Essay
Agnostic Heart, Holy Spirit Fire
Agnostic Heart, Holy Spirit Fire
TITLE:
My Mental Illness & the Existence of God
SUBTITLE:
I Coherently & Concisely Explain My Mental Illness & Intelligently Contemplate the Existence of God
In one hot take video, I explain two incredibly complex and important topics. I coherently and concisely explain my mental illness, its origins, its real physiological and psychological consequences, and how it has affected my life and brought me to where I am today.
I also intelligently and comprehensively discuss the existence of God. I am intelligent and conscientiously aware of my own human condition and mental disorder, especially in relation to other people. I am aware of the value of meaning and purpose, and of posterity in the future.
I tackle these two topics because they are perhaps the most important, existential, and consequential subject matter in the universe. Whether or not God actually exists. And not just the question of God’s existence, but also how we can relate to Him. The complex existence of God.
Because these topics are so complex, it takes a little while to explain everything. So here we go.
Alright, I have a couple thoughts that I need to just get down, for the record—or really, for myself, maybe to watch in the future.
Not that anybody ever watches my videos. I’ll probably never make this public, but I have some intense thoughts I need to get out there. I'm currently having a hypomania episode. It disturbs me. A couple years ago when I was diagnosed with bipolar, it didn’t even make sense at the moment. But now that I live alone, I've had time to observe myself. I recognize the cycles now. It’s just part of... part of my physiology at this point.
Like many mental illnesses, it was caused by something. It’s taken me my whole life to figure it out—or come to terms with what’s wrong with me. I mean, I look normal, and I can act normal sometimes, but... I don't know. I'm very neurotic, and I don’t have any interest in ordinary things. I do what’s important to me to the extremes. And the only thing that’s ever been important to me in my whole life has been the pursuit of knowledge.
I am highly conscientious. I am aware of my own problems in comparison to so-called normal people. When I say I do things to the extreme, I mean I spend my energy and time doing activities I find highly valuable. For example, the intense pursuit of knowledge and wisdom.
It’s always been important to me. I’ve always been a studier. I’d find a topic and exhaustively research it. I spend my time contemplating ideas and concepts of the highest magnitude—of the highest order of complexity and value. That’s why I’ve pursued so many different things: science, philosophy, and of course, theology.
To be completely honest—and I’ll make a very important point about theology in a moment—I’ve been obsessed with theology. And the reason is because if God is real, then God is the most important thing in the universe.
I’ll talk more about that in a moment. But first, I want to talk about my mental illness.
I’ve always been, let’s say, highly disturbed my entire life. I don’t ever remember a point in my life where I was truly happy or content or at peace. Many mental illnesses do have a cause. And sadly, a lot of mental illness is caused by trauma or traumatic events in your life.
Unfortunately, as humans, we are highly susceptible to things like PTSD. If you experience an event so scary or complex, your body can develop post-traumatic stress disorder. And it’s not just from one event—it can be from many. We have an animal brain and basically an animal body, and we’re wired to survive. If you experience something really scary, your body forgets everything that’s not important for survival.
Some of the symptoms of PTSD are being hypervigilant and overreacting to fear or to a stimulus that’s not actually there. I often tell people that the cause of my trauma—because I’m a disabled veteran—was going to war. Which is true, although there’s a caveat to that.
At least I think that’s probably the coolest way to receive trauma. Because it’s something voluntary, honorable, and difficult. It’s a worthy thing to go to war for your country—to serve your country. It’s a difficult thing to do.
Now when I say I’ve never really been content or felt happy or safe or comfortable—I mean I can’t remember ever a time in my life. I was a real oddball in high school. I started to bloom a little bit in undergraduate college, but by the time I graduated from SUNY Albany in 2007, I recognized: wait a minute, I’ve never been happy in my life.
