Confession #1

Posted on September 18, 2010


I have a  lot of things to admit about myself. Some things I think are better left unsaid, but there are some things I think I can share. Perhaps someone can relate, provide some wise words. That would be nice. I think the purpose of my blog will be to share bits and chunks of my life and perhaps finally discover myself along the way. That said, I would like to start confessing to certain things. Don’t worry, you won’t learn about my sex life, vaginal problems, or things that will make you scream, “TMI!!!”. I like to think I have some speck of class left in me. This won’t be the Encyclopedia Brittanica of Trina. It will be things that will make you say, “Oh, so that’s what she’s thinking…” (because I know you guys REALLY REALLY care!) and perhaps confirm your belief that I’m a touch bit nutty. In the words of the awesome Poe, “Hey Pretty, won’t you take a ride with me, to my world?”…. just minus the sex part. Ready? Let’sa-go!


I may have quite possibly been one of the few Mexicans that didn’t grow up with a religion. Sure, I’d join the gang come Christmas time, going to las posadas and what have you. I hated going, really. The candy was never great. I also remember during Semana Santa, when my grandmother’s neighborhood in Mexico would have a ‘parade’ and some dude dressed like Jesus would cover himself in red paint and another dude would pretend to whip the crap out of him. I kept thinking my little six and seven year old head, “Who the hell wants to see this?”.

My Grandmother made me learn that prayer you say with the rosary, the Hail Mary’s and Thy Father’s. Did I believe it? I wasn’t sure. I was confused. It wasn’t until later in life, when I saw my Mom or family praying when something bad happened, that I realized God was there to help us out. He was meant to give us hope and faith. I liked that idea. What kid wouldn’t?

Having had a sister born with cerebral palsy, I would always wonder why God would bring someone like that into this world. I learned at a very young age that my sister was lucky to have had my Mom take care of her. I remember one day we visited a family in Mexico with a kid just like my sister (my sister couldn’t walk, talk and was blind). I still remember to this very day seeing that child laying in a dirty mattress, very poorly taken care of. I remember the house, made out of cement blocks and mud. My Mom immediately gave this family whatever supplies she had for my sister, diapers, wipes, formula, a spare wheelchair she had. I think I was ten years old when I witnessed this. It was also the first time I gave God the middle finger.

Once I got over ‘it’, I guess ‘it’ being the fact that the world was purely all sorts of !@#$, I remembered the times of prayer. I figured I’d give it a shot. What did I have to lose, right? I prayed. I prayed. I prayed. I prayed for 17 years. I prayed for the homeless, the hungry, the evil and everything in between. I prayed for the world to end already, as many religious people would tell me that the suffering WILL end one day and everything will be right in the world. I prayed for that to happen already. I couldn’t stand watching all this. I didn’t care if I went to heaven or hell, I just wanted all this to end. I would pray and it helped…

It wasn’t until five, six months ago that I realized that all prayer did was calm ME down. Prayer gave me hope. It was comforting because I had developed almost this false faith that everything would be alright, eventually. The more I prayed, the more I realized I was, in some weird, twisted way… lying to myself.

It wasn’t like I was praying for more money (alright, I probably did that a few times), but I’d say 87.888% of the time I was honestly praying for everything, everyone else.  I had good intentions with my prayers. But it just felt I was doing it more to comfort myself than anything. Just yesterday I saw an image that truly brought tears to my eyes. I immediately pulled God out of the mental drawer I keep him in and prayed. It lasted about 15 minutes when I asked, “Is this helping me or is it really helping them?”.

Is that what people do? Is that why and how this idea of God came about? I wonder how far back people started doing this, claiming this evil world will end and everything after that will be a-okay. So they’d pray for their own and other’s well-beings. I’m sure it’s got to have been hundreds, thousands, millions of years ago. Why hasn’t this world ended?

Then you come across those ‘religious’ types. People who condemn others to hell. People who claim to do ‘God’s Word’, but it just seems like they’re only following their own agenda, using God’s Word as a cover. People who misinterpret. People who lie, cheat, steal. Why use religion as an excuse? Why can’t we just be good, or evil if that’s what tickles your fancy? I’ve met several agnostic and atheist people who have higher morals and standards than those who call themselves Fathers, Reverend, and Pastors. It pisses me off to no end, “Oh, you should hire him because he’s a Christian/Jehovah’s Witness/Any Other Religious Organization”. Really? I bet that’s what parents said when they would leave their five year old with a priest that had a thing for kids. Wonder how well that worked out. I honestly wish religion would just die. If you believe in God, great! If you don’t, great! Who cares? If you’re a good person or not, let that be what speaks about your character. I truly despise how people judge other people by their religion. As if that’s some sort of great measure.

Instead of having some book tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, I do what’s right. It’s one way or another. If anything, I’m letting go of my ten year old self’s lies and finally being realistic. It kills me. But once you see the other way, how can you go back to the previous train of thought without looking like some sort of loon in denial?

I don’t have the answers. I never will. I just know that I’ve finally realized that I’m not the religious type. I currently consider myself agnostic, but there are days when I’m truly atheist. I guess after I’ve let go of prayer, I still have some sort of hope. Hope is hard to shake off after 17 years of lying to yourself. Then again, hope is a good thing to have. It helps you get through the days, weeks, months… I don’t think being hopeful, faithful is something you do when you’re religious. Sometimes, it’s something you need to do to remain positive and not kill yourself.

Posted in: LL