I think life would be easier if I believed all the stuff I used to believe.
That the world was supposed to be perfect until people fucked it up, but it can be perfect again one day.
That people want to do good but are messed up and in need of redeeming, and even the worst of us are capable of being made whole.
That there is some great source of redemption that will make everything and everyone ok in the end. (Except for those it doesn’t. And then those fuckers would fry forever while the rest of us – assuming I’m not one of the assholes who needed to fry – get to live in fluffy eternity being all nice and happy and worshipy.)
That there are such things as souls, and that some people’s souls are tainted, but most people’s souls are good and that the devil makes us do and say the shitty things we come up with, but that there is still some kind of hope for all of us.
That ultimately there is a loving supreme deity who cherishes all of us and writes our names in his hand, even the names of the stupid fucks who abuse children and animals and old people, who bully and taunt and stalk people online, who create chemicals and sell advertising and poison water and rape land and rape people.
That there is some kind of hope for this world, even if it is in the sweet by and by, and when the roll is called up yonder I’ll be there.
Unfortunately I don’t believe that anymore.
Which sometimes makes for a very bleak outlook on life.
Especially when people are mean and spiteful and ugly and unreasonable and irrational for no good goddamned reason.
Especially when it seems all the good done in the world is constantly being challenged and undone by a bunch of idiots who can’t tell their ass from a hole in the ground and who don’t give a damn about anyone or anything outside their tiny little pathetic spheres.
Especially when it seems there is just no hope.
I wish I wasn’t raised to be a nice person. Nice can be very debilitating. Nice can be a fucking chokehold on life, a creator of anxiety, a source of doubt, a governor on progress, a heart attack or stroke waiting to happen.
I want to believe that most people would like to be nice and good and kind. That most people have something redeeming about them. That maybe I’m not really as “nice” as I think I am, but that I am capable of being truly good, and that other people are, too.
But all it takes is challenging one idea – not even a BIG idea, just posting a suggestion on Facebook for how some small thing might be better – and boy, the trolls come out and pounce and accuse and ridicule and criticize.
And my thin skin made of nice veneer simply cannot hold up. Or out.
I wish there was Someone who could/would/should make this All Right.
I wish my influence could at least make a dent in the Right direction.
Once upon a time, faced with frustration and fear and sadness, I would have prayed and hoped and listened and persevered in hopes that one day everything and everyone would be Okay.
But right now, I fucking give up….