Drag Me to Hell-Or Church About the Same

I can remember when I first stepped foot in the church I was going to attend for almost 10 years. The night before my mom dragged me into church I had told her that I was going to stay the night at my friend’s house and my friend told her mom she was going to stay at my house and one more time another friend claimed to stay at one of our houses. Of course we weren’t going to stay at either of our houses; we were going to a party. Our time at the party didn’t last into the early morning; in fact I don’t even think it lasted very long, because everyone knows that the trick of “staying at each other’s houses” doesn’t work. By the time my mom was at the party I had already smoked enough weed and drank enough alcohol to not even care about the trouble I would be in. In fact I had such an awesome time and I will never forget that night. When I got home my mom yelled at me and told me to get in the shower.

The next morning she told me to get up we were going to church, oh shit was I that screwed up that we needed to go to church that morning, nope going to church was a combination of family issues and so much more. I figured we were going to attend the same church we often did The Holy Family Catholic church. But we ended up at a church in an industrial building behind KFC. I seen a few people I recognized from school but my attention was so far from where I was, I was still high.

From that service on my mom was hooked, of course the “friendly” people huddled around my mom and “welcomed” her. I had no choice but to attend the church with her, if I was in some shit she would say I needed to go. If I wanted to go somewhere I would have to earn the privilege and attend church first. I hated being there and I hated the irritating people, I didn’t want to talk to anyone nor did I want anyone to talk to me. It went on like this for a while, I found it normal to attend church so I adapted to it. If I was going to sit in church for almost three hours I was going to do it the way I wanted to, I would get high before I went and I would do my school work while sitting in those wretched ugly-brown metal chairs.

I was a freshman in high school and I vowed to not involve myself with boys, drugs or drinking, but then I met a boy that I really wanted to be with. We started dating and everything changed. He would attend church with me and shit did we attend that church. I would roll joints in his glove compartment which was awesome because it folded down like a table. After smoking down to a roach we would sit through the church service then leave. I got looks that would kill and looks of disgust. But I didn’t care. People in the church would come up to me and ask if I knew where I was going when I die. I would be told that if I didn’t accept Jesus Christ into my heart that I was going to hell. When I was high or tripping I would get weirded out and start tripping. I was continually confronted about the status of my soul, I didn’t know the status of my soul, nor did I care. I was tired of being asked about my spiritual life; the funny thing was that out of all the people that asked me about my spiritual life none were women.

I knew those church people were more screwed up than I was. I wondered why they lived their life the way they did. I couldn’t understand their hypocrisy; I heard gossiping around me and stupidity. I couldn’t understand what was so great about church life if there was the same shit outside those doors. Although I didn’t understand it, I was at a point in my life where I was so desperate to feel accepted and forgiven. I had fucked up bad and I was in a relationship that could have been seen as an adult relationship- rater R or sometimes NC-17. I was tired of the screwed up lies he consistently told me and I was sick of cheating on him and downgrading myself (even when I enjoyed being with other guys). Being so sexually active is a part of Bipolar disorder, its part of a high of a grandiose feeling. My doctor continually asks me “do you fantasize about being with multiple partners”, thankfully I don’t but looking back now I can see when I was in my highs and lows.

I was slowly seeking whatever the church members claimed to be a life saver. I was slowly ceasing to hate the people in the church, including my husband before he was my husband (whom I mocked with my sister). He led the worship service and my sister and I would say what a dork he was, but I started to like him, not yet as a soul mate but as a pretty cool guy.

Was I that desperate though- that I was about to transform into a liar and a manipulated-follower? Was I that needy that I needed to seek acceptance from the ill-educated people that sucked up to the pastors? What was it that enticed me to embark on a journey that would change my life significantly? Was it the bout of depression that hit me at the very moment that I misguidedly accepted “Jesus” into my life? How will this new life style affect my Bipolar? Questions I never knew to ask or never knew at all.

The Saga of a Manipulated Religion

There are many people who say they are truly dedicated to God or Jesus Christ but when I hear their perception of religion I can’t help but to laugh. I laugh not at them but at my experiences with religion and God. Being involved in a church was positive in some ways but completely negative in other ways, more negative than positive. When I first got involved in the church I hated it, my mom made me attend. When I got “saved” I began to become friends with girls who were just as bad as the bitches in high school. My secrets and personal experiences weren’t kept personal, oh no… there were words and telephone rumors. I tried though, I tried to let shit go and that was a full challenge in itself.

I got involved in working for the pastor and his wife, I was a nanny and I also cleaned their house. I have always earned money on my own, whether it was working for my friends’ parents or babysitting for my parents’ friends. So when this offer came along to work I couldn’t reject it, besides it became a perfect opportunity for me to ditch the slutty mistake I made the night before I began working. I intended to make money but I never intended to become so attached to the family.

On top of the bitchy gossip I also received the worst back stabbing and jealousy from not only the church girls but also from the women in the church. You see being close to the pastor meant, “you were special and in higher authority of others”. I wanted money, not a kiss ass relationship that would boost my status in the church.  People kissed so much ass in order to earn the “respect” of the pastor and leaders of the church. Leaders, oh shit, liars and judges, is what it was when it came to their characters. Of course most of them would argue their innocents but this isn’t the forum for that this is an opportunity for me to share my story of embarrassment, hate, lies and betrayal.

Although my religious experience was ridiculous and fucked up, I did gain so much love from someone special. My husband in which I met in that church, he is my light and my escape. I also gained a very true and honest relationship with the pastor’s wife (which throughout this saga I will call her, “Lara” as a way to avoid the claims of defamation of character). My life changed for the good in some ways, in positive ways but there are details that will reveal so.

So this begins the story of religion gone too far, borderline cult treatment, man-worship of pastors and pure manipulation.  People persecuted for premarital sex, illnesses “caused by some type of spiritual hate” and non-believers who lived their lives the way they wanted to. So get ready for a religious ride you will not forget…