Post #3:: Religion, Part I...My Religious Upbringing

I will take this pain that I feel every single day over being happily brainwashed with religion like I used to be.

I was raised in a mostly Christian home. I went to a Christian school my whole life. From preschool to twelfth grade. Not because my parents thought of it on their own and thought it would be a good fit. No. It was because  my rich godparents' children all went there, and my parents wanted my brother and me to turn out just like them. There are few things in my life that I can truly justify as things that have royally fucked up my life, and being trapped in a Christian school is position numero uno.

I was raised to do what I was told. No questions. Just a simple, "Yes, sir" will do. Naturally, I was the perfect victim of religion. From the time I was four years old and really grasped who Jesus was, he scared the living daylights out of me. Either that, or I felt badly for him. It really depended on the day. I was frightened with the prospects of eternal damnation at a young age. That's what set me deep into Christian doctrine. Fear. I was convinced that everything I did...EVERYTHING needed to be for Jesus. I grew used to the fear and convinced myself that I really loved Jesus. I did everything for him. Literally. I'd so much as vacuum the house and think of ways it was glorifying Jesus. I'd do the dishes while singing worship songs. It was disgusting. But I felt compelled. I didn't want to go to hell. And all of it made me feel kind of good inside. So I kept it up...mostly because it was what I was supposed to be doing.

I never questioned Christianity until the day I decided that I needed to persuade my family to start family devotions. My dad was against this idea. "But dad, Jesus is the head of the household, and we need to honor him." I argued my point. My dad argued that he was the head of the household. Not Jesus. This upset me deeply. For days. My dad was disagreeing with Jesus. I had to make a choice. I chose Jesus. I did devotions by myself in my room for hours. Usually crying was involved, because of my dad. Because of my lack of feeling like a family. Because real families had dinner together and did devotions once a week. My family did neither.

So I clung to my religious teachings at school. During chapel every Tuesday, I was kneeling at the alter, sending my prayers fervently to God. Or Jesus. I never knew which. I decided it wasn't worth it to decide. It was all I had. I learned to serve others and disregard myself. Consequently, I never learned who I was. Because who I was didn't matter. It was how I served others and how I served God that mattered. I became the most ignorant, narrow-minded, little Christian child you'd ever meet. But I didn't know any better. I just knew what my teachers told me. I knew what the chapel speakers banged against the pulpit. That's all I knew. I only cared about getting into heaven. Living like Jesus.

Blind. Ignorant. Naive.