Chapter Text
My name is Rae. I have an idea as to what I'm going to write in this work, but honestly, it's a big fuckin' freestyle. I'm writing this here because there's less chance of my mother finding it on AO3 than an actual diary I've been having to hide for God knows how long. Anyways, this first rant is about my experience with religion.
Nearly my entire pre-teen life I was fascinated with religion as a whole. It was a community of belief, a beautiful thing that saved you from sin, and helped resolve any and all troubles just by asking God to help, asking for advice. It was captivating to me at the time, and I would try to pray to God every night before bed. I knew I needed saving.
I was and always will be an awful, disgusting offspring of Satan and pain. That was what 8 year old me thought, crying myself to sleep yet again, wondering why my mother didn't love me anymore. I should just starve and kill myself. The world would be better without me. I had been obsessed with Little Women at the time. I had an especial fondness for Beth. She was everything I wasn't. She was small, gentle, faithful, hardworking, feminine, thin, and most of all, loved and treasured by her family. I, on the other hand was fat, rough, heathenous, lazy, vulgarly ugly, had a horrible body image, and worst of all, disliked by my family.
Not disliked as in hated, no, disliked as in my parents were (and are) ambivalent towards me. I would have rather lived in the Cupboard Under the Stairs than be trapped, alone, with myself.
Back to Little Women. I loved that book dearly. I cried and laughed with those girls, adored Laurie as they all did, and read and re-read the story over and over again. But I felt they would hate me if they knew me, So I slowly began distancing myself from them, almost fearing that the Sinful being I was would ruin them. I hated what I was, what I had become. I blamed it on myself. I was fat, ugly, dumb, hypersexual, and had sexual attraction to the same gender. Back then, I had never thought to label it. Today, I would call 9 year old me bisexual. But back then, the only label I could think of for it was "Sin."
And Sin could be prayed away. I had masturbated from around the age of 6-7 onward. I had been Evil. I had thought about disliking my parents for disliking me. I had been Immature and a Liar. Everything that happened I managed to blame on myself. Why would my parents love me after all I had done to wrong them? Of course I was hypersexual, that was Satan inside of me. But I could always have God forgive me. So I prayed, for a variety of things, but mainly for a few. "Dear God, please kill me tonight. I am so tired of trying. I don't care if I go to Hell, I can't keep dragging myself and others down." "Dear God, please give me a Friend. I don't mind what kind of companion they are, I'm just so sick of being lonely. Make my parents love me." "Dear God, make me less ugly. I'm too fat, I'm too ugly for this world." I knew I was an awful child. I knew I was better off dead.
After praying, I would usually either re-read Little Women, masturbate, or just cry myself to sleep. Sleep was not something to be understood by me. It was not to be remembered by Satan's puppet. And, so, it was peaceful.
When I would awaken the next morning, I would likely be getting yelled at by my overworked father or my semi-disabled mother. My father, I can and always could tell, felt somewhat bad for me, but mostly felt bad for himself. But why should he care? I was Disgusting, anyways. I needed to be beaten, not just verbally. Why didn't they ever hit me? Was I so disgusting that they didn't even want to get anywhere near me? God, why did you do this to me? What must I repent for? How much longer until you can just kill me? Please just give me a sign.
Later on in life, maybe I was around eleven(?), I met this woman and with whom I spoke of religion. God, and the potholes of religon I had noticed. At that time, I was devoutly Athiest. God was stupid. I could have spat on It's grave. But the woman convinced me to give it another try.
My great-grandfather had just died, and I went to stay with my great-grandmother, who I'm going to refer to as A. A went to a nearby church, of which had VBS, amongst other things. I went as a helping hand, helping the teachers. I felt almost disgusted, knowing all of these innocent children, before ever having a choice, was so devout to a non-existent entity, or worse, one that lied, being evil in awful ways. Many of them were my age, but I was much matured by that age. People thought I was around 15 very often. And I might as well have been, with the bullshit I had already been through.
But even there I was alone, divided because an unliked girl leeched onto me. Sure, we were "friends", but she confided in me, expecting no judgement. Which I gave her. But she never wanted to listen to me. She would also constantly judge me, when she had worse bullshit she had done to herself. She was 14, I was 11. She just had to remove me from my chance at life. And she called herself Christian.
By the age of 12, I had come to the same conclusion as I still maintain today. Why can't we all just bless one another? Why should we pray to an empty God when we could save eachother? Almost like that Phil Collins song "Paradise". Why must we pray to empty air for our parents to love us, instead of them just realizing they are incompetent. Why need we pray for forgiveness when we could just ask the person we've wronged and try to make ammends? God, in my opinion, is not something I desire to take part in any longer. If it needs to be worshipped, what kind of God is it? If it overwhelms you with guilt for something that isnt even your fault, then is it really something you want to continue to love? If wearing mixed cloth or being lesbian puts me in Hell, so be it. What kind of God wouldn't appreciate yuri?