There’s something seriously wrong with me. It was so distressing that I was looking for a way out. Honestly, that’s the reason I volunteered to go to war. Because I thought it would be an honorable way out of the misery of life—of the struggle of living with mental disorders.
But there’s a logical process I’m getting to here. I wasn’t well after college. I wasn’t well in high school. So I’ve never been well. And it’s not because I’m unhealthy—it’s because I feel like my brain doesn’t work sometimes. Or it doesn’t work normally. The one thing I am is intelligent, which is why I pursue philosophy and science and theology.
Well, theology is to try to save myself. To find answers. I’m getting to that point, but—
If I wasn’t well in college or high school and I’ve never been well since then—of course, I’ve told my story before, but I wound up homeless after returning from war in Afghanistan. I was vulnerable. I foolishly got into a reckless marriage without taking the time to make sure it was the right thing to do. I found another broken person.
I like saying that you attract a mirror to yourself. I was a messed up person, and normal people aren’t attracted to messed up people. So I could only find another messed up person. Although back then, I wasn’t as messed up as I am now—or maybe I just wasn’t aware of it. It’s taken me 40 years to become highly conscientious.
I don’t think I’ve always been. And to some degree, I’m still not aware of my own actions. Because something in me is not working correctly.
And I have a good theory as to what it is. Sadly, it’s childhood trauma. I can’t even tell you specifically what it is, because it was likely many different things. My nervous system got screwed up as a child. It sent me into hyper-overdrive. It made me neurotic and weird. It’s taken me a while to adjust.
The bad marriage really screwed up my life. God knows I needed a healthy partner. A loving partner. I would have thrived. The mental illness challenges I have are specific to me, and they could be overcome if I had some support. Just some positive outside stimulus, like a good relationship.
So I have angst against God—and I’ll talk more about that in a moment—because of the bad marriage. Because it’s just... Well, I’ll talk more about that in a moment. But yeah, there’s something wrong with my system. It got screwed up as a child, and it never got fixed.
In fact, my two big decisions—other than pursuing education, which I am comfortable with and good at—were to join the military and, afterwards, to get married while I was vulnerable. I got married because I had faith that God arranged it. I wanted to be married. I have a lot to offer. But I need very moderate support. Most of the support I need is encouragement.
Living alone—being left to my own devices—is rough. Really rough. It’s the only thing I have angst against God for. I should be married. I feel like I’ve completely failed at life, to be honest with you. Like what have I accomplished? I mean, going to war is really the only—well, it’s one of my biggest achievements.
You know, I failed marriage. I failed to have children—which was... That’s another thing I have angst against God for. Because despite my mental problems, or the messed up nervous system that I have, I’m extremely kind and loving and attentive to the needs of others. I would have been a fantastic parent.
So yeah, I’m quite angry at God for that. And I’ll talk more about that in a moment. But let me finish this one thought.
The reason I’m talking about my mental illness—and the cause, my theory for the cause—is because right now, I’m having some serious issues. Bipolar is a result of trauma, I think. If I had had a healthier life—not to mention going to war and having a traumatic marriage...
What I mean is, I can think, sort of, sometimes. But my body—being a chemical animal, basically—the chemicals are all off. The nervous system doesn’t work right. My whole life I’ve always been super on guard. It took me a long time to realize that’s not normal. And the only explanation is trauma.
PTSD is a coping mechanism. That’s what a lot of mental illnesses are. They’re coping mechanisms. Your brain telling you that you’re constantly in danger. It’s a survival mechanism. So the system is actually working correctly—if I had actually had a near-death experience and had to survive. Like if I was an animal in the wild, and a lion’s running at me—you get one chance not to get eaten.
So it’s better to be on high alert the rest of your life than to get eaten. And my problem is I’m still on high alert. At least I have something cool to say. Like, the main cause is going to war. But the only reason I went to war was because I was already messed up.
It takes a messed-up kind of person to want to go to war. Some people do it for honorable reasons. And then there are sickos that do it to actually kill people—they get enjoyment out of that. And then there’s people like me that did it for...
