WARNING! This is a quasi-confessional, get-it-out-to-get-over-a-panic-attack rant about me. I’m feeling down. Feel free to ignore this because I don’t have a blog and I stink at blogging, I don’t do diaries well, and I just need to vent somewhere and not feel threatened about my religious perspective.
Here it is -
I’m not perfectly contrite.
As far as I know, I don’t have any mortal sins racked up against me, because I went to confession not quite a week ago, got them off my chest, and am working toward fixing my messes, but then again, I know of a priest who had an NDE where he died and was going to Hell, and if a priest can’t make it, I’m in a lot of hot water.
One thing he talked about was knowing that God existed in his mind, but in his heart they weren’t real, just “imaginary friends,” sort of.
Here’s me - I believe in God because without Him, the universe is pointless and has no meaning. I’m terrified of finding out differently. There are even times when I think annhilation after death is worse than Hell, because at least in Hell you still exist, you have that much dignity afforded to you by God. Intellectually, what’s better than God? Legally, without God, we don’t have a leg to stand on.
But sometimes I go through bouts of depression and sometimes I get very scared, asking, “What if there is no God?” I’m not one of those people who’s like, “No God? Yay! Bring on the sex and booze!” I’m one of those existential dilemma people, “everything is meaningless and nothing is good without Him!” types.
Does this make me a doubter? Gah!
I could so put up with Purgatory! Pain and hellfire, yeah, bring it on! I still exist, I haven’t cast myself into the deepest pit, I’m not going to be abandoned by God because I didn’t abandon him! Gimme gimme!
Compared to the alternatives, Purgatory is a walk in the park!
But I’m absolutely terrified that because I’m not as emotionally close to God as I know I should be, that sometimes I have serious doubts, and that I’m still a sinner when it comes down to it, that I’ll have my whole life spelled out for me and I’m going to hell, do not pass go, do not collet $200.
And what makes me feel worse is that I’m upset that I’m not perfectly contrite. I’m sad and angry that I keep messing up, but that nasty little “am I contrite enough to go to Heaven?” keeps rearing its ugly head inside my mind. I feel rotten and I feel like I’m waiting for the final impact.
I know God is merciful, that’s why Jesus gave us the Divine Mercy Chaplet, but if He’s going to be fair and just, He has to punt some people. I can’t see myself being good enough in my soul to deserve heaven, under any circumstances, and I don’t know what kind of graces I’m needing or even looking for to overcome my base stupidity.
I mean, here’s this - Sunday I hadn’t had much sleep and was over-tired going to have company, and I was thinking, “I’m too exhausted, I won’t go to Church this morning,” but I dragged my sorry carcass to Mass and stayed for the whole thing, and I’d gone to confession, so I could receive the Body and Sacred Blood, and I even made myself not eat anything so I wouldn’t jinx that.
I guess that might be grace, dragging me out of hell despite my base self kicking and screaming like a whiny brat, but if it is, I’m doomed, because if I am so pathetic that grace comes to me just to keep me from messing up on a Sunday, then I’m in sorry shape.
People sit down and read the Bible every day. I have to drag myself to it once a week, give or take, and I don’t do well saying the Chaplet even though I should. And come on - all my friends are either former Catholics turned Wiccan or they’re outright Pagan without having ever been Christian of any sort. And I don’t have the ability to change their minds because I stink as an apologist. I don’t want my friends going to hell, either, but I can’t make them change themselves when I’m such a sorry mess.
I don’t know how to even ask for help from God because I’m just that pathetic.
Blah. There’s nothing like a dose of reality to make you reconsider how you handle your life. I just wish I were better somehow, and I don’t know what to do to fix me so I’m not pushing Him away.