The expression “mad as hell” doesn’t fit.
I’m full into depressed mode, with a large side of rage. I’m in a house with flies buzz bombing me, and we’ve killed more than 20 of the little fuckers. That’s the smallest part of the physical bullshit. It’s the little things that add on, and eventually, after the baseline has been exceeded, it doesn’t take much after that to break my spirit.
Well, it’s broken.
I lost a fight against the universe fucker again, this one was big for me. Had to happen, eventually, I know. Death visits and randomly hacks at life whenever it feels like it. It’s just I didn’t expect that. Mrs M’s mom… It happened so fast, so unexpectedly. I can’t imagine how she feels, if I’m broken. She fought hard to live, and I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my whole life.
There are verses about healing, promises about deliverance from death, yadda, yadda. Yeah, well, whoever and whatever the fuck those are supposed to be good for, they weren’t for her. I don’t think I’m supposed to be angry and bitter, although Kubler-Ross says anger is part of normal grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, yeah well, fuck that, I went straight to anger, and depression, and acceptance, and I’m still in all three, and never did denial or bargaining. I never was “normal” about anything. I literally did it to myself again- I prayed, I kept on praying, I fully expected Him to heal her, and instead she was gone two days after the doctors said they had her stable and I left the hospital. I don’t think she wants the Lazarus thing, so when I was told, I quit asking.
So prayer can work, it just didn’t work the way I wanted this time. I remember the last time my prayer was answered how I wanted it, and it was nice for a while and then kind of shifted a bit and became not quite what I thought I wanted but still mostly good I guess with some bullshit mixed in, and yet acceptable, and then I realized it wasn’t going to change in my favor and be what I wanted. The same with prayer and life and faith. I still believe, sauced with the actual facts of prayer not answered how I want, life not happening how I want or expect, and seasoned by faith sometimes not being worth anything.
Life is temporary. I don’t want to hear any platitudes or reassuring Bible verses, they don’t reassure me. Death happens, and it always sucks. Shit happens, fucks up whatever it can fuck with, and I’m not expecting to be exempt. I truly believed she would be healed and restored, and the answer was no. I’ve accepted the facts, but I’m still madder than hell. I wanted my faith to somehow make a difference, and it didn’t change shit. So maybe my faith is smaller than that damned grain of mustard seed, well, I could have used a bigger portion but fuck me if that’s all I’ve been given. First Corinthians 12 says God’s Spirit decides who gets what kind of faith, so mine gets to be the tiny kind that doesn’t see the miracles when I ask. I should just stop asking, but I know I’ll be led down that fucking road again and ask again, and we’ll see what happens when it happens again. The Bible talks about faith growing (Second Thessalonians 1:3), so maybe even my shitty little faith will grow eventually, and be worth something to someone I care about. If I had any more doubt mixed in with my faith, I could even doubt my own eternal fate, but since I was about 8, I haven’t doubted eternity. I may end up there with a hell-fire singed robe, smelling of sulfur and brimstone and smoke, but so far, I believe I’ll get there.
It’ll be fine. Depression is a dish best not served at all, just my opinion, but as the Master Chef has decided to serve that shit up again, I think the rage adds a lovely complimentary flavor to the bitterness.