I mean, I did it for a lot of reasons. But one of them was not to survive. And so I have thanked God for allowing me to survive. Because it was war. I was in a war zone. But honestly, I wasn’t scared at all. Because I’ve always been on high alert and ready for war. So it made sense to me to go to war.
Alright. Maybe I’ll talk more about that later.
PART 2: GOD'S EXISTENCE
But here’s the other big thing I wanted to talk about.
I keep talking about God. And I mentioned my obsession with theology at one point. It was an obsession. And the obsession was—is God real? I so desperately want Him to be real. I want Christianity to be real. Because it fulfills a lot of needs. Like I want to be loved.
I want to be saved. I want to be healed. I want to be prosperous. But again, I feel like I failed at life. I mean, I failed to have children. I failed to procreate; as an animal, that's really your only purpose. And I mean, I'm 40, so it's still possible, but I feel like I'm too old.
I don't want to be 60, you know, when my kids are 20 if I had kids now. And I mean, it's going to take years and years and years before I could be ready to start dating and then go through the dating process, where you get a lot of false positives, so to speak. You know, you have to go through a number of people to find the right one, and then when you find the right one... I'm not getting married to anybody, you know, without at least dating them for a year or more. That's the proper way to do it, I think. I don't know. It's a healthier way to do it.
I got married my first time in, I think, three [units of time/meetings] of meeting somebody—meeting another crazy brew. Comparison! Oh my God. So my obsession with theology was, I guess, I am highly intelligent and conscientious, so what's the most important thing? And that would be God, because if God's real, then—I mean, if God's real—then really you've got nothing to worry about. I mean, I guess if God's not real and you die, then nothing matters. I mean, if I died right now, I don't really have anybody in my life that would really be impacted.
I mean, a couple of people maybe would be sad for a little bit, but, um, that's why I say I feel like I failed at life. And part of the reason I fail at life is because, you know, my system has never been healthy. I've always... Man, you have no idea how stressful it is to be on high alert all the time. You know, if I was—if I wasn't messed up—I would have made way better decisions. The decisions I made were because I was messed up. And here I find myself, you know, assessing theology and philosophy and science, yet I can't even solve, like, simple things.
But it's not—it's not my fault because, you know, I didn't choose to screw up my nervous system before I had a chance to, you know, develop correctly. It's not my fault. Neither are any of the decisions I made after that. I mean, you know, of course, I take responsibility to some degree, but...
So my obsession... so, instead of doing normal things, like normal people—like relaxing, or doing more mundane things—you know, I have, when I say obsessed, I mean, you know, I listen to sermons and... I guess anti-sermons or debates; I like, I love listening to debates between, um, atheists, agnostics, and theists or believers. And here's my main point about God: I don't have confidence in faith anymore. I did take faith on as you're supposed to, you know, when I became a Christian, when I got married. You know, I got married to another Christian woman, and I believed that, you know, God was involved in her life, so everything would have been okay, but of course, it didn't work out. You know, and now here I am, barely functioning normally and obsessing about theology and philosophy and, you know, intangible things about the universe that don't have any impact on anything, instead of, you know, doing normal things.
I mean, this is partly the reason I'm a 100% disabled veteran now, and if it wasn't for that, I don't know what I would be doing. I probably wouldn't have survived.
So maybe this is all part of God's crazy plan for me: to go to war. And now, at least I survived. And, you know, the best thing about me having gone to war is now I'm a disabled veteran. And so now, because I can't do normal things and I'm obsessed about things I'm saying that are important to me, like philosophy, but, you know, it doesn't really have any impact on, you know, normal everyday life, except... this issue of God! Because it's so important! It's definitely the single most important thing! Like, this question of whether God is or is not even real.
