Irhaboggle Pride (2022) Gaylor Swift's Version

Clean

It should've been triumph, liberation, pride, but all Cora felt was hollow misery. To be fair, though, she'd been living in such a state of anxiety, and then depression, that the life was sucked out of her. It was gone. Just gone. Maybe the storm was over, but the skies ahead were still just an endless shade of gray. She was so burnt out that now she was dying of a metaphorical thirst.

It was months and months of back-and-forth, trying to reconcile her sexuality and decide whether it was good or bad, natural or something she should try to change. It was months and months of back-and-forth, trying to reconcile religion and decide whether it was something she had to follow for the sake of her immortal soul, or if it was just a tool to keep people in line, whether by fear, guilt, determination, or love.

Perhaps one of the worst parts was that despite going through so much turmoil, there were no scars she had to show for it. Who would believe her? She never had the courage to self-harm, even in her darkest moments. But even if nobody could see it, religion still hung over her mind like a wine-stained dress. All the communion and salvation, the forgiveness and prayer, had not changed her sexuality one bit.

Even worse, though, through it all, she felt as though she'd lost part of herself as well. She was just as unable to find her old self as she was unable to find a newer, purer sexuality. She felt more like a lost sheep than ever before, but this time, there were no shepherds to guide her home. She hung her head. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she lost the war.

The gray sky turned black in a perfect storm. The light of God's sun was no longer shining down upon her. Instead, rain came pouring down, but as she finally allowed tears and sobs to harmonize with the rain and thunder, she could finally breathe. In the blurriness of the rain and the tears, that was when she could finally see. Even if she was Nothing, at least she knew it. In that, there was Something.

The next day was just like the last, which was just like the last, which was—How long had it been, living in this endless shade of gray? She couldn't remember exact dates. She just remembered the summer when she first heard someone rationalize why homosexuality was an abomination. Even if it was ludicrous to everyone else, from that particular Christian perspective, it made perfect sense, and that terrified her.

"Just abstain and be single forever!" they said. "Prove your devotion to God by never giving in. It'll show him how much you want to be with him, even more than you'd want to be with a female lover."

But I didn't want to be with God...I just wanted to escape Hell...But if I can't even fool myself, I know I can't fool God. He knows my heart. I can pretend, I can be celibate, but I'll spend my whole life still wanting...Pascal's Wager is a losing bet every single time.

In her desperation to flee the flames, she ran right into them, and the drought that followed was the very worst. The only water during that time was salty, her tears of remorse and inability to change herself. Then, finally, she was forced to let go, to fall from grace and into Hell. She let the flames wash over her until there was nothing left but ash and dust that covered her whole room.

Now, she let water rush in, sweeping away her Bible and crosses, her Pride flags and unsent love letters to the girl back home that she had a crush on. The water filled her house, her eyes, her lungs, and as it rushed in, she began to cry again. Just like every time before it, no one heard a thing. In the past, she muffled her sobs, refusing to let anyone hear. That was the rule: don't burden others with your problems.

Now, though, they just wouldn't understand. What even was she? A gay Christian, yes, but one who certainly was not proud in her queer identity. So a homophobic gay Christian. But even that wasn't quite right, because she didn't hate or fear homosexuality. Her heart ached for it, and for all her loved ones whom she feared would burn with her because they didn't see homosexuality as a sin. She was the only one who did, even though she hated it more than anything. So what was she?

She felt nothing up the utmost concern and protectiveness for other queer people, but with God and His Holy Word looming over her like storm clouds threatening to break and strike her down at any second, what could she do except believe that homosexuality was a sin and the unrepentant homosexual would suffer forever for it? But...that hardly seemed fair.

Why would God Almighty, Master and Creator of All, set up a system like that? What did anyone stand to gain from it? Even in the most optimistic outlook, it seemed as though precious few queer people would actually be scared straight (or at least abstinent) after all the sermons threatening Hellfire. Other than that, though, what was the point of it all? To test them? Weren't there any other ways God could do that?

Now Cora was sure that even if homosexuality was not a sin, she'd surely be sent to Hell for questioning God so much. For getting angry at him for either organizing a system this broken, or for allowing people to think he organized a system this broken. If it was true that homosexuality was fine, why didn't he make that clearer? Why not come down and help his persecuted people? Where, and why, was Heaven hiding?

But as the rain came pouring down Cora's face, she felt as though she was washing away not just her sins, but her virtues as well. She was banishing Satan and God both from her life. She didn't want horns or a halo. She didn't want the Light of God's Holy Flame, or of the Light-bearer's Hellfire. She wanted no part on either side of the war, the wrong side of Heaven or the righteous side of Hell. Eventually, it seemed as though every last trace of religion, good and bad, sinful and saintly, was gone. She was wiped clean, a blank space. Nothing and Something.

But even after 10 months free from her toxic, cyclical way of thinking, just because she no longer partook in religion or queerness, that didn't mean she didn't miss and long for it. Old habits were hard to break, and even harder to forget, even once the temptation was over. But she was also 10 months older and wiser. She would never go back, either to Pride or to God. Now that she was free, she would never risk falling back into that addictive and trapped mindset ever again.

In her absence, the flowers that she'd grown from and with herself died of thirst. Then, rain came pouring down. While she was sobbing and gasping, that was when she could finally breathe, finally see. Her tears watered the parts of herself that she nearly killed, and by morning, gone was every trace of everything until she was finally clean, finally free.

AN: Trivia facts, if anyone's interested:

I actually did use this song when I was in the same headspace as Cora, so this is basically a nonfiction story tbh.

It also happened the year I first started listening to TS. It was 2016 when I decided to work my way through her discography, and I randomly chose 1989. Now here we are, 6 years and 9 albums (I'm all caught up now, LOL) later.