I eventually stopped going to church with Dawn’s foster family after a while, partly because she moved out of that house when she began staying with her boyfriend, Josh, and partly because it was waaay out in the country, and I had no way to get there, really. Being there for just a little while had affected a change in me, though, in that I began to feel a newfound certainty that the mythology that I had been handed down while I was growing up (based on the ancient scriptural records of the Hebrew people, Charlton Heston, Jesus Christ, and the spiritual treatises of Paul the Apostle) was an accurate reflection both of historical and spiritual reality.
What that translated into for me, at the time, was that I became absolutely certain that a race of extraterrestrial alien beings had cross-bred their own species with prehistoric apes in order to create the human race for the propagation of their own species for the sole purpose of ensuring biological progeny in some form (the reproductive function of their own race having atrophied due to the extreme age of their species.) I may have mentioned in an earlier post that I did a lot of acid when I was young. I also had read a lot of weird stuff.
Jesus, I thought, had been the product of an artificial insemination, and was a half-alien-half-human hybrid, who had been born for the purpose of teaching humankind about love and nonviolence, in an attempt to accelerate the spiritual evolution of our people. I figured that people, by and large, though, were unable to deal with this reality, and that it was best to keep these convictions to myself. The important thing was that God was unconditionally loving, and that Jesus had, through some type of metaphysical gymnastics that I couldn’t possibly hope to comprehend during this lifetime, made atonement for the sins of all humanity.
I became convinced that God was with me, watching me, and attempting to guide me. As a very small child, my daycare provider had taught me that God hated me, that I could do no good in his eyes…under her guidance, I had learned to believe that God was angry and vengeful, waiting for me to overstep my bounds so that he could crush me. Despite the fact that these experiences had formed core beliefs in me that would manifest later in horrible ways, I sensed no shame now. No condemnation. The way I perceived God in those days could best be described this way: “Pure love. An unconditionally accepting All-Father, who had my best interests at heart, and who wasn’t insecure in the slightest about my doubts and fears. An omnipotent benefactor whose arms remained perpetually outstretched, inviting me deeper into a beautiful, intimate friendship that would cause anything else that could ever be experienced in this universe to pale in comparison.”
My problems with drugs and violence had led to my having been permanently restricted from attending school anywhere in the state of Michigan. I was sixteen, and hadn’t earned many credits towards a high school diploma, so this was a problem.
My parents sought help through “tough love” themed support groups and resources for parents of at-risk youth. Nothing helped. I had stopped being able to exist without being high on something, so I found ways around every restriction that they imposed. When I couldn’t get money or find drugs, I would use inhalants (which can be found everywhere, basically for free.) They had cut off any form of allowance money long ago, but I would work odd jobs, steal, and sell my body on the street for drug money. Just kidding, I didn’t sell my body on the street. I probably would have, though, if I’d have known how.
When I turned 17, my parents were like, “Okay, we’re all done. You can go live on the street, or we can work on getting you into a residential treatment center, but you can’t stay here because this is ridiculous.” At the time, I had been wanting to get sober and get my life in order for a while. I had begun to realize that I really, actually was completely out of control. I couldn’t stop, and I knew I needed serious help.
