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R.L.S. The Struggle, Faith, Seeing “The Light" part 1
I want to make “My Intention" perfectly clear in the beginning of this, that my intentions are merely to tell ones personal story and my own beliefs based upon it. I don't hold any “special powers" and nore do I claim to. I'm not here to “convert, coarse, or trick anyone into following something “blindly" I believe in making your own truth based on your own personal experiences.
Religion was always a “tough thing" for me. I was raised Catholic in the 1990s and was “privy" and “aware" of the “sin" that those church walls contained. If they could talk they'd probably scream. My family had the right “intentions” and I believe a lot of it was also because on my fathers side we had a big family and everyone went to the same Catholic school and church. The stories started coming out during the middle of the 1990s. My grandfather on my fathers side(my fathers father) had just found out his prostate cancer was back. I truly believe the family didn't want to “push” anymore buttons as my grandfathers health was declining rapidly. He lost his battle in the summer of 1998. That same year my brother was slapped by his teacher (whom was a nun) and I believe the “collective pain ” from losing his father, and other stresses mounted on my father and he had a “mental break ”(One of which he has yet to come back from) He pulled us out of that school the same day. My brother was four years older than me, but only 3 grades ahead. He was in 5th, and I was in 2nd.For people who don't know, one of the biggest differences in “Private school and Catholic” is that you pay for private. In the 90s it was no small “chump change" It was about-- $1k a month for two kids. So it did not sit well when my Father found out about the few churches secrets. My mother wasnt Caltholic, so she just “went along" with it and wasnt too sad about us leaving. I had mentioned before about my fathers “mental break" , well My father blamed God for taking his father. I remember my Grandfather laying there , drained of blood and pumped full of embalming fluid. To an eight year old he didn't look human and I remember kissing him on the cheek, he was so cold. My grandfather during the last years of his life loved seeing us grandkids come over. I remember being very afraid of him one time because he had half of his finger missing on one hand. (Which was from a work accident, he trusted another guy to have the machine shut off, and it cost him )He was a nice grandfather (from all my memories) I think during his final days he knew he didn't have a lot of time left and he spent a lot of that time trying to make up for the passed. My father couldn't understand it though. That creates a cycle you know? My father was there most times financialy, but emotionally he was cut off from the world. That hate/resentment he holds is like holding onto sickness and its like cancer. Eats you up from the inside out. My mother would divorce him 2 years later. (noting she couldn't bring him back) All the resentment my father had from losing his father he shifted into hate towards my mother. The divorce was messy and is a story for a whole other time. So when your raised Catholic and you see the church exposed, your president exposed, and within 2 years while your trying to live somewhat in the middle of all this you watch 2 giant airplanes hit 2 towers. You see (from school live TV) people leaping to their death, what do you expect a kid to have faith in? (Also for a different time, but I will say one thing on the subject now) There was a world before September,11 2001 and their was one after. To me all hopes of a wonderful, peachy world went down in flames. There's a message in there somewhere, If you look. As for me, September the towers went down, October was my first “split birthday" and in November the divorce was finalized. Through scared tactics and manipulation my father got us to pick him over our mother. I truly believe that choice made “drug expirmentation" so much easier. I think if I had chose my mother, I probably wouldn't have as much trauma. It felt like every other day I was trying to just keep my father from killing himself, and my mother walked away from us kids for what I'd call a “midlife crisis party" I didn't know her anymore. The person who spent everything other weekenend with me,(at grandmas,because she had a secret life now with these guys who were most of the time shitty people) By age 15 I found more of a faith grounded in music. I truly believe music saves lives. Through the music ,I eventually met my highschool sweetheart. I dropped all the drugging for her. Ironicly she had a grandfather whom reminded me a lot of my own
the religious beliefs were a bit different though.. He was a Christian and would always beg Marie (my HS sweetheart) to get me to go. I believe it was after I turned 18 and we had our first apartment. My friend Jon had been killed and I was stunned to say the least. I agreed I would go, but there would be no what I called “theratricks" I wasnt going to sing, I wasn't going to “Get Saved" but I would be “respectful" I remember that old man being happy I showed up and I felt like he lifted this dislike he had for “us sinners" (especially the one banging his granddaughter lol) All jokes aside, this was a man who was approaching 80 and had the live of his life at home set up in the living room getting ready to pass of cancer. I wondered “How this man could be so strong?" As sure as the sun would set, his wife would die. In a strange twist of events I helped