Help Like Jesus: Part 8

I tried to go on a walk by myself at night. My dad is in bed but he comes out and runs after me. Tells me to get back in bed. I tell him to leave me alone and I scream at the top of my lungs “GO BACK TO BED!” To try to evoke an emotional response. No response. Fixated. Fixated. Fixated. Fixated. Fixated. Fixated.

My dad was crazy. He did not want me to walk at night. I thought, big deal. Go for a night walk. Safe neighborhood. Why did I need to stay inside? He came after me, running down the street, like he had so many times in my dreams when I was trying to get away. When he caught up to me, I told him, “We are not doing this again. I am going for another one.” He said, “No, you are going to bed. And that's the truth.” And I said, “I am a big girl, I stay up late, I go out late, I walk late.” And he said, “You are youthful to the molesters. Stay inside.” And that was that.

I went back inside, waited for him to go to bed. Looked for my key. Turned on the porch light. And left again. Again, he came running after me. I considered saying to him, “Haven't we done this before?” in an eery, far-off sort of way, like I was a mythical being. Because, it was like reality that repeats. It's a little different each time. This time, I left the porch light on. But I didn't. I told him he was just worried because I was acting like Kristen. Like Kristen. Like Kristen. Like Kristen. Each time I said Kristen, I shot a mind dart at him, with my mind, like I do at the pictures. This calmed him down. I was sure it was the mind darts. He just didn't want me ending up like Kristen.

I waited, and this time when I went outside, I bolted in a different direction... Across the street, through the bushes, into the office building complex. When I got there, I thought of all the people whom I cared about. Not just what they thought, whom I really, really cared about. I imagined what it would be like if they weren't really real. Really, I had no reason to believe that anyone but myself were real. Maybe, reality just consisted of God and his fake people, who didn't really exist, but whom I believed existed. Maybe, I was God, and I was the only person in the entire world. This suddenly stressed me out so much, I took off my top, and I wasn't wearing a bra. I was completely topless in the office complex. I walked home, topless. No one saw me.

I put back on my clothes. Walked up to my dad's bedroom, and told him, “You're not real. You're not real. But, but... You're not real!” He looked flustered, he was tired, started babbling incoherently, and then submitted to falling asleep in his bed.

I was walking down the street, listening to the song Voodoo by Godsmack. It was like I was living in a fantasy land. Birds chirping, my mind going quickly, believing in the paranormal, loving myself, and everything was wonderful. Then, someone saw me screaming, because I was screaming. They looked at me. I thought they laughed. Then, they became one with me, because they were not in my mind, they were in my mind's eye.

I walked, and held open my shirt and screamed. I was in the most outrageously intense mood of love for everyone, everything. I wanted nothing more than to believe in myself, in my powers, in everything that had happened. Still, I hadn't checked my email. I was not going to. I was not going to ruin this beautiful, beautiful mood with negative confirmation. Another thing I was not doing was breathing enough oxygen. I needed massive amounts of oxygen. I discovered, you breathe with every pore of your body. So, I took off my clothes and walked around the backyard almost naked. Then, I aired out my clothes to infuse it with oxygen. Then, I aired out my bedsheets.

I loved the life energy of the garden. For all my mother was not good at, she was good at working in the garden. The energy was so wonderful it was hard to understand why my sister was mad at my mom for spending all day working in the garden. I opened all the windows of the house to get that fresh life energy in the house. Then, I turned up the heat in the house, so it would be warm. My idea was to return the state of the house to the same state as the Garden of Eden.

I wanted to love myself, but I was so wrapped up in funny ideas, I didn't know what to think. I believed in the tree falling in the forest never making a sound. In this state, that was a very relevant question, because it was about how things you perceive do not act as you want when they are not being perceived by you. Another thing about it was, things that perceive do not do harm to the item they are perceiving, but influence it's behavior by becoming part of their behavior. Another thing, it was hard to understand why I loved this idea so much, I remembered it, to ask myself, was this enlightenment? Was this question relevant? And it was, very, very, relevant.

