Help Like Jesus: Part 14

I stared at the ceiling, contemplating my predicament. God was there, telling me not to worry. Things would be okay.

At the same time, I was thinking. I was thinking about the syphillis thing.

I heard God say, this is my favorite part, right here.

A funny thought entered my head. What if I had contracted Syphillis from Ted? I knew that the Syphillis virus could infect the brain. What if it was responsible for my “mental illness?” And then it got out, and they told my parents, 'Rachel contracted syphillis from giving blow jobs over and over again to Ted, and it was your fault, and that was the reason she became mentally ill and was sent to Innercept and you wasted more than a half million dollars trying to treat a mental illness that was actually nothing more than a sexually transmitted viral infection?'

I imagined the shock and horror that my parents would experience. I laughed hard.

Then I grew worried. That laugh was the best part of the entire thing. The best part of the entire thing? It doesn't get any better than that? Damn, I really was going to hell.

I spoke to God. What is going to happen? Am I going to hell after this is done?

No, you are going to stay on Earth for awhile, gather some followers, do God's work.

Will I go to hell after it is all done?

No, you are going to heaven, with me.

When will I realize I am done with this place? I am going to hell, God is not real, I am done.

The two schools of thought were mixing together; I was talking to God, and would be sacrificed to hell for all of eternity.... And, I was delusional, and nothing was real.

I stared at the ceiling, and watched some light travel across it. When he was here, he was telling me it was good. We were going to be lovers in heaven. I was not going to hell, he promised. I was thinking sick.

Now, I am going away. I will have a chat with you after you are done, God told me.

No! Not the only thing in the universe that was real!

He was gone. I stared at the ceiling, watched the invisible lights... I wasn't hallucinating, there were very subtle changes in lighting on the ceiling. In the distance, I heard the noises of the hospital staff. I was locked in. I screamed. Someone came to the window and looked at me, saw that I was fine, and then left.

Where were the good people in the world? What would they do to me? Would they kill me? Would they live without knowing that I was good too? When would I become good at loving the people of the world, despite the fact that they were not real? When will I become tired of loving people who do not exist? Will I become tired soon? I don't understand the idea of love if it means loving at someone, not with someone.

Will I love anyone ever again? Will I be one with the idea of loving no one? Will I understand the ways of the civilized folk who tell me they are real, but whom I do not want to believe? Will I look at them in the face when I talk to them? Will I see into their souls, and see that they are really there? When will I see myself in the same light as I see myself when I am feeling great? When will I know whom I can trust with my ideas, not to tell me they are full of shit? When will I do something better than eat food and drink caffeine?

Why? Why do they not understand that I was different? Why did they not see the beauty in myself, like I saw? Why did they not believe I was Jesus? When? When would it come to pass that it would be revealed, that I was the second coming of Christ? When would they see me, beautiful, and tall, and pretty, and proper.... Wonderful, and never understand why, why I was not like one of them? When would they get that I was above their antics with the asinine pretentious beliefs in Santa? When will I wonder what I am going to believe, instead of whom I am going to become? When will I wander the Earth in solitude, believing everything I have to be without care for the whims of the many, but without loving every single human equally, instead, appreciating them with harmony? When will I love so many humans, I am in need of a bath, to rid myself of the improper use of strife? When will I create havoc that binds people together, instead of havoc that tears people apart? When will I become a friend of everyone, who does not love me, and instead pretends to with needles and pills? When will I love more than one person at one time?

Where? Where am I going to be in seventeen years? When will I love so many people, it hurts? What am I doing that makes me so mad at people that I yell and scream obscenities? What is that thing right there? An idea of reward? Or a belief in the afterlife that is nonexistent? When? When will I stop thinking and ask the right questions of everyone? When will I tell them I am not who they think I am, but rather, a prophet? When will I exist outside the framework of the human idea of normalcy? When will I love with all my heart, instead of loving with my neurotransmitters?

