Laughing Through the Pain

I must have woken up on the right side of the bed this morning, because my brain was quieter than usual, and although my physical body ached from sleeping in the same position for hours, (thanks tiny human for refusing to sleep in your own bed last night), my mental self feels pretty comical.

Just because I have a depressive disorder doesn’t mean I am melancholy from the start of the day, until my head hits the pillow; I do wake up with thankfulness in my heart, and at least attempt to have a purposeful/meaningful day. Things don’t always work out that way, and there are days, more times than not, that I wake up feeling like I am smothering, but even during the darkest days I try to find something humorous about life.

I don’t like to take life seriously, I never have, and this has often come with rejection, mostly from people who concluded my age didn’t match with my behavior at any given moment. Fuck em’, right!? I enjoy my snarky, sarcastic, smart ass sense of humor, and stifling the comedian in me is something I’m not willing to do.

Life is too serious already. We wake up to hectic work schedules, bills, illness, and massive amounts of responsibility of some sort, so why should we all walk around like uptight adults, trudging through the day with an occasional side smile, and a growing stomach ulcer?

I go through life trying to find the hilarity in things around me. I still laugh at farts, enjoy an embarrassing poop story, sing improper lyrics to popular songs, ( ie: Hold me closer TONY DANZA), and occasionally yell out random words in Walmart. WHY!? Because life is too short to not make a complete ass out of yourself in front of strangers!

My husband lost his grandmother last year, and although it was heartbreaking, and we had our sullen moments, we have one memory of her funeral, and it wasn’t death tears, it was the moment we couldn’t stop gut laughing, during the services, as the priest, who reminded me of Friar Tuck, busted out his acapella version of some catholic funeral hymn. I’ll never forget the way he belted out the chorus, like Kelly Clarkson during her audition for American Idol, I literally almost peed my pants.

Funerals suck, and everyone thinks you have to sit around and be all seriously depressed, and crying the entire day, but knowing Grammy, she wouldn’t have wanted that bullshit! Grammy always got a kick out of my sense of humor, and I know she would have lost her shit had she heard The Pope’s right hand man in all his glory, because it truly was hilarious.

I don’t have a sad memory of her funeral. I can remember her for who she was before she died, and I don’t need some crusty funeral service to be reminded of what an awesome human she was! Instead, I can look back and laugh at that day, because if she was watching, she sure as hell was laughing too!

The purpose of this post is just to remind you to laugh. It’s okay to act stupid, and immature. Be prim and proper when it’s necessary, but when that time is over, just go overboard with the funnies. Who cares who is watching.

You can find humor almost everywhere. So if you are ever in Walmart, and you see a girl imitating the walk of velociraptor, with her pants pulled up past her belly button, shouting, “HEN,” in random aisles, stop and say hello…..I might be able to teach you some of my sick moves.

Faith Game

So let’s start off with me, telling you, a little about myself. I feel like my topic needs a little back story.

I’m 34 years old, and I was raised in the church. I can remember learning about Jonah and the Whale, David and Goliath, and the stories about Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection. I can also remember the MANY sermons about tithing, missing church, and the list of endless list of rules one must follow to get to heaven.

I would say I was a regular church goer, (Sunday & Wednesdays), up until the age of 18. From 18-24ish, it was occasional Sundays, and sporadic Wednesdays, mostly going by how I felt that day before deciding whether or not I wanted to sit through a service for a few hours. I stopped going all together for a few years, started back up for a year, and then stopped again, leading up to my current status, which is my complete disgust for organized religion.

If you like church, that’s wonderful, and I respect the fact you can separate yourself from the bullshit I’ve witnessed in every congregational setting. Congratulations if you can look past the multitude of hypocrites, and sit through a service on how important it is to be in church every Sunday, while emptying the last of your money into a brass offering plate.

I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to sit amongst a group of people who claim, “the love of Christ,” but can’t take the time to be bothered too much when a member is suffering.

Experience has shown me that people say they care, but their caring comes with a limit. We all want to say “we care, and we are here whenever you need us,” but do we really mean it? Do we speak these words because we want to seem empathetic and compassionate, but when it comes down to an actual need, we give our limited time impatiently?

It’s come to the point where words like, “I’ll be praying for you,” mean NOTHING, because most of the time it’s a blanket statement people say to let you know they care enough to think about you, but in a way that gives you a vibe not to expect much more than a distant thought.

As you can see, I have an obvious distaste already for Christianity, and all it entails, then to be in the midst of what life currently has to offer, just throws me over the edge.

I could ramble on and on about this, but I’d rather get into the heart of why I’m really writing this post today.

My mom has been sick for years. I can look back, and I know there was a time when things weren’t this bad, but it’s hard to remember a period when she wasn’t struggling. If it wasn’t asthma attacks, it was pneumonia, but those days were easier compared to the days of living with a torn femoral artery, uncontrolled diabetes, extreme memory loss, constant pneumonia, an incurable, rare lung disease, and now possibly lung cancer. Now it’s like every day is a, “wake up just to survive,” nightmare.

I guess my post is about Faith, God, and the load of shit I thought would be able to get me through these times. Scriptures like, Matthew 17:20 (NIV) “Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you,” have no meaning anymore, and I find myself over-analyzing God’s lack of caring actions.

Let me stop and quickly say, that if I had a literal mustard seed right now, I would throw it out the damn window, and scream every obscenity I could think of! I am so sick of hearing this scripture, I could puke!
When you sit around, day after day, praying for God’s help, healing, comfort, miracles, and promises, and get NOTHING but blanket statements, and an empty feeling, it really eats you alive! I feel like I have no reason to believe God gives a shit about ANYTHING anymore.

To be completely frank, I feel like God sits up in Heaven, knowing all the shit your going through, fully realizing that one miracle could change your entire family, and yet, let’s EVERYONE fucking suffer through the constant torment day after day. Meanwhile, we are supposed to continue to pray, trust, and thank him for the NON-CHANGING, extra day of suffering we all have to endure.

The thing that makes me the most angry is the fact that He is God!! He can do ANYTHING, and yet chooses to do NOTHING!! He expects us to sit around and pray, trust, and lean on Him, but WHY? Why should I take the time to pray endlessly for something, because nothing changes! Does it make sense to constantly beg for something, while being ignored by the one person you know can fix everything?

I feel like this life has become a board game of faith, where the rules say, “all you have to do is pray and believe to win,” but there are missing pieces, loopholes, and unclear, instructions.

God knows all, has the power to do anything, and can intervene at any time, but chooses to withhold help, and that has me furious. It’s like having a cure for an incurable disease, and dangling it above a patient’s head daily, but never letting them have it. It’s cruel!

My mom is dying. There is no easier way to put it. She is slowly, and heartbreakingly changing every time I see her, and it kills me that I have to sit around and worry about when it will happen. It took me 5 years to get pregnant, and I’m finally experiencing one of the happiest moments in my life, but still have constant stress and anxiety that my mom wont be around to hold her grandchild for the first time.

The question I find myself coming back to is, “Why God, why won’t you do something?”

You might not believe in God, and that’s your choice, but I do. No matter how fucking angry I am, I believe he’s real, and can do miracles, and that’s what has me so irate!

I’m to the point now where praying before bed, so I can sleep with some form of peace, is a staple, but praying, and knowing, things will change, is over. I don’t feel like I can move forward and trust that God will intervene, instead, I have to prepare my mind now for the point when everything in our lives will change.

Sometimes I wish that I was never told about God, because then I wouldn’t expect anything.