I receive frequent questions about my faith – from readers, friends, family, everybody who knows my story. Do I believe? What do I believe? My only answer is “I don’t know.” I really don’t.
Sometimes I wish I could just leave it all behind and be an atheist. Enjoy my life for what it is now, be responsible for myself, have my own opinion on things. Sometimes I even am like that. A life with no guilt, no fear of a heavenly punisher just waiting to teach me a lesson or two. No judgement from a being who I don’t even seem to know.
Other days I’m really angry at that being. I’m not an atheist on those days – I know he exists, I know its his fault, everything that goes wrong is his fault. And I want to hurt him. With my words, thoughts, actions. I want to tell him to get out of my life. That I’m not afraid of his stupid hell because Id rather spend my eternal afterlife there than sit next to a violent, punishing wannabe-father who has no other joy in his existence than burning ants and torturing cats.
And then, there are other days again, where I feel like there’s a good chance that he doesn’t exist, that we’re all making this up in our minds to soothe the fear and pain that the knowledge that nothing will ever wait for us after our deaths causes in our minds. The days were I’m longing for a good, heavenly Daddy who waits for me with open arms, cries for me, forgives me all that I have done and will be doing. The Daddy that hugs me and says “It’s all forgotten now, now you’re with me, I never meant this to happen to you.” I wish I could be Daddy’s little girl on those days.
So here, that’s my belief, I guess. I suppose you’re not much smarter now, and neither am I.