i wrote a thing about faith and rocks and girls and home, inspired by the a-camp personal essay workshop with rachel fucking kincaid.
the summer after i turned fifteen i was young and angry and betrayed by god, but i’d still go to youth group every week. i’d spend the week arming myself with the worst and hardest passages i could find and i’d read them out loud on wednesday nights, defiant like bullets. i was trying to pierce holes in the faith my friends wore like armor, or maybe i was hoping that someone would help me find a god that loved me again. either way, it was really putting a strain on my friendship with b.
b. was not my best friend in that way that she absolutely was my best friend but i wouldn’t admit it because i knew i would never be hers. i kept going to church three times a week for almost two months after i stopped seeing the god we both worshipped as a benevolent father and started seeing him as a sick fuck, a fact which is a testament to both my weird masochistic instincts w/r/t betrayal and my affection for b. she was my church friend; i never saw her anywhere else.
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