venting (tw: dysphoria, animal death, religion) (words: 1075)

There were a couple times I had prayed, before I even really fully began to question what God was, and how it all really worked. I didn’t question what it was, what angels could look like, but for some reason, deep down I knew that maybe it all wasn’t true. This deep unsettling feeling of emptiness yet, comfort in this, and these questions I would begin to ask myself. Why do I have this face? Why was I born into this family?

I looked into the mirror of the only room that belonged to a childhood trailer home of mine, the entirety of my body clothed in hand-me-downs from my eldest sister. That six year old reflection, looking deep into the eyes of someone who I somehow begun to not recognize. I started to feel it, that feeling of not knowing, who is this person? And that grounding feeling that would collect within my stomach as I got in trouble, as I cried, as I begun to feel like there was no where else after it all. I would get close to that mirror, I wanted so desperately to recognize these eyes as mine, I wanted it to be, I wanted her to be me so badly.

My mom and dad bought my siblings fishes from a 99 cent store when I was around 8 years old, we had barely moved into our apartment. My parents didn’t know how to properly house these beta fishes, who were so cruelly sold by the window, with only 1/4 of the container filled with water.

These fishes were destined to die, sooner than later for our lack of knowledge.

I remember seeing one of them start tipping over, it was the red and blue one, with a slight magenta shine. I used to love looking into the tank and seeing these fishes hide. I would have conversations in my head with them, they would respond with their tails. The poor thing looked so ill that it grew a mass, I don’t remember where but my brother was already prepping us with the news. It was more of an off-handed joke.

“Yeah that thing is going to die by tomorrow.”

The cruelness of it, it made me instantly tear up, and I tried my best to not cry. My dad made it worse, by agreeing, laughing as well.

That night before I slept, I prayed so hard, over and over.

God please. Please don’t let him die. Please don’t let my fish die. Please give him a few more years, it’s not fair.

I looked at the ceiling, I tried my hardest to see it, to see God, and beg. All I saw were the bits of popcorn ceiling, still white.

I’ve prayed so many times, some of them coming to my aid, some failing. I don’t let the ‘failures’ discourage me, I can’t pray for the impossible to happen, I understand that now.

Now, I’ve gotten a little closer to this faith, belief, this feeling of love and needing of it. It sounds sad but, ever since I lost all my friends, lost my dog of 13 years, and failed at so much in less than almost 5 months, I’ve reached out to something, anything. I’ve cried, and met the silence, I’ve cried for some sound, for some words spoken by an angel or being that would lead me to some happy ending. Anything that would have told me that this was the worst of it all, that yes, you have suffered so much already and you are ready to finally find that happiness you longed for.

I prayed the night before my dog died, I prayed for there to be a place for me to see him again when he was finally put to sleep, and I prayed again that he was somehow still here.

It took a while for me to come to terms with this belief, that there was something, there are wonderful things, and painful ones that we go through, that it was all here for a reason. That its somehow a part of life, that it was God, that it was nothing. That I could get through it all.

I found it hard to come to terms with an identity, with a faith that was mine, that there could possibly ever be a thing to call me other than a girl. That this body was mine but also not really because my hips shouldn’t look like that if they were mine. I shouldn’t really have breasts because I hate them, God why was I born like this? Another question left unanswered right now. A difficult one that I may spend a lifetime answering myself. And maybe praying for the answer would help but things don’t really work that way. Even then, what will I do with it? Will it somehow validate the years I spent feeling uncomfortable in my own skin? Will it explain the days I feel so disgusted with what I see in the mirror? Will it finally feel okay when I have to go back to using my legal name forever? Will it completely diminish my identities? Both, the one I use far from my family, and by the identity my family and past acquaintances know me as?

Sometimes the pain needs to be held onto, as a means of survival, and in this unraveling of answers. Just as much as I want answers, it’s necessary to live through questions I guess. I want to give in though, I want a God to tell me such definitive answers. It’s only polite, as they all were brought on by the same, unrelenting uncertainty I have with God.

I would like it to go like this:

I am before an audience, then stepping into center stage, the angel will release its hold from whatever pulley system they’ve got in Heaven. It will reveal its large wings of love and future as it falls into the spotlight on me. Its face beautiful and alien as if imagined in real life, its clothes made up of feathers with light from all times of day.

It will smile at the audience, beckon them to come closer, listen in as its words will be important to them too.

In this dream, it will tell me that I'm really perfect, funny, and loved after all.

And that I will be forever.