Sitting here in the recliner at my father’s house, I can’t think of one short-term reason to continue living.
Why am I here on earth? Why was I put here? Why was I even born? Do I have some kind of obscure intrinsic value to add to this world? Do I even serve a simple purpose? I’ve been asking myself these questions since I was ten years old.
I hear people talking about God and praising him but at this point, I am not even sure I believe He exist. He seems more like a charade, a lie everyone around the world is telling, like that of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. More propaganda of the world using a different name.
If He does exist than my reality is his fault. He bore me into this eternal hell giving me plenty of reasons to hate him. He’s force fed me more reason than I can digest at this point, more reasons than I can regurgitate from day-to-day.
I can’t imagine anyone putting a person on earth to live the life that I’ve been forced to live. An existence of vile, demonic, immoral servitude. It’s nothing less than heartless and impersonal. It’s a pointless process that no one should have to live through. It’s as pointless as the very way I was conceived and brought into this world because there was no love between my parents. My mother is not capable of love and her mistreatment of me, the neglect, emotional, verbal, physical and sexual abuse that I’ve suffered over the last 15 years is her way of reminding me of that every single day.
Why if God is real would he create such an evil being? Why would He put me here, choose Faye as my mother, and force me to live, in this family, amongst all these hateful, degenerate people? Why?
My life is nothing more than a ruthless, reprehensible train wreck, where I serve no purpose. It’s doubtful that I will have any kind of lasting effect in this world because in the grand scheme of things my life is utterly meaningless.
If God doesn’t exist, if He doesn’t create us then no one puts us here for a purpose, no one gives us life, which means I am not here for a reason and I have no intrinsic value to speak of, my worth is nothing more than subjective.
I’m judged by both sides of the family, and many others, including the police, simply because I am my mother’s child and because my brothers, Paul, Mark, Todd and Steve prove to be thieves, alcoholic and drug addicts always staying in trouble, always in and out of jail. Relatives assume that because they all lack character, I lack character as well so they slander me, talk down to me, belittle me.
I feel I have worth and am worthy of love but if there is no God to have a final say, who say’s I’m right feeling that and who says they’re wrong?
If God doesn’t exist, is there such a thing as right or wrong? Do I even have a soul? Do any of us have a soul? Is the immutable truth dead and buried or will I one day be able to speak it?
Maybe there are no biblical laws, after all, or moral absolutes to live by. How is one to really know?
Written in 1986
© Kerri Bishop Reece | Kerri Chronicles