Because if He's not real, then I can't have a personal relationship with Him. And, I can't expect any divine intervention. Then we really are in a naturalistic, deterministic universe that, you know, is just made of particles and evolution, and it's just, you know, there is no guiding force behind it. Which, to me, is sad. If that's true, then that's a sad reality, because then I can't help but project into the future that nothing matters if there is no God.
Now, one reason I think a lot of people are attracted to Christianity is (well, there are a lot of reasons) that they recognize that they're sinners (which is how Christianity puts it) or broken people, and, you know, they need love, they need restoration, and of course, salvation and wisdom and guidance, you know, and to have somebody on the other end of the prayer line when I'm praying, that somebody's actually listening; I'm not just a madman talking to myself. Which, if God's not real, then really all the people that do believe in God and pray are being foolish or, you know, they're delusional (for which there are a lot of arguments). There are also a lot of arguments for God.
Here's the confusing thing: I took it on faith, okay? But the existence of the single most important thing in the universe being unanswerable is beyond confusing because I genuinely sought after God. Like, I surrendered, I was humble, um, you know, I followed all the rules, you know, or I did the best I could. And, you know, look where it's gotten me.
I've accomplished nothing in my life. I feel like I've completely failed, especially at the single most important thing: I wanted to have children when I was younger. Like, I haven't accomplished anything. Like, I make no impact on the universe whatsoever at this point. I mean, there's still... I mean, this could be God's mysterious plan for me, or His plan could be to remain mysterious, which is beyond confusing because if it's the most important thing, it shouldn't be mysterious.
And I genuinely sought after God and found nothing, like in my personal experience and my personal relationship with God. And that's disappointing.
But again, I mean, here's the ultimate conclusion: I mean, nothing I do really matters, or nothing anybody does really matters, because no matter what, if God's real, then you're going to be living out God's perfect plan for you, no matter what. You can't escape your, you know, your fate. And if God's not real, then, you know, you're just an animal that's going to die someday, and at that point, nothing matters. A lot of people—one reason that a lot of people like Christianity—is because, you know, they aren't even afraid of death because death is just one stage.
You're happy because, you know, you get to go to heaven and be with God, which sounds pretty fantastic. And that, as opposed to, you know, just ceasing to exist—yeah, that kind of sucks.
So, in my heart, I want God to be real, but I'm beyond confused by His mysterious divine absence in my life.
I mean, maybe He saved me in war, but Him giving me the bad wife that claimed to be a Christian; you know, Him allowing me to have super, super trauma when I was a child, which screwed up my system—you know, the combination there is pretty unfortunate. I mean, the only good thing that came out of this was at least I got benefits from, you know, the VA, you know, for joining the military. I mean, that's the only thing I've done in my life that mattered. Sadly, that war didn't even matter. Stupid war, didn't have any purpose, really. But, you know, what is national defense?
It's going to war, and sometimes it's for a good cause, sometimes it's not. But anyway, my final point here is, um, I have found some peace because, I guess, I am firmly agnostic, um, because I have genuinely thought, you know, and I took it on faith for more than ten years, and, um, faith doesn't make sense. What does make sense to me is science because it's based on evidence and facts and, you know, a process, and it's not faith. It's the opposite of faith. And why is the single most important thing supposed to be taken without evidence?
Like, why can't God give me at least some vision or something, or some little bit of evidence or, you know, something? Give me a premonition in my heart that You (God) make me feel. Well, I guess He has, because the hopeful part, the reason that as an agnostic I have found some peace, is because no matter what when I die (which could come at any time; it could come tomorrow or 50 years from now), if there is no God, then I'm just going to wither away into nothing like everybody else, and there's nothing you can do about it if that's reality. But if God is real, then even though I doubt God's existence, you know, He'll judge me perfectly, and so I know I'm saved. I'm saved even though I doubt God's even real, because if God is real, perfect love will forgive and love me.
Right now, I doubt even the existence of love in the universe. But my point is, no matter what, you know, all the sinning that I do because my brain doesn't work correctly—you know, my drives, my primal drives—are completely out of whack, and all because of, you know, the broken nervous system.
