Posts Tagged ‘abuse’

“23 Minutes In Hell” by Bill Wiese, seeks to show “hell” not as a desciption for a concept or general opinion of an experience, but as a real place, the ideal real estate for sinners who lived their lives against the absurd doctrines of the church.

I haven’t read the book in it’s entirety. There is a story behind the story that I never bothered to finish.

Around the time that I became aware of Wiese’s schizophrenic ideas, I was going through a hell of my own, the major difference between Wiese’s tale and mine being that I have hard proof of that time.

I was introduced to this abomination of literature by a now ex-friend who happened to be a raving lunatic christian. We had extreme differences of opinion on nearly everything, but he had his motive (to try to convert me to christianity) and I had mine (I could drink to
my liver’s demise, and he did and said hardly anything about it). That was how I rationalized our “friendship” at that time.

When the book finally arrived, he was ecstatic, going off on rants about how deserving un-believers are of their fate in the burning pits of hell. I half listened quietly, nodding every now and then while waiting for an opportunity to sneak a shot from the half empty bottle of whiskey in the kitchen downstairs.
I found it unbelievable that he took such an obvious delusional claim (that thouest must boweth downeth before thy god or suffereth in thy pits of hell) as an unquestionable truth. As children, nearly everyone in America has been told that they must behave, or risk losing a visit from Santa Claus come Christmas eve. But eventually we all grew out of it, one way or another. It continually amazes and puzzles me to no end that the religious amongst us have not come to that same realization. They still believe in Santa Claus, just under a different name.

He opens the book and begins to read. Basically, Wiese went to hell for 23 minutes, either starting or ending at around three am. Sounds like a plain old nightmare to me. My “friend” begins to preach about hell, the misery of not accepting jesus into your heart, that only “god” can ultimately solve one’s problems. I disagreed, and plainly told him that “everybody has their demons (metaphorical talk here), and it is up to the individual to exercise their free will and choice in order to find the most
appropriate way of moving forward.”
Well, he didn’t like that at all.
He turned towards me, raised his hand and brought it down
across my face. Yes, how dare I, a woman, speak the devil’s name in the presence of a fucking christian! I suppose the whole “jesus love you” spiel is only reserved for those who follow blindly into the rivers of idiocy.

I raise my fist to strike him back, he comes at me again and is this time joined by his half-wit viscious dog. At that point I just couldn’t be bothered to care. I sit back down and try to ignore that little voice in my head, telling me what an idiot I was to ever talk to this dirtbag in the first place.

He continues to read aloud from the book, and I let my thoughts carry me elsewhere, away from that tiny and mostly unfurnished room, away from the sunlight streaming in through the dirt encrusted windows, and most importantly, away from myself.

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I was very hesitant to post this story. It brings back memories of a “me” that I am not proud of at all, somebody who was at that time too caught up in the whirlwind of their own sick opinions to think clearly.

But this was what happened to be on my mind. I am no longer that pathetic little girl and am proud to have moved on from that time. My hope is that anybody who reads this will be able to relate in some way, and that maybe they might derive some comfort from knowing that they are not alone in their struggles, whether they stem from the abusive mindset of christianity, or perhaps from a more existential angst, that we are ultimately condemned to choose for ourselves, and at times, that is a terrifying reality to have to face.