Every person comes to this question eventually. Is the person they chose the right person? I’ve been exposed to something like fifty mindsets in the past eighteen months, as God flits from one interested human bean to the next, showing me what they’re like.
Only one man tolerates (if not encourages) the fact that I feed an ant colony in The Kitchen(TM). I named them George. I want to make a tiny little picnic table out of popsicle sticks and feed them from there. And yes, I’m probably crazy, feeding the ants in my kitchen. Right now, they’re helping themselves to the dessert I thought they’d overlook. I don’t use wheat and I don’t use sugar and I don’t use dairy — three things those little buggers love. So imagine my surprise when for the first time since I moved in, they’re obsessed with my cookie bars.
I made them with apple cider. They love that shit.
For me, unfortunately, it is poison to my guts. Some day that may change, but it made me sore and inflamed and unwell in general. So unwell that God’s been changing lenses all day to expose me to potential caregivers and partners (men) to react to my situation. For a minute, I was distracted from the guy I have liked for months, but my senses came back to me fairly quickly. Still, it upset me.
I really enjoy Joe’s personality… I’m not really sure he’s a real person or if we’re talking at all. God told me once that these conversations take place in the back of their minds. I felt ashamed of myself that I just dropped everything to talk to The New Guy for a bit. On the other hand, Joe also dropped everything. I didn’t like it. I don’t want to be disengaged from just because some random dude is flirting with me in my head. Sure, he’s cute, but he’s not Joe.
The only thing that random guy did that was really nice was imagine putting me in bed and checking my temperature when I admitted I was unwell. Anyone can do that to express concern. Without theatrics, I don’t always understand concern is being expressed. It’s a complication of being autistic, sadly.
They have distinctly different communication styles, I noted. A lot of guys need a lot of input and then space to give output. This makes me believe they’re not always being authentic, sadly, which is why I now am blessed with telepathy. It’s not really a gift and if I gave it to the rest of humankind, our species would be greatly reduced in numbers very quickly, I’m pretty sure.
Either that or we’d actually learn how to work out our problems together.
I’m a universal communicator most of the time, falling into the center of this spectrum for DISC. Steadiness is what I require the most, though not a whole lot of people fall into that category. At least, not the ones I’ve been “meeting.”
For instance, Eyes McGee and Mr. Handsome Deli Man is D – Dominance. He’s competitive and only pops up when he thinks he’s losing “the game.” The Tattoo Artist is C – Compliance, so he won’t respond until he’s sure of himself unless put on the spot. None of them fall under I – Influence.
When I am approached with the incorrect mindset, I shut down very easily. I stop receiving the input I’m offered. I stop engaging in conversation. The only one I don’t really shut down on is the guy that falls under Steadiness. Joe. A lovely (if pleasantly plump) deli man at the local grocery mart.
I have no idea if he’s really that kind of guy, honestly. I just have God entertaining me with a bunch of assholes hijacking the narrative from time to time until God reveals which trauma I’m reliving. Most of it is because of my bitch sister. (Sorry/Not Sorry.)
What kind of sister poisons you, making you fatter and fatter with her recipes, and then tells you that you’re unacceptably fat? That you aren’t worthy of love because you are fat? Because you’re an artist and nobody makes money with art? (She never saw NFT coming, that’s for damn sure.) She praised things that made me grow in a direction I never would have grown in if I wasn’t desperately seeking her approval, since she was the only one disapproving of me.
Die in a fire, bitch. — God.
She’s ingrained deeply, too. I don’t deserve to be alive because she didn’t deem me lovable because XYZ. Her love had so many conditions, not even a pretzel can be twisted up enough to please her.
Because of her, she set the stage for giving conditional love, too. She set the stage for accepting conditional love. Conditional love is actually hatred with a smiley face painted on it. It looks okay, but it hurts you. You’re not being accepted for who you actually are. My sister is my very first emotional rapist. She raped me over 10,000 times.
She killed me. Everyone from back then remembers me drawing all the time. Now? I barely wield a pencil. Ever. It’s like an event if I decide to art, as I call it. I’m more apt to paint than draw, which is backwards from who I used to be. I used to be the girl with a sketchbook everywhere I went, taking in the silence while I created endlessly. I was also endlessly raped at home and needed endless therapy, so I suppose that might be a portion of the problem.
She told me artists don’t make money and convinced me to go into science. One problem… I’m not that great at maths. After A.P. biology, I disabused myself of the notion that I might become a genetic engineer or geneticist and dove right into tech because I’d taught myself HTML and CSS and maybe a tiny bit of JavaScript. I went to tech school because one more English term paper was going to make me fucking SNAP! (Long story short, my abuses made it much more traumatic than it ever should have been.)