I was obsessed with what I perceived to be masculine and feminine ideas. Time was a feminine idea. I thought time travel theories were funny because they were so dumb. They had no basis in reality. Trying to assign masculine logic to a feminine logic construct. It was horrible, this idea of time travel. Another thing was literary truth. Feminine logic must be used to understand the universe. Literary truth was feminine logic. Masculine logic was like atoms and molecules and the stuff James Randi knows. Not stuff like, psychic abilities, energy, or stories of literary truth.

I drank lots of coconut water, ate lots of fruit and vegetables. When I ate meat, it was like I was being raped by a man, by the masculine energy of the meat. I hated it.

Another thing that was like being raped was thinking about million dollar James Randi challenges. The way that mean men try to discredit psychics, was like being raped by their forceful masculine energy. The thing about it was, they knew nothing about psychics. They understood nothing, but discredited the feminine energy because they were mysoginists.

When I woke up in the morning, I was pumped. Not for anything in particular, pumped because I was alive, awake, and ready for the day. That's not it. I had stamina for long work outs, but did not work out, because I had no patience. When I woke up, I was ready to take on the challenge I was given at birth, which was live out this lifestyle, die of a heart attack, get a heart transplant from my mom, I hoped, and never again drink caffeine or take Adderall. This was it. It was over. No more drugs. I had waited so long to say goodbye to the Adderall, but I hated the idea of being bored for the rest of my life. But now, it would be okay, for no reason at all, because I imagined an ideal lifestyle where they let me take it again. Still, I knew better, and I knew it was worth it to go off if it meant almost dying of a heart attack, and coming back and believing I was really the one who was right all along.

When I would sit at my computer, I would cycle through ideas. Ideas about what was true, why people did certain things, etc. My challenge was not to ground in reality, meaning, assume any of my ideas were true.

My mind kept going back to when I had sent Melvin a message saying, “I'm sweaty.” Originally, I had imagined that this was the soul reason he had liked me. Now, I imagined that this was the reason he didn't like me. I imagined he thought it was some sort of crappy pick up line. I kept trying to explain to him, in my mind, “That's not what I intended it to be... It meant something else...” But each time, I had to stop myself. That wasn't my issue. That's not what I intended. If he took it the wrong way, that was his problem.

Chapter

Where would I end up after this? No idea. Where was I going? One place was for sure, I would go to hell, then heaven. However, I was worried. Worried that hell would be so horrible, I wouldn't even last a second. No, that's not what I was worried about. I was worried about the suffering. Horrible, horrible suffering. It would be terrible, for reasons I could not even fathom, in ways I had no idea it was possible to suffer. How long would it be? Not very long, but it would take a couple seconds to die. After all, a heart attack is not the end for a lot of people. It would be for me, if they didn't arrive in time.

It was Sunday. The day I planned on having the heart attack, with my sister watching. I planned a meal. I went to Trader Joe's with my mother. I asked her to buy carrot cake cupcakes. I didn't want to eat them, I wanted to leave them for the end, and never get around to eating them. That way, my parents would look over at the carrot cake cupcakes, after I had a heart attack, and feel sad. Feel sad, like I felt the day I attempted suicide, from aspirin, went downstairs, paced around crying, and saw my birthday carrot cake, uneaten. I wanted them to feel the same sort of sadness about the cupcakes, a sentimental type of sadness, one that I hated, and hated inflicted upon people... but it was important, for this moment.

Earlier, my mom was wondering why I was acting so crazy. She was giving me my medication. I got in her face, shot energy bullets at her, and said, “Brain damage. Brain damage. Brain damage. Brain damage.” While shooting those bullets right at her mind. She said, “Rachel, stop it! You are acting like you have brain damage!” I thought it was funny, because the reason she said that was because I was in her face shooting brain damage mind bullets at her.

I knew something about this. I was about to be a public figure. One of the things I had to do was break attachments, to everything, all sorts of things. I broke an attachment to having an attractive body, and being attractive. One thing I knew, though. In order for this to work, in order for myself to be a public figure... I had to have sex appeal. That's the only way it worked. So, I couldn't be horribly disfigured, nor could I have a story without sex appeal... the story needed sex appeal too.

