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Abstract

g. Listening to the sermons with the other 20k+ members taught by the tiny man on the stage was a constant in my childhood (but don’t worry, we could see him on the four giant jumbotrons.)</p><p id="5896">Why do I appear so angry? Maybe because I am angry. The hate in their hearts was so ugly. They throw all their money at it and try to conceal it but I could still see the blemishes.</p><p id="20bb">For the past 15 years, I’ve drunk regularly, especially on birthdays. Birthdays weekends, birthday parties, I “celebrated” all week. Instead of thinking about how I am getting closer to death, I just don’t think. I have fun and relax, at least that’s what I thought I was doing. I was empty.</p><p id="0a45">But today, on December 5th, on my 31st birthday I am 5 months alcohol-free.</p><p id="7363">Read about why I made the decision to give up alcohol <a href="https://charleston.momcollective.com/health-wellness/choosing-sobriety-vs-wine-mom-culture/">here</a>. I am feeling all the things I don’t want to feel.</p><p id="c752">It hasn’t been a great morning. My 4-year-old woke up screaming at 6:15 am, I had leftover Walmart cake for breakfast and my husband is working but I am not hungover.</p><h1 id="921a">I am not running.</h1><p id="370c">I am feeling. I am getting older. I am sitting with the anxiety. My therapists have always told me this is good.</p><p id="687a">The TV is not on because I hate it. I am listening to Adele and Temple of the Dog on Amazon Music.</p><p id="cc71">I am alcohol-free. I am here. It’s another day, and it’s not so bad. I think I’ll probably be ok being 31.</p><figure id="8c85"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*XOZjnqbTKBrfjSiL8p8h0g.jpeg"><figcaption>Photo by the author.</figcaption></figure><p id="37d6">My family showered me with love, as they always do. I am spoiled and loved and have everything I want and need and more.</p><p id="5631">I try to enjoy it but I’m inching closer to death.</p><p id="354d">I don’t like change. I don’t want to watch my parents and my grandma get older. I can’t think about what is going to happen. I’m petrified. I take my anxiety medicine and go for walks and do the things I like, the things they tell me to do so I don’t lose my mind.</p><p id="40d5">I can’t

Options

think about what is going to happen. We’re all going to die. I will never hear my 4-year-old sing to me again. I will never watch my 8-year old play basketball again. I will never see my parents who are so in love sitting next to each other on the couch. There is no comfort when you know everything is pretend, nothing is real and nothing matters.</p><p id="0831">I understand why people need heaven and the Santa Claus in the sky. They are safe and comforted.</p><p id="4955">I’m sorry, but I can’t.</p><p id="4b82">Read more of my thoughts <a href="https://medium.com/@alyeduncan">here</a>.</p><div id="270b" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/about-me-alexandra-duncan-e68f71ee4bb2"> <div> <div> <h2>About Me — Alexandra Duncan</h2> <div><h3>Millennial writer of poetry & memoirs, mother & wife</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*eIjXKwSshoFClQVnZALR3g.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="cd50" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/they-could-tell-a33e2c5e9af1"> <div> <div> <h2>They Could Tell</h2> <div><h3>I wasn’t one of them</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*ZelUdLyJvbrikcWgSZjPtw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="b463" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/why-do-you-write-55e723b56e1e"> <div> <div> <h2>Why Do You Write?</h2> <div><h3>I write to survive</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*ewaaYnjIEhg-HRaDfEZpIA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Its My Birthday

I hate birthdays because I am terrified

I’ve always hated birthdays. I never wanted to get any older. I wanted to stop at 14. And 22. And 28. But now I’m 31.

I was taught from a young age that I would burn in hell for eternity when I die if I didn’t do very specific things. I became terrified of dying. I tried my hardest to be a good Christian and do all the right things. When I became a teenager, however, I saw the hate that some religious people filled their hearts with and it disgusted me.

I decided I couldn’t be a part of it. I loved everyone, no matter what was different about them. I would burn in hell before I hated someone because they were different, or didn’t listen to our made-up rules, or were poor.

Religion was cool at my school, the popular girls were the “best” Christians, they were also the typical mean girls. They never accepted me so I pushed away everything that defined them.

I pushed away everything that I was supposed to be. I became “defiant”. I was a rebel. They prayed for me and told me how much Jesus loves me. They told me I didn't want to burn in hell.

I became terrified of death.

I wanted to stop time.

Now as an adult, I’m still terrified of death but for different reasons. I have two children who completely changed my life and made me feel something. Gave me a purpose. I don’t want to be without them, to never see them again.

I need time to freeze so I don’t die.

I know this is the part where people tell me that not all religious people are hateful, that not all churches are cults. If I found Jesus (again), I wouldn’t be scared of death. It would be so comforting, so easy.

I’m sorry, but I can’t.

Religion was pushed so far down my throat every Tuesday morning chapel at school, Wednesday night youth group, and Sunday morning worship followed by youth group at my mega-church that I am still gagging. Listening to the sermons with the other 20k+ members taught by the tiny man on the stage was a constant in my childhood (but don’t worry, we could see him on the four giant jumbotrons.)

Why do I appear so angry? Maybe because I am angry. The hate in their hearts was so ugly. They throw all their money at it and try to conceal it but I could still see the blemishes.

For the past 15 years, I’ve drunk regularly, especially on birthdays. Birthdays weekends, birthday parties, I “celebrated” all week. Instead of thinking about how I am getting closer to death, I just don’t think. I have fun and relax, at least that’s what I thought I was doing. I was empty.

But today, on December 5th, on my 31st birthday I am 5 months alcohol-free.

Read about why I made the decision to give up alcohol here. I am feeling all the things I don’t want to feel.

It hasn’t been a great morning. My 4-year-old woke up screaming at 6:15 am, I had leftover Walmart cake for breakfast and my husband is working but I am not hungover.

I am not running.

I am feeling. I am getting older. I am sitting with the anxiety. My therapists have always told me this is good.

The TV is not on because I hate it. I am listening to Adele and Temple of the Dog on Amazon Music.

I am alcohol-free. I am here. It’s another day, and it’s not so bad. I think I’ll probably be ok being 31.

My family showered me with love, as they always do. I am spoiled and loved and have everything I want and need and more.

I try to enjoy it but I’m inching closer to death.

I don’t like change. I don’t want to watch my parents and my grandma get older. I can’t think about what is going to happen. I’m petrified. I take my anxiety medicine and go for walks and do the things I like, the things they tell me to do so I don’t lose my mind.

I can’t think about what is going to happen. We’re all going to die. I will never hear my 4-year-old sing to me again. I will never watch my 8-year old play basketball again. I will never see my parents who are so in love sitting next to each other on the couch. There is no comfort when you know everything is pretend, nothing is real and nothing matters.

I understand why people need heaven and the Santa Claus in the sky. They are safe and comforted.