The End of the World

When I was in 10th grade I was a leader in my church youth group.  My family rarely came to church with me.  I went three times per week.  I went because home was insanity, and my youth minister and his wife adored me.  They really weren’t that much older than I was, but they referred to me as one of their kids and I adored them in return.

I’ve written before about my tendency to equate praise with love.  There was no praise at home, at the time, but lots of criticism.  At church, all I had to do was engage in what I’ve now come to believe was some kind of mass hysteria.  Praise consisted of one person leading and the rest of us in apparent trances, muttering, swaying, sometimes weeping.  We all believed we were so unworthy.

The Rapture was a topic often discussed.  If you don’t know, in fundamentalist Christianity, The Rapture is a term used to refer to “Judgement Day.”  It is taught that those who are righteous will suddenly disappear from the earth and those who are not righteous will be Left Behind to suffer the 1000 year reign of Satan.

I was 15 or 16 when I joined this youth group.  I have always been good at problem solving and I have always been a thinker.  So when I mulled these things over in my mind, they didn’t really make sense to me.  I didn’t understand why some would have to suffer for so long while others who’d been evil in the past but were now dead, wouldn’t have to experience that.

Because their standards for salvation were so high, I was constantly worried that my family would be left behind, because my parents were drinking and doing drugs.  Never before in my life had it been so easy to fall out of Christianity.

Despite my doubts and questions, I played the role to a T.  I was in church every Sunday for morning and evening services.  I was there every Tuesday for youth group meetings.  I was sanctimonious with my friends who didn’t attend church.  I was judgmental of pretty much everyone who didn’t attend my church, and in retrospect, that was kind of encouraged by those from whom I was seeking approval.

The outer performance and the inner doubt began to cause horrible panic attacks.  I’d never hear of panic attacks or knew what they were, so I just thought the world was ending.  I was nervous and anxious all the time, and absolutely terrified of silence.  I literally worried myself into vomiting.  I slept with my TV on for fear of waking up to a quiet room.  And every night, as I drifted to sleep, I was absolutely convinced that the world would end and I’d never wake again.

I kind of slunk away from that church right around 17.  It was mostly due to breaking up with Michael and then getting together with Dave, the man I’d marry.  Even after I left it, I still carried that worry that I would burn in hell for not believing in hell.  It wasn’t until I went to college and learned about the earliest civilizations and began to see an obvious evolution of religion that I was able to shelf it all.  I still consider myself a Christian and a Catholic, but on my terms, not anyone else’s.

I’ve kind of been feeling this way again, lately.  In that philosophy, you were either “saved,” or you were doomed to hell.  No compromise.  How different is that from our current politics?  You’re either too liberal or too conservative and each is convinced that the other will bring about the apocalypse.

I’m not even exaggerating.  On one side, the fear is global warming and a white supremacist takeover of the country, or perhaps 45 will hand over the keys to our country to Putin or Un.

On the other side, people are terrified that they will be a minority, that Christianity might no longer be the dominant religion in this country, that white will no longer be the dominant race (if it ever was).  Many subscribe to those beliefs that were taught when I was a church-girl.  They believe that these are the end times prophesied in Revelations.  If I still practiced that way, I’d believe it too.

There are voices in the middle, but they’re not nearly as loud as the two extremes, so few people are hearing them.

I haven’t been sleeping well.  My stomach has been acidic and knotted.  Being as isolated as I am with no friends or family near and Drew traveling so much, I’m spending the majority of my time on Facebook.  I’m trying to be positive, but I’m feeling pulled into a vortex of hostility and logical fallacy and I feel compelled to shout along with everyone else!

More than what other people are posting and saying, I’m appalled by the things I’ve posted and said.  I’ve had arguments that weren’t worth having, but I continued to have them just to see if I could out-snark them.  That’s who I was back in those church days, and I don’t ever want to be that person again.

This morning, I was barely awake, and I made the mistake of opening my iPad to find a post that just rubbed me the wrong way.  I tried to find other things to take my mind off of it, but I found myself getting more and more stressed.  I finally decided to take a break from social media, except for OD.  I deleted my Facebook apps and my Twitter apps, and I’m determined to go a week without posting or scrolling and see if it makes a difference in this sense of impending doom.

You’ll likely be hearing much more from me, this week.  I’m hoping that this will motivate me to get some real writing done.