Merry Christmas Ryan

Why haven't you left?
I can't understand it.
As we've grown, we've parted and strayed from home, you only seem to love me more. How is it possible?
When oceans of people have faded away before you, crashing into my life and disappearing back into the sea just as quickly... Here you stand.
You alone have remained constant.
You alone have remained.
I love you for it.
I don't need their company. I don't need their love. Their hate will suffice, will do just fine.
But you...
You've thrown a wrench into everything I've known here. Into all the little plans I've made. You skipped the clouds gliding past and became a star. One that I can see and love every night, no matter the distance between us.
I don't understand it.
You know me.
I've given you my rose because you alone understand what it means. You alone understand that I expect to be alone. The rose that you've held in your hand is my permission for you to walk away. And yet you stay.
I've let you in. I can't say why or when it happened, only that it did. I love you dearly, like I've loved only a few before. But unlike before, it is without reservation. I love you wholly and completely. I love who you are and what you stand for. I love you Ryan.
You're here. I can't say why, but you care and you show it. That means so much more than the world to me. The world could never understand the two of us. We were meant for bigger things than the world can comprehend. You and I, I think, were made for the stars.

I am living a lie.
It is the hardest, most selfish thing that I have ever done.
I have no choice. 

A quick explanation

I'm angry. You've probably noticed.
I'm angry at the world, at God, at religion in general. At the hypocrites who smile and lie to my face. At every "holier than thou" who dares assume that I am a sinner and a fool.
I had my Faith. I believed in it all. All I wanted was a confirmation. We're supposed to ask if it's true. We're supposed to know for ourselves. That's all I wanted. Isn't that a good thing? Weeks came and went. I lived life perfectly. I had never tried so hard. I had never been more humble. I had never wanted anything so badly. No answer came. Fine. In the Lord's own time.
Then I saw the Burning Woman. Her very existence burst open the floodgate of question that I had ignored my whole life. Truth became the pressing issue of my time. What is true? I didn't understand so, where was my thinking flawed? How did it all fit into His plan?
I prayed. I read. I attended every meeting and took scrupulous notes. There was never a child so sincere. All I needed was the truth.
Soon, with acknowledgment of the questions came the realization of the discrepancies. I believed differently than the church on some issues. Puzzled, still waiting for my answers, and confused, I threw myself into prayer. In daily conversations with God I pondered and wondered why he was silent. A simple word from him would clear up all my confusion. A single word.
No answer came. Fine. In the Lord's own time.
But the Lord waited too long.
By nature of who I am, I discovered new truth's about my own beliefs  The church and I disagree. God and I disagree.
As my soul was wracked with torture, as I cried out to him every night and waited in agony for his reply, doubt introduced itself to me.
I writhed in horror when I saw it's face. It was a monster that I had been warned against. I begged God for his aid in fighting this enemy. No relief came.
Eventually my hope waned. I became dejected. I could not understand the contradictions that had become apparent in my life. I was left alone and Doubt had his way with me. Even then I prayed. Even then I searched the scriptures for answers to the questions that would not leave me be.
Where was God in all this?
I read that if anyone lacked wisdom he could ask of God, who gives to all men liberally/ I knew that I lacked wisdom. I knew that I had pleaded to God for strength and for answers. I knew that I had received nothing in return.
After many months I was introduced to anger.
Was I not good enough for God? Everyone seemed to be getting answers all around me. Everyone else was happy. Everyone else had figured it all out. God had helped them all. I decided that God must not care about me. I must not be Good enough for Him.
I hope that is a realization that none of you will ever come to. There is no pain that I have ever experienced that comes close. Believing that you are worthless to the being that supposedly created you... there are no words for that pain.
One day I realized something the changed my life: I'm a good person! I do good things, I want good things! I am not unworthy of anything. I am honest and intelligent and kind. But above it all, I am GOOD.
God would not reject me. Therefore, I decided to stop believing in a God.
That was not the easiest choice. I've  come to realize that in my life it would be much easier for me to pretend, to put on a smile and get over it. To act like everyone else and delude myself into happiness. I could be content living that lie.
But I could not feel joy.
I let go of that God and for the first time in years I felt JOY. There was no more guilt, no more shame. I was finally free to breathe and to live my life. For the first time in a very long time, I have the capacity for tremendous joy.
The anger comes from remembering. The anger comes when I am forced to bite my tongue and remain silent in the presence of those who have sacrificed their logic to their faith. The anger comes from watching others try and force feed me the guilt that I have forsaken. I will not be one of them. I will not give up logic and reason to a faith that has never brought me anything but pain.
Obviously, there were other factors that led me to this choice in life. But these are the ones that had to do singularly with me. As important as the other reasons are, these are more personal and I feel the need to share these with you.
This is my explanation. Not because I feel the need to explain  myself or to justify my actions, but because I have kept them in for so long. I am stuck living a lie with no escape. No way out. In some way I hope this will be discovered and then I can end it all and finally tell the truth.
I am no longer a Mormon.
I do not believe in God.
I am extraordinarily moral.
I am a good person.

