Faith/Trust, and why I don’t really, anymore

I read a blog today that resonated with me, about how the writer trusted things to play out the way they are meant to, and I got to thinking that I don’t. I don’t trust the universe/Deity/Flying Spaghetti Monster to give a tinker’s damn how things here in my life play out. I lost anything I had that might have passed for faith while watching my husband die. I get so furious at the trite “He’s in a better place” or “G-d needed him” responses to his death. Fuck all. Do I care how much “better” the afterlife is, supposing there is one. It’s not like anyone sends postcards, or posts rave fucking reviews on TripAdvisor about how kick ass it is, so who says it is “better”. As for him being needed, TYVM, I NEED Him. The fuck do I care if some vague conceptual being needed him, I had him first, and I need him more. So yeah, not so much capable of trusting/having faith that anything won’t turn to shit anymore. I prayed, I trusted, and guess what, He died. Guess all that “ask and you will receive” bullshit was for someone else. Me, I’ve lost all faith. It’s not as desolate as I thought it would be. It leaves me free to accept that nothing more than random chance is to blame
(well, that and Uncle Sam’s overuse of Agent Orange w/o a thought for the long term damage) for losing the one person who was my world.
I don’t have faith things will work out, based on past experience I’d say the odds of that occurring are somewhere between slim and none. I believe I will survive, because that’s what I’ve done since birth. Survival. That’s my skill. I can lose literally everyone to ever matter, and still, somehow, wake up, make breakfast, and plod onward. I survive. And no higher power gets the credit. I fucking survive. I pull myself (mostly) together, and keep doing whatever task presents itself because I survive. Not because I WANT to, but because it’s what I do.
Hopefully, one day I’ll get to die, but until my cells give up. I survive.

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