A dream about the grave/post about religious trauma

Disclaimer: This is a post about religious trauma and real issues it causes for people. The terror it induces. Call it faith, call it divine, but don't expect people to respect your religion and treat it as real. You can disagree, but this is my space and my thoughts. It is not holy for me. TW include: death and sleepwalking/intrusive thoughts/alcohol

Prayer for erasure As a kid, I would cry at night and make up dialogues of what I would say to god if I died soon. I wanted him to delete my soul so I didn't have to live forever but they told me god couldn't do that. Then I would cry for dad because he would go to hell if he didn't change. And then I cried harder for my guinea pigs than I did for my grandparents because even if I did go to heaven I would never see my guinea pigs again. It was terrible. My anger issues were blamed on demons and compared to H*tler. My nickname h*tlerowiec. How lovely. I was feeling possessed. I never wanted to be angry at all it would just come out of nowhere. Never at school only at home. I would get overwhelmed by everything. And then I would pray in my head and imagine a giant vacuum in a white void sucking up all my thoughts like little files so I didn't have to think about them. It worked for a little while. I was at a constant war in my head. It never went away even after I stopped with religion. Religion and some other things destroyed every grain of me and took away my careless experience of doing anything. You analyze everything to death before you say or like something in case you become impure or controversial. And you don't do it consciously or willingly. Every once in a while; The thoughts attach themselves to what's important to you. To the very core of things that matter. Ppl don't take it seriously but casually watching a movie can feel like your guts are being turned inside out, absolutely f*cking brutal. Call it religious trauma, when things stack up over the years and press you down. And all because it isn't superior and pure. You start to hate your family, your friends, yourself for not being pure enough. You feel sick when you have to watch or engage with anything. You want to disappear completely. And you know you hate religion. You don't believe and you feel it's wrong. But your knowing doesn't replace something that has been labeled as eternal when there's no proof of either existence or non existence of god. It's similar with the scary paranoid thoughts. Thoughts of accidentally harming yourself while sleepwalking. You try to stand your ground but you feel utter terror. Absolute f*cking terror. And all you get is "treat yourself kindly" "practice mindfulness". I don't need more of my f*cking head. Ooh I'm so unrebellious ooh I'm so easygoing and then ppl in your family only know you as the aggressive one and the one pushing things. Same with the music. I hated being told to turn my music down. It went heavier and heavier with time. It was my way of coping. You aren't gonna label me. I am not going to be silent. I am going to leave everything I've been and become something entirely else. And then I'll say I still love everything I've ever loved because I probably do. But I also hate it. I am both very happy and very sad. I am both on the verge of ecstasy and insanity. And I can never say what I want to say. I spent most of my childhood thinking about things other kids didn't seem to even care about. I thought about death much more than I should. Even if god was real I wouldn't want him.

I was crying every night praying to God that if I died in sleep and got to heaven that he should delete my soul because I didn't want to live forever and also I was scared that if my dad died too he would go to hell and I would be in heaven looking at him burn. It's hard having an alcoholic parent who's nice when they are sober. It's like living with two different people. How is it to babysit a parent when you're just a kid? Jokingly being asked if they are "being silly again". Its like now I can't get mad at ppl at all. I forgive easily. They always just say sorry and you go along with it. And it breaks my heart. It feels terrible. And I won't tell more.

But I wrote a poem about the letters I gave dad to read so he would stop.

Zapomnijmy listy/zębaty kawałek okrągłego metalu

Zapomnijmy listy

Bo nad ranem i tak

I ty sapomnisz, i ja zapomne

Zapomnijmy listy

Jak zawsze

Nad ranem

I ty sapomnisz i ja zapomnę

Zapomnijmy listy

Bo nad ranem

I ty zapomnisz i ja zapomnę

Zapomnijmy

Jak zawsze

Zapomnijmy

Jak zawsze

Zapomnijmy

Jak zawsze

And a poem about expectations and society:

We look like maggots from up here

The things are changing and you are not letting the parts of me that I have outgrown to frail off, expecting them not to rot.

This body used to be too tight for me and all you did was threaten me with an inevitable future and fear of change, as if it weren't the very core of all that has ever been. This journey means nothing for the things that we are part of. I mean nothing and everything. I have taken a liking to the few things that I have built my world around/I will not confine myself within your worldview, I will not confine myself within your worldview. I will not confine myself within your worldview. Despite this, I think I have confined myself. I have confined myself

And watch yourself as you turn away

And leap (wears off before it dries)

Just to come back again

And watch yourself as you turn (almost forward)

And watch yourself as you turn (almost forward)

And watch yourself as you turn (was an anchor in the water)

And watch yourself as you leap

And I was a kid who would think too much about death... The thought lays upon a view of a TV, my dad is sitting by the white table we just bought after moving in. Maybe it's 2014. I don't remember years really. He is watching the TV and I remember this brief clip before he told me not to watch it. There's a girl, and a man. There are bottles and cups, glass. They are talking about something but the scenery looks weird. Like a half view of the ground, where you can see what's above and what's below, like when you look at a terrarium. And there is a lightbulb, and a table in the middle. I suppose it was somewhat eerie. Now that I think about it my thoughts shift to a night in the city, riding in the car with my parents. Its winter and we were buying my ballet costume (that I went to for half a year more and stopped). Can't help falling in love by Presley is playing in the car radio and all I see are city lights. The orange ones before they went white. Back to the weird movie with an underground cave with a table. The people are talking about something and the next image and thought changes to the backyard of those identical small grass lawn in front of each block of flats in my old neighbourhood. The building is white, the windows are wide, elongated and small. Yellow. This shade of white that fades into a shade that reminds you of forget me nots. This is the color of the building. And there is a small hill. We used to slide on them in winter, though our flat didn't have a lawn with hills. The scenery must be somewhere down the neighborhood, or to the right if you were standing at our door facing front. This is the same flat that would appear in the washing machine pattern I talked about in bus diary 12. Now, there is this hill. It is green and it has small straws of grass pointing up. This reminds me most of the right side of the neighborhood because it's where I played alien foot with my friend. We found it on the rock thing on the playground and pretended it was an alien. The alien foot being a green chair leg from IKEA. Those round plastic chairs. And on her birthday we would hide in the bushes, and the bushes were placed on some kind of similar hill. This time as I'm writing this I remember also the burnt flat. I never really knew what happened. Back to the pattern- The bushes look like birches, or maybe hazel. I don't know really. Hill, and in the back are the windows, and the small, thin trees with swaying leaves. It must be spring, evening, though there is still sun. There are no visible contrasts, it's kind of bleached out. Imagine a fish eye view where the top of the scenery arches towards you and almost reaches your forehead as you read this. And there would be mourning people, or something similar, standing on that small hill. In a circle, facing what would look like a grave. In my mind, I would look right at it, and at the same time I was staring from it. This is where it would cut out and I wouldn't think about it further. I just thought it was very weird. I would think about what If all this is a dream and I were to wake up one day to something totally different, someone different. That maybe I had already died and this was just another time in the future. That the mourning people were my old family. I would think a lot of it. And then I would be afraid of heaven. It's so hard to draw thoughts. They always morph into eachother in very weird ways. I guess this is how I get all my dreams.

Song: Blue lights and sunshine-Suffocate for Fuck Sake