And nothing can take that away from me. My convictions are such that I will bear the judgments of this society. Because I'm right. For once in my life I know that I am right. 

A life of worth

I hear the words. I want what's right. I hear about all of the warmth and light that supposedly comes from God. I bend my prideful knees to pray, but the words ring false in my ears. I want good things, it true. But the voice of the burning woman echoes in my mind. The smiling monsters linger behind my eyes as I try and cry to the God that created them.
I muster up the faith I need in order to see the miracles that will confirm my faith. But maybe I do not have enough. Maybe the miracles do not exist. I do not know. I do not know the difference anymore. They cite and quote and preach at me, throwing words like daggers, shoving sugary scriptures down my throat, thick and numbing like a syrup. I want to believe. I try and turn off my brain, bar the thoughts that scream "no" and accept the illogical, rely on faith.
I can't. I'm not strong enough. I don't have the faith. I am faithless. Godless.
"We must be worthy!" They howl and throw their arms to the skies, proclaiming their own filth. "We are not worthy!" They moan and rub their faces into the dirt. Without the help of the divine, they will never know how to love who they are. Will never believe they are worthy.
They see me. I stand straight and tall. I know nothing, but want everything. I believe not what they believe. I believe that I am good. Worthy. They spit on me. As they smile. Their hands pull on my clothing, beckoning me to the dirt.
"It is a sin to love yourself." They croon and tears stream down my cheeks. I want to be worthy. But not this way. Not in the grime and the muck. I am reaching for the skies. The stars are my goal. How can I reach them by groveling in the mud? I do not understand. Neither do the bodies flopping in the grime.
This is my crime. I want goodness. As they teach. But I am incapable of understanding their methods. Why can I achieve nothing on my own? Why can nothing come of my own hard work? I cannot lean unto my own understanding? But what of my understanding of God? If I am a vessel of Godliness, can I not lean unto my own reason, my own judgement. My own light?
They groan like corpses animated with something other than life. If they are the worthy ones then let me be damned. Mine is a philosophy of living. I do not worship those who are already dead. Who have chosen never to live for themselves at all.
I will not live a half life. My soul aches for the comfort of divinity, but I know no God could love a creature such as I have become. I need no God. I ask none for help. I want no Heavenly aid. I seek only my own life. I love only my own life. The people around me are beyond my help. They are all as the burning woman, sacrificing themselves upon the alters of the supposedly divine. I cannot. Pride prevents me from committing such self immolation.
So with tears in my eyes and an aching heart, I will leave it all behind. The bodies groping blindly in the dark after their faith, crawling on their bellies like starving savages, are not mine to save. They have made their choice.
And this is mine. I chose to live. For me. For those I love. I chose to be myself and to exist in happiness and joy until the end of my days. I reject guilt and shame as unholy and profane. I demand nothing of anyone but their own worthiness. Worthy of themselves. Worthy of their potential.
So with my head held high, I forsake Heaven and all it's commands. I will not live a life of endless debt. I will pay the price myself and live for no other purpose than my own joy in this life. My happiness as a means and end above that which they preach. Above the stars, knowing I have every ability to reach them and beyond. Above a God that would limit my life to the earth in exchange for some pretended reward.
With my head held high, I choose to be good. I choose to desire that which is right. Worthy of it all. I will live my life in such a way that no God could command otherwise.

