I admit it, I've slid. Badly. I don't know why. I find little to no comfort in those aspects of faith that once provided abundance (or rather, God provided through faith), and am plagued with doubts again. On the other side is where I was, before I converted, a place without hope. So why this, why now?
I don't know what I need. I am floundering. I think I'm past the point where suicide is a serious consideration, or maybe I'm just not there yet. It is hard to see any reason for hope in a world without God, at least for me, and that fear keeps me where I am, clinging to a faith that doesn't always make sense to me. In fact, these days it rarely does.
I dare not discuss this with my fellow believers; doubt is not something well tolerated in any belief circles, including that of atheists (where doubt inclines toward faith). There is, in fact, little tolerance for any difference of opinion on anything. Don't take my word for it; read any website's message board.
If there is no God, no purpose to anything, then the only meaning life has is what we arbitrarily ascribe to it. There is no intrinsic value to anything.
Today I read of research that seems to indicate that Stalin was right all along: a single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic, nothing more. We just don't respond emotionally to mass killing, and yet that is a keynote of human existence, even now, in 2010. We love to wipe each other out en masse; murder is our calling card, one to another. It's devastating to think about. Or liberating, if one is sufficiently misanthropic.