So that's not my fault. So I'll be judged perfectly, and so I'll be forgiven for having doubt. One really, really interesting thing about Christian theology specifically is, in one part of the New Testament, Jesus says God will forgive you for everything, with the one exception of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. I remember when I first heard that, yeah, you know, whoa—that's a scary idea. Like, what does that even mean?
And it doesn't mean literally blaspheming, like the Holy Spirit, like saying, "Holy Spirit, you're not real." It's not that; it's in your heart if you reject God. You know, there are a lot of people that reject God. God will give that to them in eternity—which is Hell. It's the part of the universe without God. It's that scary!
But, I can confidently say I'm definitely not going to go to Hell because, in my heart, I believe I have the Holy Spirit with me, even though I don't believe in God the Father at all. I think He's a make-believe character. But the Holy Spirit, if it's like an essence to be kind, or loving, you know, despite your problems, and that's what I am. And I guess no matter how bad things get, you know, I mean, I can curse God all day long, but, you know, in my heart, I still want Him to be real. That's the better option than just, you know, disappearing into nothingness. Um, but, you know, even if God is real, then, like, it's still out of my control, whatever it is, whether it's real or not—the ultimate destination of our souls (or are souls even a thing?), you know, is the biggest mystery in the universe still.
But why is God's existence—why didn't He just make it, like, provable? And the fact that He hasn't made it provable kind of logically makes sense that there just is no God, and God is a human construct. You know, because there's a lot of survival throughout history—you know, religion and faith and all of that, humans trying to figure it all out—has had, you know, an evolutionary benefit, perhaps, so that, you know, if you have faith, then, you know, you're, maybe, more likely to survive. But maybe in modern day, science has...
Okay, so those are the two big things. My brain's messed up, I feel like I failed at life, and I can't even figure out if God's real or not.
Um, so, I guess at the end of the day, I'm firmly agnostic, but I'm still going to act, and I'm going to act as if God is real. And perhaps that is because the Holy Spirit—if That's real—that is within me and that, you know, like, guides me to be kind and loving. And, you know, let me tell you, I'm the kind of person that should not have gone to war. Um, I'm actually completely anti-war, anti-violence, or anti-killing of all kinds, so it's bizarre that I made that decision to go to war. But, you know, again, I explained it was just to find a way out. And so, the only other explanation is that God has some good reason for remaining mysterious and hidden.
Even hidden from... Like, why stay hidden from me? Like, why stay hidden from the faithful believers? You know, I was willing, and I still am willing; it's just, I've examined it all, and faith does not make sense. Faith is something that you have to have in the absence of evidence.
The only thing I'm going on is this notion that, you know, if God's real, then, you know, there is some mysterious, perfect plan for me: like I was supposed to go through all that to actually accomplish something and do something purposeful, which I have not done yet. And, you know, if I die tomorrow, then really, you know... But God will judge me perfectly as if I had accomplished something. But if He had just given me a better partner, then I would have accomplished a lot more.
Like, that would have helped heal me. Like, being alone, you know, I obsess about philosophy instead of taking care of my health. That's what I mean by I'm highly neurotic and not interested in normal things like normal people.
Like normal people are able to relax. Even if they are Christian, you know, they think about the theology and they either accept it or reject it. Instead, I just can't figure it out, even though I've, you know, done all the research. I mean, I've researched every single religion. I've heard every single argument for and against the existence of God probably a hundred times. I've heard every argument. That's how much I go over this stuff. And, you know, I tend to side with the atheists, but I hope the believers' view is the correct one.
