long until I reconciled with God, despite his silence in answering
my late-night questions, and I was back in church and Sunday school every
weekend. I finished elementary school and braced myself for what would
easily be the most hellish test on my will-to-live to date.
Sixth grade passed as I suspect it does for all undersized, weakling 12-year-old males who can't throw a baseball (or any ball for that matter). 7th grade was fairly normal, with the exception of the large lumps that I noticed were developing in my neck, right under my jaw. Being the "invincible teenager," I wasn't worried. My mother and doctors, however, were. They elected for me to undergo a biopsy of several of the tumors in my neck at our own Bloomington Hospital. They then tested the freshly removed lumps of me. The tests came up negative, and I felt good knowing that I was correct in my amateur prognosis.
A few months later, however, new lumps developed. By now we had realized that our best bet was at the illustrious Riley Children's Hospital in Indy, so up we headed. More biopsies, more tests, different diagnosis: cancer. The big "C." My first though was, "Cancer? What the fuck?" Several thoughts after were similar. This time, my faith in God wasn't questioned, it was fucking interrogated like an American spy at the Kremlin. I decided, long after I was cured, that IF a god existed, I didn't want any part of him or the several days a year devoted to him. I basically became a heathen of my own volition.
This troubled me. Again, most of my thoughts were devoted to god. Not in humble prayer, mind you, but devoted to cursing him. Cursing the being that robbed my sister of her life and robbed me of a year of my life (possibly more, I don't believe that after a year of having poison (chemotherapy) and radiation pumped into my body, my life span will be improved). Cursing the being that allowed our world to become the piece of shit that it is. This lasted well into my sophomore year of high school.
I should probably now alert you to the fact that I live in a small town called Ellettsville, which isn't far out of Bloomington or Deliverance. Being an atheist or heathen isn't exactly a one-way ticket to popularity in a town where the church practically doubles as the town hall. This realized, I decided to hold my beliefs to myself until I could be respected for holding those beliefs.
Don't get me wrong, my town isn't all bad. After all, it gave the world some of closest cynical bastard friends. It also gave me the opportunity to be instructed by some of the greatest English teachers that I believe the U.S. has seen. I was finally respected for my beliefs, and had a place to sort out all that jumbled-up rage inside of me. I had a place to decide whether what I believed was ignorance or open-mindedness. I had a place that molded me from a suicidal, introverted piece of shit into a proud, free-thinking, free-doing cynic. I again gave a lot of thought to my beliefs. I mulled over all religions, not just the ones I saw everyday. I then came to the conclusion that I believe to be true today: there is not, never was, and never will be a god. And now I'm happy. People wonder how I can be happy not believing in a life after death. I don't know why, but for once in my life I feel at peace with death. I don't fear dying.
Anyhow, now that you've read several boring paragraphs of my life story, you're probably wondering, "Where in the hell is he going with this?" which brings me to the point I planned for this essay before I wrote so fucking much: on my way to work today, I noticed something. Every church I passed on my way from Ellettsville to Bloomington was packed. Now, on a normal Sunday, those parking lots are barely half-filled. So what's the big fucking deal? Are some Christians just too good to worship their God more than two times a year?
No, humans are just fucking lame. We don't have the energy or balls to stick to our convictions, but we all still plan to hold out our hands at the Pearly Gates after we've had our respective coronaries like we were the perfect little fucking saints all our lives.
And that isn't just with our religious convictions, either. How about those little fucking wastes that protested the circus a few weeks ago, because "the animals weren't being treated correctly"? I've got a question for those fucks: after you've saved all the cute animals, are you gonna chain yourselves to the doors at a Raid plant because of their mistreatment of cockroaches? Will you stop the rain so that innocent earthworms will be saved from the despair of baking on my front porch after a healthy summer storm?
Here's something for those people to realize: those animals are in cages because we're better than them. It's all part of the natural order of things. After humans are replaced in the evolutionary scale by a more advanced species, do you think we'll be saved because we were here first? No, we'll probably all be killed simply because of annoying fucks like them!
What is the moral of the story? I'll tell you what: People Suck. Not just hip pies or twice-a-year Christians or Charles Manson, all of us. I suck, you suck. Hell, the Pope probably sucks more than all of us. Don't forget that either, kiddies.
So, after all this bitching, what have I accomplished? I'll tell you what: nothing. Absofreakinglutely nothing. But I must say I feel better.