I Don’t Believe in God.

Chrisianity ruined me.

How sick and twisted is it that I was conditioned to believe I am inherently the worst person on the face of the earth? That I am born “bad”? That I am to live in the constant fear that I am going to literally burn in a perpetual fire if I make a mistake or mess up or get it wrong?

How sick and twisted is it that I was conditioned to believe if I pray hard enough my problems would go away? That God would hear me?

He fucking didn’t.

He didn’t hear me because he was never there.

I showed up for Him every fucking time, though. Every single one.

And He didn’t do anything…

He didn’t do anything.

Nothing.

He didn’t do anything because he was never there.

I did, though. I prayed. For everything, for everyone, for myself. I sacrificed my time, my energy, my fucking life to and for God.

And He didn’t do anything but watch me suffer.

He didn’t do anything but watch me suffer because he was never there.

he didn’t show up… But I did.

I did because I am here, and I have to live in this state of mental torture every single day of my fucking life.

I am heartbroken for myself.

What if I wasn’t conditioned to believe I fucking killed Jesus?

What ifs…

So what does that make this?

Do I consider it pure joy? Do I LITERALLY fucking count this all joy, my brothers and sisters?

That’s the rule in the Bible.

But is that the rule for me?

Is it the rule for me to be OVER FUCKING JOYED that there’s absolute misery in my never-ending depression?

Because if it is, I’m going to have to say it’s absolutely vile that God would demand that of me.

I’m going to have to say “considering it pure joy.” is not for me. And I’m sorry to and for myself that I ever, even for a second, thought it was.

But, “considering it pure joy…”, that’s for fucking ME.

I am choosing that for ME. Because I made it this far without God. Despite God.

I made it this far because I chose to do so.

That was MY choice… Not fucking God’s.

It was my choice…

Because he was never there…

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