Pink Tuesdays

I don’t know. I think for the last 6-7 years, I’ve been using masturbation and pornography, progressing on to gay anonymous sex, as sort of a crutch - a way to cope with life. Never mind how temporary it is, it still provides some sort of relief.

I want to turn to God. But I don’t know how. I know for a fact He exists because of the very real experiences with God as a kid, in fact, that’s probably why I’m still a Christian now. Why aren’t there books like “Getting Back to God for Dummies” or “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Building a Relationship with God” or “Learn How To Walk With God in 30 Days”?

Whatever it is, if God doesn’t carry my burdens anytime soon, I’ll crack.

What’s infuriating is that new, supposedly “baby” Christians get it almost instantly, and take to stride their growing relationship with God. I guess being brought up “Christian” screwed me up to be a legalistic follower that sees this as a religion and an academic subject. I know the Bible better than most new Christians, yet my relationship with God is nonexistant, while theirs growing from strength to strength. Its not fair than a one-year-old Christian can pray for healing of someone else, while a 19-year-old “born-Christian” can’t pray for his own health.

“Mark this: Unless you accept God’s kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you’ll never get in.” Mark 10:15 (The Message). I need childlike faith. Childlike hormones would be a boon too.

I just need a vacation from life. No sexual urges - opposite- or same-sex. No troubles. No problems. No family. No more stress, problems and dilemmas that add on by the day.

Just one day.

Heck, I’ll settle for an hour.

Its like an never-ending quagmire, a constant abyss. Look, God, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll accept Jesus’s Lordship over my life completely if you promise to strike me off the face of the earth immediately after. End my misery.

Update: Uhm, I’m not suicidal before anyone suggests it. Perhaps it is because whenever I consider suicide, it is quickly brushed aside. I mean, all the methods is either a bother or a hassle, or just plain painful. Especially slitting the wrists - I get queasy at the sight of blood. I’m not sure my last minutes on earth should be spent queasy.