I should not have been obsessed with making money, to be perfectly honest. That is the very first issue with all of this. Money is just devil worship. If I ever make “good money” again, I’m throwing it into the ocean cleanup effort or the rain forest, should the ocean ever actually become cleaned up.
No, God didn’t tell me to think of money as devil worship, either. He doesn’t like it, but he understands it. He also understands it’s being used to force you to compromise everything you are, ignore your gut instinct, and trample over other people (raping them) just because you are now Very Important(TM). You are now a psychopath, just as soon as you make your first million, walking all over other people and making them feel worse than they ought to because you’re an asshole(TM).
Anyway, I’m not “in love” with Joe in the way people describe it, and that’s getting me all messed up. I know part of it is other assholes getting in between me and Joe… and this is exactly how every relationship of mine ended up failing. No matter who I’m with, someone is trying to get between us in the back of my mind. First of all, FUCK YOU. Second of all, FUCK YOU!!!!! Third of all, FUCK YOU.
Any person not rooting for love to work out is automatically an enemy of God.
I was reading The Quran yesterday. Guess where enemies of God go?
Eternal Hellfire. You never get to leave that place. It’s for the rest of eternity. You’ll have earned it, causing great distress to the people around you — especially if you never followed through after they break up with whomever they are with to see if it’ll work out with you. That’s right… more than half of all human beings ruminate on someone who is taken and try their damnedest to make the relationship fail. Once it fails, they turn tail and flee, leaving the person who broke a heart drifting aimlessly. That aimless drifting turns into fornication at some point because the person who destroyed their marriage never consummated on the temptation and promise of what would come once the marriage was destroyed. (Here’s looking at you, NICK.)
Why tempt another? Why throw a monkey wrench in their life? Why covet another man’s wife? Yeah, you wonder why I tell you not to do that, eh? It’s because all you little hairless monkeys are minorly telepathic.
That means every person you are actively seeking vengeance upon feels it. Every human being you hate feels it. EVERYONE KNOWS IT in the back of their minds. Why do you think escapism is so fucking popular, jackasses?
I’m going to kill a bunch of you. Billions, actually. It’s already begun. COVID is just a warm up exercise. P.S. All of you that are going to die from it are most likely already dead. Herd immunity is here and if it isn’t, die like a good little girl or boy. Repent your evil and die. REPENT and I just might forgive you, but generally speaking, you’re all going to Hell.
Crystal doesn’t even want me to make an exception for her, even though she’s not intended for that fate. She’s not intended because, despite being an actual atheist, she is a “good Christian” in her heart. She is a good woman because she chose to be due to logic. She didn’t choose it due to religion or because there was a consequence in the afterlife.
The opposite, actually.
She told herself there is only one lifetime she could live. Because there is only one lifetime she could live, she should relish every moment possible and share her gratitude with as many people as possible. She should live meagerly and share her wealth with those less fortunate, even when they don’t deserve it, without judging them for being LOSERS. (I’ll judge them now: they’re losers, well, most of them.)
She had a six figure income once upon a time. She supported twelve people with it. Twelve. What have you accomplished? She took in the homeless, even when she couldn’t really afford it, making a covenant: in exchange for cleaning, he could stay for free. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good anyway. She did her utmost to give to charity, to keep the community she tried to build engaged, to put the human in humanity.
That is, until the day she met the silver-tongued serpent. Satan. You know him better than you know her, undoubtedly, for she is shrouded in mystery in the novel you cherish. Called a man because of her androgynous expression of self, possibly the only natural thing she ever decided on without trauma instigating it. (Or did it? she asks suddenly, thinking about how Pam raped her so many times she lost all sense of self…)
Satan looks like a Jewish man, I might add, with hair he dyes medium brown, thick eyebrows that have hairs that grow up to four inches long before he finally plucks them because they’re weird, black glasses, a boyish grin, and the athletic build that is “All American.” (Of course he’s American, and so is She.) He’s like an ugly ass Bruce Willis, honestly.
(We love you, Bruce. Keep up the good work.)
Satan made her surrender everything “good Christian” about herself to try to be his wife, and still, he rejected her. He bedded her, delighting in sins of the flesh, picturing anyone but her beneath him. He could not be delighted by her, no no. She was too fat to be proud of, despite the fact she was a highly qualitative person. She was, before she died. Before he killed her. Before he convinced all her friends to help him kill her.
It took over a year of psychotherapy to get her halfway back to normal. There’s still something broken inside of her, sadly… her will to look for the good in the hearts of men. She sees it in women easily, but the hearts of men are filled with sin and lust. Every man she thought was actually her friend looked at her as a backup wife. The person they could marry in the future if the present failed in some way. This is not fair to her. This is not fair to anyone in her position.
