Sixteen and Seventeen

What a rough age. Things started getting too confusing. I started giving up on questions I could not get answers to. I gave in. By this time I believe I had forgotten that I ever denied the holy spirit. It didn't matter anyway, as I did not mean it. A just god would know the difference, and would understand why I am so angry with him, and would agree that there is no reason for children to pay for the sins of their great-grandparents. That much was obvious to me.

An important thing happened this year that changed my life in a lot of ways. I met my second boyfriend. My first I had met at school, and he only started attending church with me because it was important to me and he got to see me dress up and spend more time with me. Watch me. Make sure no one was after me. I eventually stopped inviting him because he was creepy and I wanted to be alone.

Somewhere something went wrong in his head. He started masturbating outside my bedroom window at night. I didn't know he was there. My window was too high to see in and I hated outside light at the time, so I had tacked my favorite fabric strips over the window. He would tell me about it the next day, acting as if I should feel special about it. I stopped calling him. I avoided him at school. So he would call my house and find out from my little brother that I was at the library and he would go and watch me read.

I spent a lot of time at the library. He spent a lot of time watching me. He changed his classes to be in my classes. He started getting angry when I talked to other people. Not just boys. I tried explaining to him that I thought he was wonderful. He was magic on the piano. He could sing. He was interesting to talk to. He didn't need to follow me around and be creepy. That pissed him off, and I eventually had to have some man sit in the classes we had together to protect me. I didn't feel I needed to be protected, but my mother sure did. I agree with her now.

Anyway that's a lot more than I wanted to write about him. My new boyfriend. He was ... not what I was attracted to. My dad told me if I dated him he would buy me a new wardrobe. This guy was two years older than me. Eighteen. My mom told me that mentally I am probably older than more eighteen-year-old boys, so I decided it was okay. I would do it for a new wardrobe, and I would dump him if I didn't like him, and after I got my new clothes. When I started dating him my dad told me I don't get the wardrobe because it's stupid for me to even think that someone as awesome as him would be interested in me.

I dressed like a boy, and I had buzzed my head not that long ago. I did not look like the perfect Christian girl. I told my dad to suck it because god loves me for who I am, not for how pretty my dress is. My mom got that smile I was always fighting for. The one she got when I said things that she couldn't get away with saying to my father. I lived for that smile.

It was about this time, when I started dating #2, that I discovered that the things I am good at are foolish to pursue a career in. My talents become worthless, useless, and are stopping me from being a proper Christian. I'm told over and over by my father and #2's parents that doing anything in the arts, as a Christian, is not a noble or smart thing to do. There are roles I need to play as a Christian woman that don't involve me learning about culture. WTF art is evil?

Fuck it, I'm going to be a housewife. It's the only thing I feel like I can do well as a Christian. I decided that if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right. I bought books on raising children (something I had no desire to do) and I researched public schools vs. private schools vs. homeschooling. I decided on home-schooling with a lot of community classes to fulfill the social needs of my children. I spent hours working out the plan for my life. I was going to graduate in two years and all my plans were wrong, and I felt like I had very little time to learn a lot about things I had never been interested in.

My future makes me feel hopeless. The only happiness I find is in friendship and dance. I would have never joined the dance team, with it's blond-haired beauties, if I had not been desperate for something to numb the pain of life. Prayer wasn't doing a goddamn thing. I danced with emotion. I danced like I was finally free of this life. Two years went by, staying with #2 because what difference does it make which white Christian boy I choose? I'm not even attracted to white boys. Another thing I felt ashamed of.

It finally made sense to me why life was so awful. If it weren't for the pain, how would I have ever fully understood how wonderful dancing was. So there is a reason for the suffering. The reason is to make the sweet that much sweeter. Thanks, God. You truly are awesome. (seriously) I'm not embarrassed. If anything I think it's awesome that I can recognize how ridiculous this sounds now. If God is all powerful, he could make it possible for us to be happy all the time, and still understand what happiness is. He could go POOF here ya go, children. Enjoy.

He could, but he doesn't. If you could end all suffering, would you?