Written 11 November 2017
So much anger, So much shame, Looking for someone Someone to blame.
I thought for years. I thought it was me. That I was the wrong one. The bad one was me.
Carrying the guilt. Carrying all the shame. That who I was Was bad. Was wrong. I was to blame.
A sinner was me. Just for being. Just for being born. Just for being human. Just for being me.
I feel so fucking angry. How could they have done it? Taught me such bullshit. And now can’t get rid of it?
Why the fuck would you do that to a child for? Tell it, it’s precious. Then tell it it’s wrong. Sinning. Sinning. Sinning. Sinning is wrong.
Something happened. Happened just before I was 8. Interviewed by the bishop. To ask me if I was worthy? Worthy of Jesus’ name!
And did I understand? Understand All covenants? All the vows? All the rules?
For example, the law of chastity. Did I know what that was? How God loved virtuous women? And that body love was only for married Men and women?
And all I could think of was all of the shame. All of my humanness. All of the sin and pain.
Would Jesus still love me? Because once on my bike, I felt something funny. On the seat between my legs? I felt guilty. Was it ok to ride a bike?
And at once I remembered. Remembered the girl who kissed me. Remembering being kissed by a girl.
Or the time I pretended I was Brad’s girlfriend. And we lay on his bed. And played pretend. But for the life of me I can’t remember what happened. After that… I can’t fucking remember. I’m only 8. I don’t remember.
Before I was baptized. Just before I was 8. I was told I was pure. Innocent without sin.
So why this fucking interview. And thinking I’m full of sin?
And that somehow baptism Would wash away all of my sin? This is all so confusing. Does that make me a bad girl?
I just wanted to be be a good girl. Be loved and accepted. Live the right way This I was told WAS the ONLY way.
3 weeks after my birthday, when I turned 8. Dunked under the water. All dressed in white.
Blessed and praised. Given the Holy Spirit. Do I promise to remember? Jesus name? I did. And unknowingly, I took on a lifetime of shame.
In one moment. Suddenly Unworthy was I. Because I grew up. No more precious girl was I.
I was responsible and to blame. For the things you did. And the things I said. For being a human. Having a body.
“The flesh is carnal.” “The flesh was weak.” “Not to be trusted.” “An enemy to God,” That’s what they told me.
Best to pray twice a day Everyday Don’t forget! I’m no longer pure It was now my burden I was now my cross To pray for forgiveness. For every sin.
And even if I had a bad thought, I was told I was already a sinner. I had already sinned.
But if Jesus died and paid for my sin? Why so much repentance? Why so much sin? Why so much prayer? Confessing? Needing forgiveness?
I believed them. And doubted myself…my own questions.
I was just a child. So I spent so many nights. Pleading on my knees. God, please forgive me. Can you love me, please?
But at church, they told me God always loved us. That Jesus was loving. Jesus loved me. He loved us (except if you’re gay, it’s a BAD sin to be gay)
“You must pray. And ask for God’s forgiveness. And be sorry. And he will forgive. If you ask in his name” That’s what they would say.
So why do I feel, Feel so much shame? Feel so much fear? Feel so much blame?
Just wanting to hide myself. I must be doing something wrong. I must be a bad girl. What if I’m just WRONG?
You must tell God you’re sorry In the morning ask for his help And repent for all You will do today.
And at night say you’re sorry. For all, you did wrong. Make sure you do it right. You do want to go to heaven, right?
Because you’re human. You can’t be perfect. No matter how hard you try. But it’s still important. Important you try.
And so began the anxiety. So began the OCD. I had to be perfect. To keep shame at bay. I wanted to go to heaven. Didn’t want to go to hell.
Sadly all it did was feed. The monster of shame. Shame became my name. A living hell.
This fucked up religion. Fucked up my mind. Fucked up an innocent child. Fucked up my brain. Fucked up my life. Because I see now how it has impacted everything. All of my life.
A warped sense of self. A warped sense of being. A damaged core. A broken-down being.
No wonder I struggled with low self-esteem. And see myself as wrong. Constantly hiding.
Hiding from being seen. For the wrongness I am.
As I write this now, I am 32. Five years from the religion. And still this milieu.
All I see is a little girl. All in white. Sitting on a chair. Innocent. Yet locked in a room. With her hands in her hair.
So much confusion. Confusion in her head. Sometimes she just wishes. Wishes she were dead.