My diary.

7. Passcode: colour

Hi Avy,
Passcode: colour
Today was horrible. I thought life was bad before. Now it is hell. You should have seen the ceremony. In my honour. To celebrate me.

I have never been more appalled. There were so many candles. So many white clothes. But I was made to wear black. Since I was still full of darkness. I held a dark blue almost black candle. Everyone else's was bright white.

Someone wheeled me towards the 'altar'. Here, things happened. I was made to recite from their books. Books of repentance and acceptance. Vows. Oaths. There was even blood. I had to cut my palm and shed off my 'dark' blood.

I was made to drink a horrible fluid. To remove the rest of my sinfulness. It burned. It was sour and it burned like acid.

Then I was sprinkled with something resembling blood all too much. And lots of cleansed water.

And then I had to lay down prostrate as I received the church elders blessings.

For the first time in forever I cried. In public. I felt so horrible. So dirty. So unclean.

Those rituals. How could they call it a church? It was not. It isn't. None of those things are real. They're cultic. Not Biblical. So I cried.

They thought it was in repentance. In humility. But it was not.

I let out my pain. I let out all those years of anger. And in all that lost doctrine my real vow was, I would end this.

I will end it all. I will stop this lie. I will.

Well, Avy, I did something today.

I prayed. Like real prayer. Not my usual angry rant towards God. I prayed. I even humbled. And I felt so much better afterwards. Like it was not so bad. Like I could do it.

In my honour, we had special dinner. My favourite meal. It was well cooked. By Mary and another lady from church.

I tried to enjoy it as much as possible. I could not. These people are genuinely lost. And they do not even have an idea.

I ate a big portion. And smiled as honestly as I could. I needed them to love me. They have to. Because am all they have. Am all their hope. Am their only chance. At salvation.

We sat and talked well into the night. We shared stories. Of happy pasts. Of love. Of hope.

Mary told us about her family. They left her. Because her husband accused her of adultery. To cover his own infidelity. The church took her in.

Amara told us her story too. She was divorced too. Because she could not bear children. She lost three pregnancies. And couldn't conceive afterwards. So, she was kicked out. And the church welcomed her. Comforted her. Mended her.

The church. It was like a lifeline. To all this broken people. How could they see its wrongness? When it mended them? Or so they see it.

How I see it. The church feeds from their weaknesses. It makes them feel strong. It deceives them with a false sense of hope. And its all up to me to find the core. And tear it out.

Till next time Olive. Stay safe.

Next passcode:

Flower.

Love,
Mill.