Image by Greencolander via FlickrI can finally call myself a humanist. I spent a good decade or so in church and attended every service under the sun. I have lead youth services, performed in Christmas plays and been part of many Bible studies.
My now estranged mother was once an evangelist missionary in pentecostal churches. We never really got along. The only real reason why I did about 90% of the things that I have done was to get her out of my face. I didn't want to hear all that hell and damnation bullshit.
I guess what got me involved in Christianity was my parents divorce. I wanted so desperately for God to put them back together. My father's mother was a church mother and my father was a very talented church drummer. He was also had schizophrenia and would terrorize myself, mother and younger brother on several occasions, but put on the good church face and act like the perfect father. I look back on it now and see that if he weren't believing in delusions of Jesus, I honestly believe that he wouldn't have so been crazy and probably wouldn't have been physically, emotionally and mentally abusive to his family.
Fast forward about five years later. My mother was renting from a church family that she had known for at least twenty years. After being abused and mistreated from the Sims first family, that bitch ass Pastor Sims decided to put out our family since we didn't attend his church anymore. We ended up staying with my mixed Native-American grandmother who held Wiccan-like views and got into constant arguments about our different religious world views. Eventually we let everybody believe what they wanted to believe and left it at that.
Now fast forward another five years later, my mother eventually saved up enough money and bought her own house. We had started going to a very charismatic old-world-style church. The people seemed pretty nice. But all that pretty couldn't hide the ugly truth. They had a way of tapping into your most deep-seated insecurities and exploited your spiritual openness on the altar in front of everybody. I hated that most of all. The first family was talented, but evil. I hated seeing these awful people three times a week. I always prayed that they would die. The first lady of that church did pass on due to cancer of the lymph nodes in November of 2008. She did more harm than good in my opinion, so according to the Bible, she would be experiencing weeping and gnashing of teeth for harming the least of these.
After about five years of emotional and spiritual abuse, my mother and siblings stopped going. I would still be dropped off because of my church duties and obligations. I knew something was up. Eventually we stopped going. I got all kinds of compliments from friends saying that I looked healthier and happier. I felt like I took off an elephant of of my shoulders. I was soo happy to feel a sense of freedom. I think this is were my transition started to take place. I still watched TV church. Still read the Bible everyday.
Then my life took a dramatic change about three years later. I had lived on campus for about five years and could no longer afford the expensive extra of campus living, so I had moved backed in with my mother over the summer. The game plan was to get a job, try to get a car, and then move out of mom's place. We didn't get along. She would burst into my room and yell at me for the most random things. I stayed in my room most days and just looked for a job. And I kept my room vacuumed and neat everyday. No one could argue with that.
One day she really spazzed out on me. About what, I still don't know. I knew something was wrong. I called and made an appointment with a counselor. Since she didn't want to seek help, I wanted help so I could learn what the hell was going on. Talking to the counselor I felt that I was no longer crazy. I think my mother probably had BPD. Explains a lot when I looked up her symptoms in the DSM IV.
During one of her emotionally terrorizing spazzing sessions, she basically told me to get out of her house. I called my boyfriend and told him that I would take him up on his offer and move in with him.
I told her I was moving out. I got back this haughty Christian response like "What are you guys going to move your things in, a cab? " No," I replied, "A moving fan," and I continued to pack up my room. She then proceeded to tell him that my boyfriend would get me "pregnant and lock me in a closet." I zoned her out and kept my mind on packing my things and getting the hell away from Mommy Dearest.
The last straw in all of this was that I wasn't told when my little sister's prom and graduation was taking place. Still stings a little bit though. My sister only sides with her because she can't take of herself. I understand.
At this point, praying to a God that endorses people who terrorize others for the sheer fun of it wasn't an option anymore. I haven't spoken my father in eight years. I haven't spoken to my mother in a year and five months.
I have emerged from this a compassionate and strong humanist. "God" made a mess of our lives. We were just better off without him. I wonder if my parents were humanists, maybe our lives would have better filled with more smiles instead of tears and counseling sessions.