My Drug-Induced, Near-Death Visit From Jesus
My church preferred the huskier, happier, healthier version of Jesus, and that’s what I saw after I overdosed
Trigger Warning: This story contains descriptions of assault and rape.
I don’t believe in heaven.
I was raised on a steady drip of Jesus and a Heavenly Father who created me, and who not only knows my name, but also cares deeply about each and every decision I’ve ever made and will ever make. It’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid, making you believe you hold the results of eternity in your small, dirt-smudged hands, and that lying about putting your dime in the tithing jar will get you banished to outer darkness forever.
Too many traumatic things happened to me at too young of an age for me to buy any of it. I tried on and off over the years to dive in and become a true believer, but for me, it always ended up feeling wrong.
So imagine my surprise when I met Jesus after being assaulted and raped.
A friend asked if her son, who was on parole, could stay with me for a few days because he wasn’t allowed in her building. I said yes. I was a frequent meth user at the time and my decisions weren’t often well-thought-out or in my own best interest. Her son, who I’ll…