Someone came by and looked in the window at me. I stared at them and walked up to the window. I needed a drink of water. They did not look for very long, but left right away. I was thirsty. I walked back to my bed and laid back down.

Walk, walk, walk. When will they stop walking and start seeing? When will I become fifteen years old again, unable to talk to anyone, but perfectly capable of being happy by myself? When will I look people in the eyes and see what they have to offer, instead of living without the ideas of human interaction? When will I see that I am not a piece of crap, instead, a good human soul with a lot to offer? When will I look myself in the face in the mirror and wonder what that thing is under my soul that keeps me from wanting more out of life? When will I enjoy less of the medication, more of the joy of living, and keep people in my life who deserve to be there? When? When will I enjoy things of a worthy nature, instead of frivolity, and human interaction with my own mind? When will I love the thing that I have become?

When will I believe in someone else besides myself, in the future, when it is revealed that no one exists besides me? Will I come to love the robots? Will I learn to live without other people's intelligent input? Will I read books by authors who are intelligent, who know what they are talking about, who have that spark of a soul inside them? Will anyone contain that spark of a soul besides me?

Where did they go? Where did the people go? They were here yesterday, why did they disappear? Where did the people once live, that they no longer live here anymore? Why do they stop acting funny when I am not around? Where are the people going to exist after I have died? Why will I stop acting funny and believe in the one and only God? Will God exist without love from others, for years and years and years? Will God forgive my sins for not believing in him fully when he says we are going to live together? Will God come back? Will I love God in that way? Is God real?

What if everyone in this world was just made up, fiction. I am the only one who is real. I need to forget myself, live my life to the fullest, and make do with what I have. These people are not real. Face it. They are robots. They have no souls. They are like fleshy blobs, walking around, doing things.... I do not understand where the souls go when they die, but the truth is, they have no souls. I'm not going to hell. God was right. I am going to live the rest of my life alone, with only God to keep me company.

Maybe, that was okay. Maybe, I could live alone and be happy, talk to the robots, appreciate them for what they are, but not love them. I would love God only. God and I would be together for a long period of time, and believe in each other. We would have children who would have souls, and they would grow up to have more children who would have souls. We would repopulate the soul population. When God talks to me again, I will tell him that I am more than in. I would love to be his companion, love to live with him for the rest of eternity.... I am done. I am thirsty.

It suddenly occurred to me that I was thirsty. So thirsty, I was about to pass out. I went over to the doors and pounded on them. No response. Gee, what now? If I start screaming for help, loud enough for them to hear me, I will be labeled crazy and shot up with medication! These other people, I didn't believe they were real... but they had the power to do things to me, like inject me with medication. How did I get their attention without them thinking I was losing my marbles?

I was thinking on my feet. I started screaming, as loud as I could, “NINE ONE ONE! NINE ONE ONE! NINE ONE ONE!” Because the situation with my thirst was that dire.

Someone came to the door, and they were not mad. They informed me that the door had been unlocked the entire time. I was taken aback, but I understood why I thought it was locked. I had been in psych wards before where I was locked in a room, a room where I could not contact staff members, so it was a good thing I hadn't needed anything. For patients who are in a compromised state, who aren't thinking well... if they are used to the door being locked, they may cease to try to open a closed door.

A staff member took me and got me some juice. Meanwhile, I had submitted to the idea that I was the only person in the entire world. I stared at them, these people. They were beautiful, in a way. Mindless, thoughtless, they stood there, dumbly, but with a certain grace. In my mind I compared them to ballet dancers. Beautiful, but robotic.

I was standing, and I was thinking. You know, maybe I just had a bad night. Maybe I was thinking things that weren't true. Maybe, just maybe, other people really did exist.

I walked up to one lady. She was pretty. I asked her something that was also on my mind.

“There's something in Scientology, a guideline about childbirth. When a woman gives birth to a child, she is not allowed to scream, because it upsets the baby.”

She looked at me and smiled ever so slightly. She was the same lady who had a certain swing in her step. “Well, I say to them.... Good luck with that one.”

