The happy throng

I'm not sure if I've talked about this before. 

When I was a teen our church had a youth group.  They were a great bunch of kids, very tolerant of my social oddities and such.  They were friendly to me but no "real" friends. 

I did adore one guy named Chris, a year younger than me.  Even as a teen, he had a receding hairline and a potbelly, but he had a very kind heart.  I would have died for him.  I do so wish him well.  I like to envision him happily married, with a couple of kids, working some kind of techie job (Chris was highly intelligent). 

Every year, in June, our church did a mission trip.  We'd drive down the California coast in our 13 passenger van, spend a night in LA, across the border to Tijuana.  Then we'd go to the outskirts of TJ to an orphanage and do charity work for 4 days. 

Many wonder about the virtues of short term evangelism trips.  I will say we never shared the gospel, and no one ever got saved.  The gospel wasn't even shared in the church group - we had one evangelism night outing a year after a day at an amusement park.  I know some of the kids got saved through that. 

The mission trips were basically a "good works" type thing "Because we are Christians".  I suppose the recipients were supposed to develop a desire to seek Him as a result.  [shrug] 

We went every year, and Mom and Dad happily paid the fee, every year.  After we finished at the orphanage, we'd spend Friday morning shopping at the mercado before crossing the border again.  Then we'd go to Disneyland.  You can imagine the culture shock.  A slum reeking of human sewage, without running water even, to commercialized happiness. 

Early in 1988, a psycho shot up my Dad's workplace, throwing me off the cliff, so to speak, as regarded my depression.  I spent a month in a mental hospital as a result and was only sent home because the insurance ran out. 

I was undiagnosed - they saw the depressions only, so they put me on a double dose of SSRI antidepressants.  They didn't help.  I still got suicidal, but I got better at faking my way through.  I also came to realize I could make it through, because I already had.  One reason I am so very open about my illness - because someone out there needs to know that. 

One year, I forget which, I had battled a particularly awful depression during our mission trip.  I was rather clingy as a result.  The other kids, and adults, didn't know that.  They just saw me being a pest. 

The second they got the chance, they ditched me at Disneyland.  There I was, all by myself, in the happiest place on earth, with $5 in my pocket and 12 hours to kill.  I believe it was the worst day of my life. 

I was surrounded by happy families, couples, and groups.  Yet I was all alone.  I really believed I would never find someone who could love me and accept me as I am.  What did I have to look forward to?  I would never be one of the happy throng. 

I spiraled.  It's a good thing Disneyland doesn't really have any way to commit suicide.  Not if you have $5, that is.  In desperation, I fled to this old time cinema - playing very old Mickey reels.  I laid there in the room watching banal cartoons, suicidal, and thinking "I'm always going to hate Disney after this." 

Sure enough, I do.