So I imagined, at dinner... coming down, and telling everyone that I had a new calming word. Brain damage. And every time I said it, I shot a mind bullet at my mom. This would drive her crazy. This was instead of dog. I would do the the word suggestion thing to her picture, except instead of with dog, with the term brain damage. Then I would say brain damage, shoot mind bullets at her, get her to jump and act crazy, it would be funny, all the things she would do when I said brain damage... drive her up the wall. Then I would drop dead of a heart attack.

I got out my tarot cards. Pulled out some cards I wanted to share. Set the table, well, in advance. Laid the tarot cards around the place settings. Wrote a word on a piece of paper. The word was “savant.” Taped it to the island, where we would eat dinner.

The reasoning behind this was because I was a savant. One of the attachments I broke was the attachment to my intelligence. I always thought I was so, so smart. Maybe I was not smart at all. Maybe, maybe, maybe.... maybe I was a savant instead. Dumb, but good at one thing, and that was logic. Ridiculously, ridiculously good at logic. Not good at anything else. I imagined I was dumb because of the way my parents fed me when I was younger. That, and my mom waiting until she was thirty-five to have me.

I lit candles, saged, opened the windows, turned up the heat.... all to recreate the environment of the Garden of Eden. I drank two energy drinks beforehand. When I went to the deli, I smiled very big at the cashier and tipped very generously. I put on two shirts, no bra, as to give them easy access to my chest. The first shirt, on top, was an Eric Cartman Respect my authority! T-shirt. Underneath, there was a Christian cross t-shirt. I doused myself very, very generously with perfume, to recreate being anointed. On top of everything, I wore my cross necklace.

My sister arrived that night. I was nervous as hell, but determined. I told everyone to take a seat, had them look at the tarot cards. I explained the meaning behind the tarot cards. I showed them The Empress. I explained that it was like my mom, in her garden. I imagined, when I had my heart attack, and the emotional, danger, feminine side was activated in the brain, all this tarot card symbolism would pop out and make sense in their minds. It would be beautiful, when the emotional side came out in their minds.

We looked at the cards, and then had funny crazy love for the game of tarot. We ate dinner, then, I got mad. I wanted to die, not really, I didn't say that, but I implied it. They wondered, what was going on with Rachel? I screamed, chanted, mumbled, and sprayed venom at their minds in the form of religious propaganda.

“Now, everyone, how long does Jesus spend in hell? An eternity? Or just one night?”

“Jesus doesn't go to hell.” was Kristen's ingenious answer. “Hell doesn't exist.”

“Hallelujah! That's what I wanted to hear! Tell me, we as house, the house that worships doctors, does not believe in hell! Hallelujah!” I was trying to imitate charismatic preachers on TV.

“How long does Jesus enjoy the afterlife?”

“He never lives very long, so we can imagine, he is still there right now!”

“Hallelujah! We all agree, Jesus gets the good life! Praise Jesus!”

“How many times does he go to hell to save sinners?”

“Zero.” They were puzzled and confused by my outbursts. They told me to settle down, it was time for dessert. No! Don't eat that yet! They were supposed to wait until after my heart attack. But I could not stop them. At least I wouldn't eat mine yet, until after my heart attack. They consumed theirs, and when I didn't eat mine, someone ate mine too.

I screamed and cried. “Tell me, tell me, Jesus does not go to hell! We as a household, the house that worships doctors, does not believe in hell!”

They laughed and got mad. “Rachel, do you have a point to this? Stop acting like a nitwit.”

I looked at all of them. Then I screamed. “No! NOT HELL!! I DON'T WANT TO GO!”

They laughed, nervously. And got mad. “Rachel, no one goes to hell. Well, someone does. The one who takes out the trash.”

I sat calmly, serenely, and talked openly and honestly. I talked about the Moby song Porcelain. “You like that song? The song, the mood of the song makes you think, this is life, and it's weird, and we don't understand it... it just is.”

