
God Ate My Balls
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|
| I'd
like to take you back about 3 years, when things were very very
different. It was the 20th century, a Holy War was but a sparkling
glimmer in the eye of Osama bin Laden, we hadn't yet realized
that the end of mankind was at hand, and JesusDressUp.com did
not exist (coincidence)? It was also a time when I, Normal Bob
Smith (answering only to "Bob") believed in a supreme being.
This supreme being went by the name "GOD". |
Sorting Out
the Mess
|
My last lingering belief
in Him was hanging by a thread on a God- sends- everyone-
to- Heaven stipulation, and Heaven wasn't "Heaven" but more of a
next stage in life. It wasn't the blissful fantasy land of perfection...
I mean Christ, I'm not insane! And maybe Earth was a school of sorts
for angels (us) and we were all special spirits with a purpose that'd
be understood in the next life.
I was losing my
fucking mind.
If you ever find yourself
thinking that you're losing your mind here's what I suggest you
do. First start missing out on a lot of sleep. If you are having
trouble with this, try comprehending your own death and nonexistence
(it worked for me). If you can get it down to just a couple hours
a night then you're doing pretty good. |
 |
Next you need to find
fear. Focus on something stupid to be scared of (the dark, small
rooms, mortality, bed bugs, what have you). These things in combination
with loneliness, panic attacks and self doubt and you'll be all
set! Well, at least this is how I was dealing with it.
It was my 30th year that
I moved into my own apartment (no longer rooming with my bro) giving
me plenty of "alone time" for my new found hobby, dwelling! It's
like nothing you could imagine! I lost weight (why eat?!) I was
saving money (no social life, no reason to buy things for myself,
no hope, yadda yadda yadda), and with all my friends avoiding me
I had even more time to spend on that hobby I was telling you about
earlier. That one about thinking that I'm going insane? You know,
oh never mind. |
 |
Then
a friend suggested therapy.
I don't know if it was me thinking that I knew more than the therapist,
paying someone to care, or the fact that she grinded her teeth when
she wrote, but I hated therapy. It works for some, it didn't for me.
I felt patronized, text book and used. And at the end of every hour
she'd emphasize that I was going to need at least 12 - 18 more visits
even though everything that I was going through was normal for the
age bracket I was in. And it was HER pencil that looked like
a puppy's chew toy! |
The
fourth visit was my last. This was the "why don't you bring in
your sketchbook?" follow up. I personally think that it was
her "Oh, drawings! That'd be neat!" session. Rifling through
its pages (the
same pencil sketches you've already seen here)
she'd say things like "It looks as if you were havin' a pretty
rough time" and " you needed someone to listen to YOUR feelings
and no one was there huh?".
I
never returned. |
Initially
I'd thought that my time and money had been wasted, but looking
back it is all so clear now. My whole life up to that point I had NOT been a problem solver. I just accepted everything that
I didn't like about myself (leaving it in God's hands). I bought
into the notion that this was not the important life to be worrying
about. It was the next life we were living for... the one with God.
I left
therapy knowing the 3 things that I needed to change in my life.
#1) I needed to
change my look (fuck normal, why did I look so normal, when the
fuck did I forget that I wasn't normal?)
#2) I needed a creative outlet (writing, drawing, latchhook,
anything!)
#3) I needed a girlfriend (I had not nearly enough confidence,
experience, or sex in my life)
#1 was easy. Hair went
from black to green. Clothes went from black to green. Mood went
from black to green.
#2, the web site. I had something to say, something to show and
god damn I had nothin' better to do!
#3 just happened as a result of 1 & 2. I had a new found confidence
in myself, a clear vision of what I believed, and my penis needed
touching.
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