And we both laughed. This is when I started to come back, from whatever it was experiencing last night. This is when I started to come back, and believe in the existence of other people again.

I walked over to a man, who was sitting in a chair. “Where did you go?” he asked. “We thought you were moved to the new unit!”

“I had to go back one, because I was in the midst of an existential crisis,” I replied.

“That's interesting. Did anything spiritual come about?”

“Not really, just very bleak. And mean. And hard to read when you are lying down.”

“That's interesting. Where are your ideas headed now?”

“Away from the mad way and into the happy place!” I responded with vigor.

“What are your ideas about God?”

“He's real, and he has it out for my parents.”

“Why's that?”

“They are dead to him because they make fun of me.”

“Well, don't let your parents get you down. What they do, they do out of love.”

“Well, I don't believe they love me, but I understand why you would think so, because they try oh so hard to help me...” I was annoyed. Not this again. Not the whole, “but your parents do it because they love you!” argument.

“Well, I have a riddle. I thought it up last night. Wanna hear it?” I asked him.

“Sure!”

“What if existence went on for all of eternity, then ended at the very end?”

“Gee, that's a toughy... Hmm... Hmm...” He thought about it, and then moved his head around, in a mechanical fashion.... like a chipmunk. I became entranced by the mechanical movement of his head, until I had to pull myself away.”

“Time for medication!” said another man.

“What do I get this morning? Opium?”

He was not amused. “Regular stuff, madame.”

“I think meds are a joke. What if the medications they are giving me are actually hindering my spiritual quest?”

“Well, then you need to ask your doctor about changing your medication to meds that don't hinder your spiritual quest.”

“Well, I have. And they put me on Invega, which is a death drug.”

“That one is death, but you are not taking that one right now, it's lithium.”

“I wonder what Jesus would have done, if they were trying to medicate him into submission.”

“Jesus is a guy who would do the right thing always. If it was right to take his meds, he would take them. If it was not right, he would take them anyway, because people need him to be sane.”

“Would Jesus do something so horrific as refuse?”

“Jesus would know better than to refuse medication that was intended to help his condition, if he had a condition that needed medication.”

“But what if the doctors misdiagnosed Jesus, and he did not even need medication, but they thought so, so he was prescribed horrible death drugs, with no one to turn to because they misinterpreted his miracles as symptoms of mental illness?”

“We know better than to trust Jesus with medical advice.”

“I know what's going on. They want Jesus dead, so they are medicating him to the point of death.”

“That's not how it is, they want Jesus to be healthy, wealthy, and gay....”

Just then, a lady, the same lady who was being shot up with medication the day before, appeared in her doorway. She held her fingers in the air. “Doo doo doo doo doo! Divine message from an alien planet!”

I pointed at her enthusiastically. “Go! Go! Receive the transmission!”

He walked over to the lady, and I walked away. From a distance, I watched as he talked to the lady, went along with her delusions a bit, and made up a name of an alien planet that he was from. After he was done, I went over and high-fived him.

It was time to change units. As I was walking, a woman was following me, asking how she needed to help me, why was I acting so funny, what did I need help with?

A young man from the next unit was standing there, and he said, “She needs you to leave her alone!” in an annoyed voice.

I was taken aback by this. This guy knew what was going on! Later, my spirit guides told me that that wasn't really all that impressive, because a lot of people go through that when they are at the hospital.

I was taken to a new room. Something about the snazzy exuberance of this room made me uncomfortable, like it was too comfortable, not a room for an active young woman. There was a television, and a reclining bed.

I slept for a little while first. When I woke up, some new spirit guides came to me. They said they were used for important missions, like this one. They told me they could read my mind.

I immediately thought, “poop!” And immediately, started coughing.

“Don't do that.”

They told me I was preparing for the guardianship trial. I would fight the guardianship my parents had over me, and it would go to court, and be all over the news. They told me I would be a woman of great worth, and would be exalted for years after my death.