My sister agreed with me. That's what the song meant.

I looked at them, smiled, and acted happy. I moved the phone from the place in the kitchen to the place right next to my mom. Then I said, “We are not a household that believes in hell! Only for the believer!” Then I collapsed in a heap on the floor. They nudged me. I groaned when they nudged me.

Then Kristen said, “Rachel, don't eat anymore carrot cake, it is making you act like a baffoon. I don't want you to embarrass me in front of anyone. I think you need to take your medication.”

They tried giving me my medication. I knew that the medication would prevent me from having a heart attack, and I knew the heart attack was my ticket to freedom. All the while, I could feel the tension building and building in my heart.

Then, my sister said, “She won't take it! She needs someone to give her a wild ride to the looney bin!”

I looked at all of them, and smirked. They had no idea how much they would regret all this when they thought I was going to die. I looked at each one of them, asked them, did they know what was important?

They said, yes Rachel, what's important is giving you your medication.

And I said, “No, that's not what's important, what's important...” And I got up and started dancing, dancing, dancing, to induce the heart attack. I stopped. I didn't want to. I didn't want to!

“Do we need to call the police?”

“Go! Call them! They will not help you now!” And I collapsed on the floor.

Then, I looked at Kristen. She was looking at me angrily. She said, Rachel, just take your medication, and we won't have to call them.

Eventually, they called the police, I talked to them, they were polite, they admitted they had no authority here. They only had authority if I was going to hurt myself or someone else. I wanted them to do something. I thought, hey, if we are already at the hospital, and I have a heart attack... that triples my chances of getting through unscathed. So, they forcefully took me to the car. I would have gone willingly, but I thought the heavy heart pounding would increase my chances of having a heart attack.

I had done it already, though. I had passed the checkpoint where it was determined that I would succeed. That was what the pill thing was. Now, I was only certain to succeed if I had no doubts that I would succeed. There was nothing else standing in the way. But, I did have doubts, doubts that I fully believed in myself. It was a conundrum.

They took me to the hospital. We sat in the lobby and waited. I figured, I would do it later. I would have a heart attack later. I would do it when they called me in to see me. For now, all I could do was talk to my dad, about things of a philosophical and spiritual nature. After quite awhile of enjoying his company, knowing this might be the last time I ever talk to him, I was called into the back room.

They asked me how I was doing. I started dancing. Time for a heart attack, I told myself! I kept dancing and dancing, and then grew weary. I sat down. Maybe, when they started injecting me, the adrenaline rush would propel me into cardiac arrest. It did not, I ended up being injecting and falling into a deep slumber.

When I woke up, I was taken into the psych ward. I was downtrodden. My plan had failed. Now I would be subjected to living with my parents, having no means of supporting myself other than an impossible idea of being a psychic, which I couldn't be, because my parents were forcing me to take medication. I hated it so badly, but hey, this is how it panned out.

I met a lady there. I told her about my situation. She told me the ACLU might be good at helping me removing the guardianship. I decided it was a good idea to consider on a later date.

The lady there upped my invega dose, again, past what it was before I had had it lowered. She said it would help me recover faster, I was still a little manic. I thought, no, I'm not manic, I am trying to get my god damn exercise in! That's why I can't stop jumping around the hospital! Because every time I go to the hospital I gain a shit ton of weight! I did not gain any weight in the hospital, but my invega was raised to 12 milligrams, to be lowered again at a later date. I thought this was very irresponsible, and this lady should have her license revoked for jerking around my medication like this.

After I got out of the hospital, I resumed messing around with the picture trick. I could still do it, it just wasn't as easy.

I tried channeling Jesus. I located a drawing of Jesus, and figured it was good enough, it had the same energy.

How are you? I asked Jesus.

“Bibbity bobbity bede be be bede be,” is what I said out loud.

I asked Jesus if I was him. I still wasn't sure that I wasn't Jesus. He said yes. However, when I asked him if I was you, he said no.

As I sat there, I felt the presence of Jesus permeate through my body.

