I grew up Christian, like many other children.

Singing religious songs quite off pitch, believing that God could hear us.

Cheering "Jesus loves me, this I know - because the Bible tells me so"

Thinking we would be protected, because we were young.

But hey, what am I talking about, I felt safe didn't I?

Perhaps for a moment we all were, cradled in the sounds of a melody that now feels rather dead to me.

My Mother, a "devoted" women struggled with many addictions, and I fell into the same trap, and I never blamed her, but when she found out she was so so mad.

My Father, a man "of his word" was raised in a tent with alcohol bottles for parents, and I'm sure he always wondered why God didn't spare him.

Brought up in a storm with no encouragement and always being pushed down by the ones who said they loved them most, cop visits were a tea party at which my Grandfather never spoke.

I'm sure sadness and anger bubble within their memories, because I'm sure they thought their parents didn't see them as anything, and so they turned to a savior, they wanted to be saved, so they prayed like they would be pulled from the grave that their parents pushed them into.

They were teenagers, and yet whenever I ask they always say "we planned you.", but what is that supposed to mean? You intended to raise me inside your steam?

You strangle me with your words, they truly do hurt, I feel so small, like I am nothing at all.

But really, what was I expecting?

I've been told I'm blessed, but if I'm so blessed why am I so done with living, why do my parents ignore the word "depressed"

If God is so caring, why would he injure them so brutally, why would scar them so that they could leave the same scars on me?

If he is so powerful and so righteous, why couldn't he get them to understand they were needed, possibly, if they had seen, I wouldn't feel mistreated, when they call me names and pull at my chains and pretend that nobody else could meet it.

If he believes in me so much then why would he put my father and mother against me, why would he allow them to despise the love I give, or the people in which I'm interested.

For so long, I've suffered the battle on whether God is real and lives, or is only a vague memory beneath all of skins.

Maybe this life is full of sin, but what's the point of being here if every little thing was worth it, if every tiny thing was made to be perfect?

A perfect world is shit.
A God who is consistent is shit.
I don't know if I believe anymore, but if they're out there, I hope they know that I cant handle any more.
I am still a child, they were children, and we can't take anything more, a blow will knock us over, and I have nothing else to say.

                                                -Ariah Christman