Good enough

-Ramblings from a month ago. Feelings remain relatively the same.-

So what is this? Am I not fucking good enough for God? A creation that he forgot? An unfinished story shut in a drawer to be continued never? A black sheep that wandered too often and too far?
Clearly, something in this equation is wrong. If God exists then where is he?
If he exists then he's left me.
Better not to believe. Better that I grow up and grow out of this faith.
I must take arms against this rejection by deity. This fairytale cannot be allowed to control my life, cannot be allowed to continue.
I wanted to believe. I desired that faith.
I sat and watched as others received answers, as the same seeds that I have watered with my tears, grew orchards for those around me. "Faith." They promised me. "You're seeds will grow. Ours did. ours have."
Guilt and doubt filled the space that I had cleared for my faith.
I have been promised.
I have been lied to.
Am I not fucking good enough for God?
My saving grace, my creator, my Heavenly Father and friend?
Better to believe in myself.
I exist.
Santa Clause will not bring me what I need each December, and God will not say a word.
His silence on this front speaks volumes about what he will not say.
His silence speaks of what he dare not admit: his existence.
Heaven forbid that Heaven acknowledges itself. God forbid that God tip his hand.
Faith alone must carry us through this darkness.
Faith in a voice that will not speak, a hand that will not help, an eye that refuses to see. A heart that will not be moved to feel.
The Justice and Mercy of God would be unending, extending on forever.
The Mercy of his sacrifice, steeped in our guilt and soaked in the blood of the innocent, made necessary by the demands of Justice in a universe where the unjust hold the reins, would mean nothing at all without the blind followers of his own creation. Created for the worship of himself.
Better to see, to open my eyes to the ways of the world that a God created to forsake. 
Better to believe in myself, to know who I am and that I am good, than to bear the pain of a Father who no longer cares.
I am fucking good enough.
I'm here God. I am here and I am good. So where are you?

Possibilities

In that dark the night was alive with the dead. Crisp leaves, dragged by the wind, scraped themselves across the pavement, clattering like skeleton bones. The air was electric. Anticipation. Her silhouette could have appeared from around any corner, behind any tree. My heart raced and the howling wind whipped my hair across my face, tickled my lips.
By the time I entered the building and blinked against the bright lights, my hands trembled.
The elevator chimed and that one thought, that solitary, dangerous, forbidden idea slipped peacefully back into the shadows of a dream. 