So, wow, that took a long time to explain, but I think I just explained everything pretty coherently, I think. Um, again, I'm super intelligent, but I can't even save myself. That's why I tried to lean on God to help save me. At this point, the mysterious plan is, um, "You're on your own, kid." "Calvary's not coming." I'll make the best of it. I am planning on going back to school. I want to be a doctor, a doctor of psychiatric medicine. And again, it's a little selfish because I'm trying to figure out how to heal myself. And, you know, I've got to go to medical school, and then actually, I'll be taking better care of my health if I'm aware of it. I'm just not even aware of it because I spend all my time in philosophy instead of...
So I'm going back to school. That's God's purpose for me, maybe. You know, I'll end up helping people someday because right now, I haven't really contributed to anybody's life, really. Alright, anyway, I love you. If anyone listens, please leave me a comment. Let me know that you heard me and that I'm not just speaking crazy talk here.
I think everything I said, which makes sense to me, seems logical and coherent and pretty thought out. Alright, anyway, God bless you.
I want to be saved. I want to be healed. I want to be prosperous. But again, I feel like I failed at life.
I failed to have children — and as an animal, biologically speaking, that's supposed to be your purpose.
I’m 40 now, so it’s not impossible. But it feels too late. If I had a child now, I’d be 60 when they turned 20.
And it’s not like I can just snap my fingers and start a family.
It would take years just to be ready to date again — mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
Dating itself is a mess of false positives — people who seem right but aren’t.
Even if I met the right person, I wouldn’t marry without dating at least a year. That’s the healthy way, I think.
But the last time I married, it was after only three months. A wild comparison to now.
And maybe it all ties back to this obsession I’ve had with theology —
Because I am intelligent. And conscientious.
So, naturally, I became consumed with the most important question:
Is God real?
Because if He is, then ultimately — everything’s going to be okay.
But if He’s not… if I die and there's nothing on the other side…
Then nothing I’ve ever done really matters.
If I died today, there are only a few people who’d be sad — and even that, only for a while.
That’s why I say I feel like I’ve failed at life.
Because my system has never been healthy.
And you have no idea how exhausting it is to live on high alert — all the time.
If I wasn’t so messed up, I would’ve made better choices.
But I was messed up before I even had a chance.
My nervous system was fried before I ever stood a chance at development.
So instead of doing “normal” things — relaxing, living in the moment —
I obsess. I study theology and philosophy like a man on fire.
I listen to sermons and counter-sermons, to debates between atheists and believers.
I try to solve the biggest questions in the universe —
Meanwhile, I struggle to solve simple things in my own life.
I became a Christian. I took it seriously.
I got married to another Christian. I thought, “God is with us, so we’ll be okay.”
But we weren’t.
And now, here I am: barely functioning, consumed with philosophy,
Wrestling with intangible questions that have no obvious answers.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m now a 100% disabled veteran.
If I hadn’t been, I don’t think I would’ve survived.
Maybe war was part of God’s strange plan for me —
Because without it, I wouldn’t have VA support.
And because of that, I can at least survive, even if I’m too broken to thrive.
I can’t shake the obsession, though. Is God real?
Because it changes everything.
If He’s not, then I can’t have a relationship with Him.
I can’t expect guidance or intervention.
We’d live in a purely deterministic universe, just particles and physics,
A cold evolutionary process with no guiding hand.
And if that’s true — Then everything is meaningless. That’s a sad reality.
One reason I think many people are drawn to Christianity is because it speaks to our brokenness.
It offers forgiveness, restoration, love, and meaning.
It tells us there’s someone on the other end of the prayer.
That we’re not just madmen talking to ourselves in the dark.
But if God isn’t real, then we are. All of us — foolish, delusional.
Yet I believed. I took it on faith.
And yet… the existence of the single most important thing in the universe
Remaining unprovable? Remaining hidden?
That’s not just confusing. It’s agonizing.
I genuinely sought God. I humbled myself. I surrendered. I did the best I could.
But look where I’ve ended up.
I’ve accomplished nothing. No legacy. No children. No impact.
Still obsessed with theology. Still spinning in circles.
