the writing of a fantasy

Ever since I was a teenager, I've held a certain romanticism around death. Having suffered from depression at a young age, I think it came about, in my mind, as a perfect escape from pain. Completely unrealistic, no one knows exactly what is on the other side, but for me it represented peace. Maybe the only reason I'm still alive was the underlying question and fear, what if I'm wrong? I didn't want to die and find out life was better than death. And I have commitment issues; death is a big commitment.    
   
I also have a strange love-hate relationship with religious iconography. There was point in my life, where I believed in God. I lost that belief when I was 7, but I remember how beautiful religious education felt to me, I liked the idea of an all-loving God before I came to the sad realisation that just like Santa Claus, God didn't exist. Since then, there were times where I tried to recreate that belief in God, though trying resurrecting my belief in Santa would have made about as much sense. Faith is obviously not logical.    
   
I love old churches, though I never feel comfortable being inside one. I love the high ceilings, arches and stained glass windows, and although I've never been a Catholic, I like rosary beads. I have Buddhist ones instead, very new agey and made out of crystal beads. For a while Buddhism and praying in Tibetan with my rosary bought me peace.    
   
Christianity clearly didn't work for me, though the Christian God was my earliest belief in a God. And I'll admit that I've ripped pages out of the bible of passages and sections I didn't like, including Exodus, and Leviticus. Though I always found Psalm's very poetic, and beautiful.    
   
I keep wondering why I don't spontaneously combust whenever I step onto "holy ground".  
   
I love certain types of religious art, though I’m not a fan of Jesus art. I like crosses, though I'm irrationally scared of them, just like churches, though that fear is a little less irrational. I've witnessed the prejudice of churches and preachers and so-called Christians. I've also felt the back-handed love of a "loving" religion. I was so immersed and desperate to be feel and be accepted by a God, or rather their God, that I still have an underlying feeling of being evil for things I've no control over. And I've more than once fucked myself by trying to be something I'm not, in the grand delusion that if I want something enough I can make it happen. I've haven't yet been able to undo the damage or completely heal the scars the church left me with.    
   
And so to the point of this post, the writing/creation of a fantasy.  “the sex and violence of a metaphor” -  http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/warning/53740-the-sex-and-violence-of-a-metaphor/  
   
This poem is an incorporation of fantasies I’ve held in some cases since childhood, including my romanticism of death and suicide (which is most definitely not romantic) as well as including my submissive, self-destructive and masochistic nature. My love-hate relationship with religion and God, along with my personal struggles I’ve faced since I was 11 with my sexuality, are also a big part of my fantasies.  (Being able to express my sexuality through erotica has been and still is, a liberating and terrifying experience.)  
   
There is also nothing romantic about loving damaged and broken people either, but that’s another weakness of mine. I’m not as damaged as I thought I was, and yet I am much more damaged than I imagined, in different ways.    
   
The fantasy of this poem does represent certain facets of myself as well as a moment that is fleeting. A moment I’ve wanted to immortalize, like freezing something precious in time. What I’ve tried to express here is a very real series of moments and feelings, turned into a tortured emotional and physical fantasy; heaven and hell, and ultimately unsustainable (on both an emotional and physical level). But for just one moment, it could last forever. It makes for a very tortured love-affair, and should never be sought as a reality, though I’m sure I’ll keep chasing people that are bad for me and unrealistic ideals for a while. I’d like to think I’m learning what not to do, and can keep my tortured fantasies separate from a livable reality in future. At the very least, it all makes for great inspiration.    
   
© Indie Adams 2012