rebuild the house with Marie's father for the grandparents. It was a beautiful house, they never got to enjoy it though.. She died the first year. I remember thinking “hes going to stop going to church to grieve" he did not.. That man was stuck in his beliefs. He passed not long after that. He slipped outside on some ice and was found frozen dead on the ground. The only time he ever missed mass. I would like to say the old man's belief system had “rubbed off on me" because I started reading that book (even though it made no sense to me and I couldnt conctrate, I tried. Around this time, we had began looking for a new place. Marie's Mother and Father suggested taking over the Rent at the house (grandparents) until we could buy it. This was like 2008-09 the housing market was horrible. This house was worth maybe 40-50k, they set it at 80k. I sucked it up though, because nobody else was selling and everything was new. Wasn't long after we moved in, I felt a sense of new beauty in the air. That house gave a sense of hope. I actually began getting really into religion and “the book" while we got a cute Jack Russell to compete our happy life. Unfortunately looks weren't everything. She had a secret. One that would test Everything in our relationship. I had caught her cheating with a man her fathers age. It broke my heart. I found out she brought that POS to my house when I was at work it turned my stomach. I made her confess everything to me after I broke almost everything in the house waiting for her to come home. I felt like I was 10 again and those same ebandment/trust issues fueled a fire that made me sick to my stomach to stay there. I moved out and left her. Unfortunately I still loved her. NOTE:If your bf/gf cheats once, don't take them back. save yourself the pain. I took her back on the condition that we would not buy the house. (The paperwork just needed my signature) I was told by a family friend if I truly love her I'd be able to take her back. I tried so hard not to be angry, but I couldn't understand why. I worked Midnights was her excuse. I agreed to “move on at a new rental” I left religion and God far away. It Wasn't too long and I had finally decided to propose. I thought we were doing well, unfortunately she had different plans. I remember her crying after sex, and just saying “You don't live me anymore" and she prepacked her bags. I thought we had come so far but yet we had not. She had used that as an excuse to leave because she was cheating again. I went mad.. I blamed God and whoever else for everything. “You want to see ugly, I'll show you ugly!” sure as shit I turned myself into a monster. Drinking vodka by the quart until I puked. I began using anything and everything to stay numb. I think the first time I actually had seen what it was doing to me was 2nd kidney surgery.Before the surgery I still have a photo. In the photo I look like a ghost. I had things snuggled in for me and when they gave me the iv sedation my heart stopped. ---To Be Continued
© Adhdishe
Religion was always a “tough thing" for me. I was raised Catholic in the 1990s and was “privy" and “aware" of the “sin" that those church walls contained. If they could talk they'd probably scream. My family had the right “intentions” and I believe a lot of it was also because on my fathers side we had a big family and everyone went to the same Catholic school and church. The stories started coming out during the middle of the 1990s. My grandfather on my fathers side(my fathers father) had just found out his prostate cancer was back. I truly believe the family didn't want to “push” anymore buttons as my grandfathers health was declining rapidly. He lost his battle in the summer of 1998. That same year my brother was slapped by his teacher (whom was a nun) and I believe the “collective pain ” from losing his father, and other stresses mounted on my father and he had a “mental break ”(One of which he has yet to come back from) He pulled us out of that school the same day. My brother was four years older than me, but only 3 grades ahead. He was in 5th, and I was in 2nd.For people who don't know, one of the biggest differences in “Private school and Catholic” is that you pay for private. In the 90s it was no small “chump change" It was about-- $1k a month for two kids. So it did not sit well when my Father found out about the few churches secrets. My mother wasnt Caltholic, so she just “went along" with it and wasnt too sad about us leaving. I had mentioned before about my fathers “mental break" , well My father blamed God for taking his father. I remember my Grandfather laying there , drained of blood and pumped full of embalming fluid. To an eight year old he didn't look human and I remember kissing him on the cheek, he was so cold. My grandfather during the last years of his life loved seeing us grandkids come over. I remember being very afraid of him one time because he had half of his finger missing on one hand. (Which was from a work accident, he trusted another guy to have the machine shut off, and it cost him )He was a nice grandfather (from all my memories) I think during his final days he knew he didn't have a lot of time left and he spent a lot of that time trying to make up for the passed. My father couldn't understand it though. That creates a cycle you know? My father was there most times financialy, but emotionally he was cut off from the world. That hate/resentment he holds is like holding onto sickness and its like cancer. Eats you up from the inside out. My mother would divorce him 2 years later. (noting she couldn't bring him back) All the