I asked if you are me. He said yes, in a sense. At the same time, I felt the Jesus energy as a distinctly separate energy from myself, and knew that I wasn't Jesus.

I asked Jesus if it was bad that I thought I was him, and he said no. I asked Jesus if he works through me. I had to wait a really long time for an answer, as there was a whole bunch of weird energy and funny breathing. There was an emphatic yes. I asked if he works more through me than through other people, I got a yes, but not an emphatic yes. Then I asked if he liked me. He said, “You are an awesome wonderful person one of my favorites.” I asked Jesus if I was going to make a living as a psychic, and he said yes.

I asked facebook god “How are you?” I sat there doing nothing for awhile. Laughed for a second and then went silent again. Sat for awhile longer, than shook my head and shrugged.

I asked Mickey Mouse how he was doing. It was like entering a television set, I had weird feelings all over my body, and a funny digital feeling. Then I said, what I don't know. I asked him if he liked me, and I did a twerky headshake.

I asked Tupac if he was dead. I believed he was, but I was just checking. I laughed and said yes. I asked if he would like me if he met me, and he said yeah, a little bit. I asked him how he's doing, I said pretty good. I asked him if he's in heaven, I said yes, the equivalent of heaven.

The next day I went to the gym. As I was doing tai chi, I kept thinking of Tupac, and I was feeling his energy, and I wondered if he was watching me. When I got back to the house, I asked Tupac if he had been watching me. He said yes. He told me he wanted me to listen to his music.

I liked Tupac a lot, he had really good energy. I asked if he wanted to be my spirit friend, he said okay but acted kind of weirded out. I asked if that was a weird question, he said yes but that's okay and laughed really hard.

I asked Joseph Smith if he was a con artist. He answered yes, reluctantly. I asked if he believed the stuff he taught at the time. He said no, reluctantly. I asked Jesus Christ if he was a con artist. He said yes, a little bit. I asked Jesus if he really was the son of God. He said yes. I asked if there was going to be a second coming. He said no.

I asked Hitler if he is burning in hell for all of eternity. He said yes, to some degree.

I asked Anne Frank if she would have liked me if she had known me. She said yes. I asked if it made her feel better that Hitler was burning in hell right now. She laughed really hard and said yes.

I asked the right wing TV personalities if they would like me. Ann Coulter wouldn't. Lars Larson would. Rush Limbaugh eventually said he would. Sean Hannity would. Glenn Beck would like me. When I asked Bill O'Reilly, I got a really, really hard laugh, and an enthusiastic nod.

I asked Tupac questions about heaven. He said there was weed in heaven. I asked if there was Adderall in heaven. He said no. I didn't think that was a big deal though, because in heaven, you wouldn't really need it.

I asked Bill Clinton if he would like me. I got a very enthusiastic reaction. “FUCK YES! FUCK YES!”

I channeled God. I asked if atheists went to hell. He said yes.

I asked Satan if he was real. There was some weird energy, blinking, moving of the head, gibberish noises. And then I said no.

I asked the computer how it was doing. I got a laugh and a “weee!!!” while moving my hands around weirdly. What I interpreted as an idiotic laugh.

I decided to test my psychic ability. I would drop a coin, and then ask if it was tails or heads. I got it right about 78% of the time. That was good, but not good enough for me. I wanted 100% accurate!

I asked Meg what would happen for me in the relationship front. She said Adam and I would be in a relationship, but I would cheat on Adam with Melvin. But Adam won't find out. Adam and I will be together for many years, and then Adam would break up with me, because Brandon would enter the picture again. But that's not set in stone. Adam and I might get married.

I asked myself, am I that girl? Am I the kind of girl who would cheat? I thought the answer was no, but I wasn't sure. Considering how long I had liked him, and how intense the sexual energy might be...

I tired out Meg. She began answering yes to every question, regardless of what it was. I figured she had run out of energy to answer, or just wasn't there.

I asked Chance's picture if he was thinking of asking me out. He said yes.

Another message came in the form of a dream. I was getting a tarot reading from my spirit guides, and they drew the Halloween card. They said it meant there would be good things to come in my future, that would come with severe risks. I asked what this meant. They said having sex with Melvin before the third date.