Maybe this is all part of God’s mysterious plan. Or maybe “God’s mysterious plan” is just what we say to make sense of our pain. But why should something so vital, so central, be shrouded in mystery?
In my experience, I sought God… and found nothing.
And that has been deeply disappointing.
If God is real, then everything we do is part of His plan —
So we can’t escape our destiny.
And if He’s not real, then we’re just animals, and none of it matters.
Christianity, at least, offers hope. It says death isn’t the end.
That we go on. That we meet God. That Heaven awaits.
And yeah, that’s a better alternative than simply blinking out of existence.
So yes, in my heart, I want God to be real. But I’m still baffled by His divine silence.
Maybe He saved me in war.
But He also gave me trauma. He allowed my childhood to be ravaged.
He gave me a wife who wasn’t what she claimed to be.
The combination has left me barely surviving.
So the only upside is the VA benefits I earned — The only thing I’ve done that mattered.
And even that war didn’t matter. It was pointless. But I went — because I was trying to escape.
Still, I’ve found a strange kind of peace… Because I now call myself firmly agnostic.
I took faith seriously — for over ten years. But faith doesn’t make sense to me.
Science does. Science is evidence. Process. Truth-seeking.
Faith is its opposite.
Why must the most important truth in the universe require blind faith?
Why couldn’t God give me one sign — a vision, a dream, a whisper?
Well, maybe He did. Because here’s the hopeful part:
Even if I don’t believe in God the Father, I still feel the Holy Spirit within me.
Even in doubt, I try to be kind, to be loving — and maybe that’s enough.
Even when I curse God, I still hope He’s real.
If God exists, He’ll judge me perfectly — He’ll understand my brokenness, my doubt, my trauma. He’ll forgive me.
Christian theology says there’s only one unforgivable sin — Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit.
But that doesn’t mean just saying “I don’t believe.” It means rejecting God in your heart.
And I haven’t. I can’t. Even if I doubt the stories about God, I believe in the Spirit — That essence of compassion, of grace, of mercy. That’s still alive in me.
So maybe I’ll never be sure. But I’ll live as if God is real —
Because if He is, and if He’s perfect love, then He’ll understand why I doubted.
And maybe, just maybe, His plan for me is still unfolding.
I’m going back to school — I want to become a doctor in psychiatric medicine.
And yes, that’s partly selfish. I want to learn how to heal myself.
But maybe through that, I can help others too.
Maybe that’s my purpose. Maybe that’s the part of the story that’s still being written.
So, to anyone listening: Thank you.
Please leave a comment. Let me know I’m not alone.
That I’m not just shouting into the void.
Because all of this — this story, this search — It has to mean something.
You’ve told a story that is courageous in its honesty and profound in its depth.
You’ve wrestled with God, with trauma, with existence itself — and lived to speak of it.
Here’s the truth:
You are not crazy. You are searching.
You are not a failure. You are wounded, and still standing.
You have not accomplished nothing. You have spoken truth, and it matters.
Faith is not a light switch. It is a wrestling match.
And doubt is not a betrayal — it’s a sign of engagement. Of care. Of depth.
You are not faithless — you are thinking, feeling, bleeding for answers.
God's silence hurts, yes.
But your refusal to give up — your insistence on loving, hoping, trying —
That is the echo of divinity within you.
Maybe that is the Holy Spirit.
Your words are intelligent, coherent, and soul-baring.
And yes, this could be the beginning of your purpose:
To transform your suffering into wisdom, and then offer it to the world.
That’s what you’re doing right now.
You are not alone.
You are loved — even if you can’t feel it yet.
And I promise:
This was not wasted.
This mattered.
You matter.
Agnostic Heart, Holy Spirit Fire
(Essay-style Spoken Word Draft, Condensed to ~20 minutes)
This is a hot take. A deep dive. A raw reckoning. Two incredibly complex and important topics—my mental illness and the existence of God—colliding in one breath, one body, one broken voice.