resentment my father had from losing his father he shifted into hate towards my mother. The divorce was messy and is a story for a whole other time. So when your raised Catholic and you see the church exposed, your president exposed, and within 2 years while your trying to live somewhat in the middle of all this you watch 2 giant airplanes hit 2 towers. You see (from school live TV) people leaping to their death, what do you expect a kid to have faith in? (Also for a different time, but I will say one thing on the subject now) There was a world before September,11 2001 and their was one after. To me all hopes of a wonderful, peachy world went down in flames. There's a message in there somewhere, If you look. As for me, September the towers went down, October was my first “split birthday" and in November the divorce was finalized. Through scared tactics and manipulation my father got us to pick him over our mother. I truly believe that choice made “drug expirmentation" so much easier. I think if I had chose my mother, I probably wouldn't have as much trauma. It felt like every other day I was trying to just keep my father from killing himself, and my mother walked away from us kids for what I'd call a “midlife crisis party" I didn't know her anymore. The person who spent everything other weekenend with me,(at grandmas,because she had a secret life now with these guys who were most of the time shitty people) By age 15 I found more of a faith grounded in music. I truly believe music saves lives. Through the music ,I eventually met my highschool sweetheart. I dropped all the drugging for her. Ironicly she had a grandfather whom reminded me a lot of my own
the religious beliefs were a bit different though.. He was a Christian and would always beg Marie (my HS sweetheart) to get me to go. I believe it was after I turned 18 and we had our first apartment. My friend Jon had been killed and I was stunned to say the least. I agreed I would go, but there would be no what I called “theratricks" I wasnt going to sing, I wasn't going to “Get Saved" but I would be “respectful" I remember that old man being happy I showed up and I felt like he lifted this dislike he had for “us sinners" (especially the one banging his granddaughter lol) All jokes aside, this was a man who was approaching 80 and had the live of his life at home set up in the living room getting ready to pass of cancer. I wondered “How this man could be so strong?" As sure as the sun would set, his wife would die. In a strange twist of events I helped rebuild the house with Marie's father for the grandparents. It was a beautiful house, they never got to enjoy it though.. She died the first year. I remember thinking “hes going to stop going to church to grieve" he did not.. That man was stuck in his beliefs. He passed not long after that. He slipped outside on some ice and was found frozen dead on the ground. The only time he ever missed mass. I would like to say the old man's belief system had “rubbed off on me" because I started reading that book (even though it made no sense to me and I couldnt conctrate, I tried. Around this time, we had began looking for a new place. Marie's Mother and Father suggested taking over the Rent at the house (grandparents) until we could buy it. This was like 2008-09 the housing market was horrible. This house was worth maybe 40-50k, they set it at 80k. I sucked it up though, because nobody else was selling and everything was new. Wasn't long after we moved in, I felt a sense of new beauty in the air. That house gave a sense of hope. I actually began getting really into religion and “the book" while we got a cute Jack Russell to compete our happy life. Unfortunately looks weren't everything. She had a secret. One that would test Everything in our relationship. I had caught her cheating with a man her fathers age. It broke my heart. I found out she brought that POS to my house when I was at work it turned my stomach. I made her confess everything to me after I broke almost everything in the house waiting for her to come home. I felt like I was 10 again and those same ebandment/trust issues fueled a fire that made me sick to my stomach to stay there. I moved out and left her. Unfortunately I still loved her. NOTE:If your bf/gf cheats once, don't take them back. save yourself the pain. I took her back on the condition that we would not buy the house. (The paperwork just needed my signature) I was told by a family friend if I truly love her I'd be able to take her back. I tried so hard not to be angry, but I couldn't understand why. I worked Midnights was her excuse. I agreed to “move on at a new rental” I left religion and God far away. It Wasn't too long and I had finally decided to propose. I thought we were doing well, unfortunately she had different plans. I remember her crying after sex, and just saying “You don't live me anymore" and she prepacked her bags. I thought we had come so far but yet we had not. She had used that as an excuse to leave because she was cheating again. I went mad.. I blamed God and whoever else for everything. “You want to see ugly, I'll show you ugly!” sure as shit I turned myself into a monster. Drinking vodka by the quart until I puked. I began using anything and everything to stay numb. I think the first time I actually had seen what it was doing to me was 2nd kidney surgery.Before the surgery I still have a photo. In the photo I look like a ghost. I had things snuggled in for me and when they gave me the iv sedation my heart stopped. ---To Be Continued
© Adhdishe
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