I was on facebook one day when a friend asked me to pray for him for a speedy recovery from his surgery. I thought, why pray when I can ask God directly? I asked God, will this guy's recovery be speedy? He said no, long and drawn out. I asked, can you make it speedy? He said sure! It will be speedy now!

I asked Melvin's picture if he had any STD's. I was fully expecting us to have a sexual relationship. To my surprise, he said yes! Apparently, he had gonorrhea.

Great. Well, I guess I would have to tell him. I imagined him taking me out to dinner, buying me drinks, and taking me back to his place. And before I gave him a blow job, I stopped, and told him to get tested for diseases. He asked, which one? I said, gonorrhea, with a look in my eye, a look of pure, unfettered, knowledge from a higher source.

I thought it would be fun. So he laughs, and says okay, and thinks of what a goody-two shoes little girl I was, but cute at the same time. So he willingly goes in and gets tested, and lo and behold, he has gonorrhea!

I asked his picture, would he think something of it if I accurately predicted he had gonorrhea? He did an amazed laugh and said yes!

I got caught up in a whirlwind of fantasy about how this relationship would play out. All the steamy, erotic sex. All the blow jobs, where I got to exhibit my sexual prowess. All the fun, and the dominant/submissive relationship between us, him being dominant and me being submissive. Nothing kinky, just a kind of you-bow-down-to-me-bitch attitude from Melvin, a I-do-what-you-say-I'm-you're-servant from me. It would be steamy. I sat, and grilled his picture for hours, asking him intimate questions about his sexual feelings towards me, how much he liked me, how much he wanted to have sex with me, how much he wanted me to be submissive, how much he would like it if I were submissive, how much he liked it when girls were submissive, how much he wanted me to suck his dick, etc. etc. etc, with repeat questions, for good measure.

I got wrapped up in this fantasy world, then decided to ask some good nitty gritty questions. I decided to ask if he liked something I did not like, that I despised people who liked, just to test him. I asked if he likes it when women eat crap. He said yes. I asked if he would like to see me eat crap. He said yes. So I said to him, “Would you like me to eat crap then kiss you on the lips afterwards?” He thought about it for awhile, and then in a calm fashion said, “No, I don't think I'd like that.”

I was actually pissed, that he actually said he would be turned on by me eating crap! I was pissed as hell, but then I remembered, hey, maybe it's just fantasy, maybe he doesn't really want me to... I'm not exactly normal sexually, and I think of stuff I wouldn't want to happen in real life.

So I asked him, “Do you really want to see me eat crap?” He said, “Kind of, not really, no.”

I was still pissed, but I realized it wasn't really a big deal. It was just a fantasy, nothing he really wanted to happen. Instead, I asked him some more questions.

I asked him if he had any sexual fantasies he didn't know about on a conscious level. He said what he really wanted to do was eat my crap, but he didn't know it on a conscious level. Because of the inferiority complex to me. I asked if it was to, “absorb some of my goodness,” and he said yes! Yes! YES!

I got a fun idea for a picture trick question. I asked different peoples' pictures if they were misogynists. Most men were. I asked Meg if I was a misogynist, and she said yes, the biggest of them all. I asked Brandon if he was a misogynist, he said he was a huge misogynist. I asked Meg if he was a bigger one than me, and she said yes. Melvin was one, but not as big as me. Adam was a little bit of one, but not very much.

Then, I asked if people were racist. Most were, some weren't. I was excited when Meg said I wasn't racist. Then I asked, “Am I a homophobe?” She said yes, a little bit. I was taken aback. I wasn't a homophobe at all! But then I thought, I have an idea of straight superiority, I just accept gay people openly. So I thought, maybe it fit.

I would dance around the house, and stop and ask Meg questions, since it didn't require a picture to ask. Like, “Does Melvin like this song?” No, he hates this song. Oh well, I'll listen to it anyway. Random questions kept popping into my mind, and I had all the access to answers in the world! This was the best thing ever!