Guiltless

At the risk of being risky, I'm going to tell you the truth. About me, about my life, about what I believe. I don't know who reads this blog, and that's part of the thrill I suppose; not knowing. So here it is.
I'm a Mormon. I was born Mormon, raised Mormon. That was my identity. In Texas I was the Mormon. In Utah I became a Mormon. But it was something I never doubted.
For all my pursuits of truth, for all my affirmations of objectivism and reason, I never looked beyond what I knew to be true. I estimated new knowledge only so far as it agreed with what I knew to be Universal Truth. I did not doubt it, and therefore anything true must agree with my personal knowledge of the Universe.
And then I experienced something.
For the first time my eyes were opened. I saw what my life had become, I saw my beliefs and faiths reflected in the eyes of a woman on fire.
I watched a woman, the same as you or I, destroy herself. Willingly. Happily. She carried a guilt that threatened to crush her. The only way she knew to rid herself of it was to brand herself a sinner. Her hope was that honesty would triumph over the power of her family's secret darkness. It did not.
Like Hester Prynne herself, she was branded. Like a Saint of old she was burned. Like a criminal she was crucified. And the people of the congregation sat there and watched.
Tears streamed down the woman's face as she confessed the sins of her husband. Sins that bore her down like an anchor and tied her to his guilt. Sins that proclaimed her guilty by association.
I watched her sacrifice herself. She tore out her heart, the little personal bits and pieces that are sacred to one's self, and she cast them in front of us to be judged and scorned. She tied herself to her own pyre. She threw herself and her family out into the mercy of our judgment. And the people watched.
I was horrified.
As I sat there I witnessed an act of moral depravity. Altruism taken to its extreme. Her self immolation was supported and expected by all. Her personal family affairs were the business of every do-gooder and nosy busy-body in the room. Her husbands actions affected them all in such deeply personal ways that her punishment was deserved for what she had done to them. Her family's personal decisions affected them all. Her punishment was just.
I was horrified.
In atonement for her egregious crimes against the community, she and her husband sentenced themselves to travel the state telling their story. Nothing could be so humiliating, so heart wrenching, so shameful as sharing their story with every soul who did not deserve to hear it.
I was horrified.
My hands shook. My heart raced. It was as though I were watching a gruesome self torture, surrounded by those who thought it good. To my left and to my right were those who would have stoned the Adultness, who hung Salem's witches, who crucified the Savoir and passed judgment upon every living soul other than their self.
I was horrified.
And there sat the people. My people. Smiling and nodding. Taking notes. Seeing nothing wrong. Seeing nothing. It was agonizing.
I sat there in my seat, muscles clenched either to run for my life away from the monsters that would tear out my heart and eat it while I watched, or to save her. The burning woman. To scream and shout and tell her that her guilt was undeserved. She had done no wrong! By what right could they punish her?!
What I saw next will forever be seared into my memory.
She looked at us, and she smiled. A smile so full of agony, so full of guilt and self hatred and loathing. But there in her eyes, was approval. She! The victim! She approved of it all! She thought it to be good and just! She, the woman on fire, tied to the cross and staked through the heart, believed that she was deserving of this hell! She was a monster too.
I sprang into action.
I sprinted away as though from the very gates of Hades. I trembled and found myself sobbing as I ran.
By what right?! I cried. By what right?!
Before I fully knew it, I was standing at his door.
When he let me in, I wonder what he saw in me. I had seen something that I had not thought possible in our modern day. I had witnessed something medieval and wrong. Those smiling faces danced behind my eyes.
He let me in and I cried. First in horror, then disgust, then bewilderment and anger.
By what right?! By what right?!
It was her face. That womans' face. The face of a cannibal.
I cried, and he let me cry. And when I was done we talked. And when we talked I learned something important. The most important thing I have ever known.
Every since I was a little girl, I've been guilty. If I wasn't committing sin, then I was not doing something that I could have, committing a sin of omission. If I was doing everything right in my life, but thought one inappropriate thing, I was guilty. If I thought nothing wrong at all, but rushed and did not read my scriptures that morning, I was guilty. If I was too busy loving my best friend to convert him to the gospel, then his soul was in my hands and I was damned. If I drank the wrong drink the ambiguous voice in my head whispered of my guilt.
There was never a moment of freedom. I lived on my guard. I put up walls in my life, walls in my friendships, walls in my head. In order to protect myself from evil, I boxed myself in. Walls and walls of guilt.
My face had been the same.
The only way to atone for my sins was to try harder. And when I failed again and my guilt grew, so did my desperation. So did my secret agony. So did my smiles. I began to pretend as I began to realize my imperfections. I began to know that I would never be free of this weight. Even if I did everything right, even if I followed every rule, even if I went to my dear loving bishop to atone for my sins previous, the result would be the same.
The only consequence that lay ahead of me was sacrifice. The only presence that was sure in my future was guilt. There was nothing else.
And then it happened.
My eyes opened and I saw what I had never been able to see: The guilt was mine. It could not be distributed by another, only accepted by me. No other, no person nor organization or God could make me feel what I did not willingly take. And just like that, like cutting the rope from a heavy anchor, the guilt fell away.
I was free.
I saw the blind futility of it all. The entirety of my life that I had spent feeling so alone, so lost, so ashamed, it all meant nothing. I looked at myself and I liked what I saw there. I saw a good person. I saw a girl with values and morals and a lifetime of good decisions. I saw the potential for whatever I wanted that girl to be. I saw happiness in her eyes and goodness in her heart. There was no more guilt in that face.
I am free.
The consequences of what I have done are still largely unknown to me. I do know, however, that I can never go back. The door to what I once was has been closed forever. Only an uncertain future awaits me now. But I am not afraid.
Will I be able to return to that organization that demanded my own immolation since my birth? Will I be able to one day reconcile myself with a church that supports self sacrifice? I do not know.
I do know that my relationship with Deity has never been stronger. I do know that I am, for the first time, entirely made up of only myself. I do know that what tempted me previously holds no sway for me now because GUILT is not my motivator. GUILT is not my natural state of being. I was born, I was created to be happy. To experience joy. And I feel that now like I have never felt it before! My life is in my own hands. I am sailing this ship alone now. There is no one to tell me where to go.
My life is now uncertain. In some ways, I am afraid. But that is a fear of the unknown, not of hellfire and damnation. That is a fear that I will conquer.
I am free.
I am happy.
And I am guiltless!