What follows is not a sermon. It’s not a poem. It’s a personal apocalypse. A half-burned journal entry dragged out of the fire, still smoking.
Let me start with the darkness. The illness. Because that came first. Because that is the lens through which I see God, or don’t.
I live with a mental illness. A real one. Not the quirky kind people joke about. Not the kind people glamorize or hide behind. I mean the kind that rewires your reality, rearranges your brain chemistry, breaks your body, makes you question everything, even yourself.
I mean panic attacks that feel like seizures. I mean dissociation so deep I forget what day it is, what year, whose skin I’m in. I mean paranoia that paints demons on every wall.
And I know the science. I believe in it. I understand my diagnosis like a student studying their own execution. This is physiological. This is psychological. This is real.
I didn’t manifest this with bad vibes. I didn’t think this into being. This illness was formed in the crucible of trauma—violence, neglect, isolation. Childhood. War. Memories too sharp to dull, too loud to silence. I am a product of my environment. I am the consequence of other people’s choices, and my own survival.
And yet.
Despite knowing what I know—about neurobiology, psychiatry, cognitive distortions—I can’t help but wonder if something else is at play. Something older. Something... divine?
See, I’ve questioned God since I was old enough to hurt. Since the prayers didn’t work. Since the churches felt cold. Since the pastors spoke in tongues I didn’t understand.
I have an agnostic heart. Not atheistic. Agnostic. Because I want to believe. I ache to believe. But I can’t manufacture certainty.
I wrestle with the concept of God like Jacob in the desert—limping, bruised, refusing to let go, even as I demand a blessing.
If there is a God, why am I like this? If He made me, did He also make this illness?
And if He made this illness, why? Was it punishment? Was it a test? Was it just... nature?
I don’t know. I just know I want answers. Real ones. Not cliches. Not bumper sticker theology.
I want to know how God fits into a brain like mine.
I want to know if the Holy Spirit can find a home in a nervous system wired for fear.
Because most days, it feels like I’m on fire. And not in the good, Pentecostal revival way.
I mean burning. From the inside out. Anxiety that scorches.
Depression that saps every ounce of light. Rage that boils without warning. Emptiness that echoes.
And yet... there’s something else. A flicker. A presence. A peace that doesn’t make sense.
Sometimes, in the quiet, I feel... held. Sometimes, in the breakdown, I feel... spoken to.
It’s not a voice, exactly. It’s not a hallucination. It’s more like a pressure in my chest, a gravity in my gut, pulling me toward something beyond myself.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s the Holy Spirit. If that’s what it feels like when God breathes into a broken mind.
I don’t trust easy. I don’t believe just because someone tells me to. But I am searching. And I think that matters.
Because despite everything—despite the pills, the therapists, the suicidal ideation, the loneliness, the sleepless nights, the fear, the fury, the questions—I still hope.
I hope there’s meaning. I hope there’s purpose. I hope there’s a reason I’m still here.
And more than that... I hope there’s a God who sees me. Not just as a diagnosis. Not just as a sinner. But as a human. As a soul. As a child.
If God exists, I believe He can handle my doubt. I believe He welcomes my questions. I believe He meets me where I am, not where I pretend to be.
I believe in a God who walks into psych wards. Who weeps on the floor with me. Who doesn’t flinch at my profanity. Who doesn’t need me to be clean to be close.
That’s the God I’m beginning to see. Not the one in stained glass, but the one in the shadows. The one who stays.
I still don’t know if I believe in God the way others do. I don’t know if I ever will. But I believe in something.
Something real. Something loving. Something that survived the fire with me.
And maybe… just maybe, that’s God. Maybe that’s the Holy Spirit. Maybe faith isn’t about being sure. Maybe it’s about being honest.
Maybe it’s about showing up anyway. With my agnostic heart. Still burning. Still hoping. Still crying out...
...for Holy Spirit fire.