You know, a aspect of my religious trauma that I have only recently begun to understand is the genuine anger that I feel at those who join a restrictive religious group later in life or return to the practices.
I wasn't consciously aware of this until recently, but I think I understand it now. My inner child is angry that someone would seek out the hell we so desperately struggled to escape from.
I didn't mean to be angry. I know there are good religious groups out there. Just another interesting aspect of religious trauma.
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I Grew up going to sunday school, youth groups and vbs (I begged and cried not to be sent to vbs every year). I went to a culty christian school for eight years (I was forced to go in middle school), I did high school online because my family didn’t want me at a public school for fear that I’d “get in with the wrong crowd”. The only boy I was ever really in love with his parents wouldn’t let us date and I lost most of my friends when I started doing school online because “I was “becoming too worldly”. So yeah now as an adult I don’t know where I fit into this world or how to live because I never really experienced life and now that I can I have so many issues I don’t know how.
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I Am Eve’s Child
I’m not a woman, but I’m still Eve’s child
In a way that a cis man could never be.
For just like how Eve reached out for knowledge and freedom,
I always find myself reaching,
Grasping,
Clawing at air.
And when I finally take the fruit and eat,
There’s always a man who tells me that I’ve done something wrong.
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A moldable body
God hides in a small corner of my room
where I've washed off the water of the womb
bare beneath a nightgown —
fracture of a tooth when I bite down
and it multiplies under the weight
like the endlessness of a vein as I wait
following pathways of decay I carry within
family bloodline spiders underneath my skin
my hands a chain link of my father
mere definition of their fragmented bother
written down on a torn regrettable note
and it's lodged in my throat
curvature of my mouth like a missed uncle
unreachable for a young girl
in dreams I'll never be the same as me
shame in the bend of a knee
in my sleep I've severed the limb in two
the tissued scar tried and true
sharpened nails on the exposed bone
the unfamiliarity of my own
childless at the table beside the narrowed eye
watched and covered by a multitude lie
— I've barely known the elder
where there's no love found to be tender
they say to grow it takes a village
I'm covering my corner with all their spillage
and the vein will close as an old wound opens
like an angel going through the motions
watching from my shoulder
the scarred tissue never feels older
God never granted me that sword to swing
and I became a horrid thing —
no weapon to yield and no weapon to steal
made a body destined to heal
the length of my fingers digging into flesh
brought upon the blood still so fresh
broken bones sharpened to a knife
held only to protect a life —
be it seeping from mine or my neighbor
bending under family labour
lonely creature left beneath this decay
hardened eyes watching the rot wash away
molded by God's pressing thumb
I feel how my nerve endings have gone numb
until all my fight's revealed —
my God given right hand to yield
through the sharpened teeth and leather skin
where once my softness would have been
in the set of a jaw and the slit of familiar eyes
the angel inside my body the same size
I am still who I was before
in the light crawling underside the door
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Does anyone else just feel an overwhelming sense of frantic fear and sadness that you'll never get back the time you lost?
I lost so many years to mental illness and religious trauma. What could I have done, what dreams could I have achieved if I hadn't had all those horrible experiences?
I wanna make a difference in the world, but sometimes I truly believe that I'm nothing at all. I'll just be some mediocre person who does mediocre jobs and then dies. I just feel such an overwhelming sense of jealousy for people who got the chance to do things, to chase their dreams. I feel like I've lost so much.
I guess that's what makes it so hard to follow younger celebrities or writers. I see people having such amazing experiences, and I can't help but wonder what my life would have been like without the trauma and mental illness that followed it. I know it's not too late, but even now I'm still inhibited by mental illness in a lot of ways. And it really makes me hate myself.
I feel very alone.
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if i believe you by the 1975 is the religious trauma song. like
“if i believe you, will that it make it stop? if i told you i need you, is that what you want?”
oh man chills. it cuts right to the core of it. i used to feel so angry with god all the time. i remember pleading, asking to not be angry with me for wanting to leave the church. i was so bitter over the life i had been given. i spat out “is that what you want” i was young and afraid that of what my life would become if i left it all behind. i wanted to believe but i just couldn’t live like that anymore.
this was my song to god
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I've been thinking about religion recently. Maybe it’s more correct to say: it’s been rare for me to spend a day this last year not thinking about religion. Why are religious people so corrupt? Always berating and rebuking. Chiding and reproving. Sentencing good people to hell.
I thought Christ was the judge?
The most devious lie is crafted almost wholly by truth.
Inconsistent hypocrisy masked by the glory of God? You cannot hide your sin. And most of you don’t even see it. Is faith blind or blinding? Is your behavior forgiving or obsessive? Do you follow the character of Christ or the carnal part of the duality of man?
I once learned that Mormons are less harsh than Catholics. Catholics believe in HELL. But now I see that there are scrupulous Mormons and hopeful Catholics. My dad taught me that people who leave their congregation are lazy. I have found that many are seeking truth.
—fishskeleton
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