December 3, 2014
I would be killed for writing this. Would it be touchy to even say i would be crusified? Yeah? Okay.
As I'm writing this, I am contemplation whether writing down my thoughts will make them anymore real. But will it? Truely, if when I'm done acting on my creative impulses I can get out my lighter, and burn this Godforsaken paper up, engulf it in flames like I will ultimately be for thinking this- for writing this- its not okay in my situation, not okay.
Let me start off by saying this, I'm 14 years old and I'm critically ashamed with what I'm going through, to be honest, it's very normal; from what I've read- a simple prayer will suffice, and I'll be back in the House of the Lord and singing gospel tracks to old people and serving soup to homeless on Sunday. But this is different, I've been raised on this- this religion called Christianity- and God is my savior and all that jazz, that's not me, for years that hasn't been me.
When I go to church it feels so fake, I hate it, the overall vicinity of the fucking church kills my insides, like I'm going to implode and it fucking sucks. When I hear my mom or grandmother talking about how I need to go to church, my insides churn, a physical reaction to being in my so-called in-between.
Welcome to my hell, the religion of in-between.
