I have heard all the jokes about the rapture. More than most, I have heard all the snide remarks because I am not Christian and I am not openly practicing a faith. I have heard all the humorous anecdotes about leaving piles of clothing and open books around, about the “idiots” who think they will be seized up in god’s transport to heaven tomorrow. I have heard cracks on The Onion, on every corner of the internet, on every social network, and I have said nothing.

I have said nothing because I really envy anyone who can muster that kind of faith. It may be misguided and it may be for naught, but who’s to say? Not me.

I would love to believe in something so strongly. I would love to have faith in something so utterly otherworldly even if it didn’t come true. It would be crushing to be laughed at, but I wouldn’t need to believe it for anyone else’s sake. I could just believe in it for me.

Now and then, when things are particularly dark for me, I play with the notion that suicidal ideation is just the powers that be calling me home. In my rational moments I know that’s not true, but now and then I envy those disturbed people with their black bed sheets and matching sneakers on bunk beds not because they were part of a scary cult, but because they believed. They didn’t kill themselves out of despair, the way I am tempted to. They killed themselves out of hope.

It sounds rather thin even to me, but I admit, now and then I truly envy anyone who would consider suicide as a way into the light.


~ by oniongirl13 on May 21, 2011.

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