I’m going to make it real simple for you monkeys now:
You are unable to be friends with the opposite sex. Dismantle this idea that you can interact with each other as equals without sex. You cannot. You are dogs, animals, nothing but basal instincts, dressed up in suits and ties.
Real men only need one woman in their life and (straight) male friends. Real women only need one man in their life and (straight) female friends. Truly gay women may friend real men and truly gay men may friend real women, but many of you reject yourselves and confuse yourselves.
Secondarily, stop reproducing, scumbags. There are over 9 billion of you. Almost nobody wants children. STOP. The whole reason half of you procreate is because you think The Bible Said So. How about I send a plague or two for your infants so you understand God said NO? You are having children because your spouse does not truly love you. Get out while the going is good and just wait for ages like a good girl or boy, get those people out of your system, and then put on a new perspective: you want to be married to a real partner. Can you be a partner? If not, work on yourself until you can be. Stop blaming everyone else around you for everything that goes wrong, you narcissistic nincompoops.
You can be good without religion and she is living proof. You use every excuse possible to justify your bullshit agendas, your desires, your wants, your greed. Greed is the basic issue with the human race. It’s the one that let you flourish, actually. It’s the reason you still exist: the instinct to hoard and take care of yourselves.
I gave you scripture to encourage you to do the opposite, to support everyone around you to the best of your ability. To be selfless, to toss greed to the wayside and understand that you are all in it together. You don’t give a shit, as it turns out, and I’m not surprised at all. And that’s why I invented my favorite place full of fire and brimstone, wouldn’t you know? Very few of you will ascend to the next level of existence, which is what awaits you in the afterlife should you fail to go to Hell. You get to be reborn, again and again, trying to clean up the mistakes the past human beings made on Planet Earth because there’s no way it’s going to happen this iteration.
Judgment Day was last year, by the way. I got Crystal to make all her judgments while she was in a fugue state, playing a game with her. I in fact told her we were making a tabletop role-playing game and we needed to write out sentences for all the wrongdoing she could conceive of. I don’t think we included breaking hearts, however. Crystal, what is your verdict?
She freezes like a deer in headlights. This was going so well without her…
“Uh… Lord God, Sir,” she said hesitantly. “I am not sure that’s any different than murder, so they should be faced with the sentence for murderers. I don’t remember what we agreed upon for that sentence, but I know we covered it and mass murderers as well.”
Well, there you have it: if you’ve broken a heart, you’re a murderer. Murderers don’t automatically go to Hell, though. It’s only if they fail to repent that I put them there. However, you should know one thing: your sorrow must be authentic. I’m a telepath, I know exactly what’s in your fucking hearts. I know if you mean it or not, I know if you’re just saying it to avoid punishment. Grow. Up. Children of Earth.
“I am a murderer,” She offers compassionately. “I have broken hearts. On accident and on purpose, out of vengeance and out of love and out of dispassion. I have murdered many plants and animals, be it on accident or purpose. My heart is heavy, knowing that I am a murderer. I repent by examining myself every time I realize what I’ve done. I isolate what I could have done better and then try to make a habit so I can do better next time I am faced with a similar decision. I have to practice it, so I role-play it out on a MUD or in my head, trying to play more than one character so it’s more realistic. I try to think up at least eight ways a situation can go, from worst case scenario to best case scenario. In my experience, it’s always somewhere in the middle and unexpected because the truth is that our best guesses aren’t the same as knowing.”
“This is how I repent. I address my flaw and try again. I take myself away from people, self-exile, until I have decided I figured out where my flaw is. If I cannot find it, I ask for help by telling my situation to a friend or a therapist. I have done this for over twenty years now. Somehow, I seem to be perfect to other people, but I’m not. I’m still human, I still make mistakes, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t kill a bunch of plants last year while I was in recovery. Assholes in my head convinced me to transplant plants into the wrong soil, drown succulents (which need very little water), and so much more. Thankfully, God’s decided that these situations are the problem of the original sinners that convinced me to walk in the shadow of evil and cause despair. You can do this if you set your mind to it, and it’s not for God… it’s for you. You will become lighter and happier the more you work on your flaws and undo the damage you’ve done, whether it’s incidental or intentional. We can all grow and take responsibility for our wrongdoing and correct it the best way we know how.”
You might wonder how you can correct murder: APOLOGIZE. PROFUSELY. START NOW. EVERY FUCKING PERSON YOU HAVE BROKEN THE HEART OF OR RAPED. DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL YOU FEEL THE GUILT AND SHAME LIFT FROM YOUR HEART… and then you have a fighting chance to escape the fires of Hell.
“The point of life is to help other life live.” — God.
Angel-Sansara 