My Soul Was Signed To The Devil,
But His Name―Back Then―Was God
My soul was signed to the Devil
But they all called him God
Our Father
Father
So many had claims to it, none I ever cared for
Our Father and some of his children
They were fathers too
*WHAP*
best make sure that’s spelled with a capital H + F
… His children… Fathers, too…
And I
I was born of–
with–
Original Sin
They wouldn’t let me forget it
I fought to repress what was necessary
I developed my own beliefs by looking for the realistic and applicable
By eliminating the worst
Navigating the grays
Listening, Believing my instincts
What I’m trying to say in regards to my current self is that,
I found faith in
Expanding my mind,
Exploring philosophy,
Respecting and Questioning
Science, Authority, Perspectives, and at one point
From praying
I prayed for my soul
As a Catholic, I was told to pray more so God heard when I really needed him
There were times where I knew no one could save me, believing that the only exception was God
Yet his house–
His house
Was never safe for me
Countless of prayers
Cries and misery from “cleansing my soul”
Screams of reality
Unheard
Unloved
Muffled
Left silent
Silence
It’s the hardest lesson I’ve tried to teach myself
Silence has never saved me
Yet it’s how I survived
This little town
People see as nothing in particular
But this little town
Had a little house
Where there was a painting of a Man
And a Woman
They lived just beside this little library
Across from the Middle and High School
And down the block from a playground and some courts
Portraying the ideal nuclear family setting
Though, their full-time, off-stage reality
was slipping out of this ridiculous frame
They were Monsters + Demons, paired
With a little church
Where there were Men of God praying
Preaching the word of their father
They were extended mirrors of the Man + Woman
Monsters + Demons of the night
The day, during the hours when Mass wasn’t scheduled to be full
When they could have been turned to as a safe haven
A place for safety, God, and mercy
I found this red-bricked church
With white columns
In the heart of this town
Just further down the road from that little house
St. Philip’s
To be a mouth to Hell
Maybe just a circle extended from it
Where they believed going below ground level
Would have shielded them from God’s knowledge, his eyes, heart, concerns
As a child
Who couldn’t believe or pray any harder for safety, mercy, an end―
I found my answers from Reality’s harsh, relentless patterns
The one where God never had an answer, nor a response
Nor a clue on how to save me
Where these white robes were only more haunting
Always seeking blood, desire
The greed, gluttony, and lust oozed out of them
And by the time I was eight
My pondering and dedication began to cease
I understood that God wasn’t real
He didn’t bless these men who were sick with their power
The sheer access and abilities they could wield
He didn’t ask for His sons to defile innocence
His word was not to protect those who were merely capable of quoting it
These priests, these deacons, the people that were involved in this circle
Caused an unbelievable amount of trauma, heartache, and misery for myself
My family
My dreams
My future, distant sanity that I worked so hard, deliberately to preserve
I grew up
I found science, assessed a situation before accepting someone else’s word
I searched for patterns, prayed to be wrong and for there to be more in life
Then, I came to understand time
How vast it truly was
I wasn’t sure how long 18 years could feel, but I fought and prayed to find out
I couldn’t get there soon enough
At that time, I saw how well it worked out for me―
Opening my mouth, speaking up for what’s right―
Adults were not on my side, they couldn’t believe me
This
Just this
Was something too unholy, too taboo
To speak of
So I held onto my truth with sealed lips because there was no other choice
No options available
For a little girl, who was never allowed to be a little girl
Who had to think with her mind open, regardless of who was trying to shut it
Where family, church, community; there was no sense for that
It wasn’t real
It was just a craving
A distant desire
So, she removed the distance
Analyzed
Processed
Assessed
“Why do I have to love God unconditionally,
with all of these guidelines, rules, and terms?
These “parents” who wished I didn’t exist?
Why do I have to respect them before myself?
What… What if I just loved myself?
What would happen if I just tried to put myself first?”
That’s when I began my journey to finding independence and freedom.
This is it. Demon III. This is the result of multiple flashbacks, memories flooding in, and the pain of remembering. It’s been a recurring, traumatic loop that I haven’t had the time to address or comfort. The repetition of being taken to this church, even on the surface when I was an altar server, had me rattled, sick to my stomach. I wanted to immediately shout St. Philip the Apostle’s church, a catholic church I was frequently attending, as my third demon. After all of the initial vulnerability, I wasn’t fully equipped to voice more, the parts I knew that lurked in the depths of my closet. Even as I’m writing this, I’m not sure this is the best idea.
Then I think about the fact that I’m not alone.
I don’t write entirely for myself, I can rarely frame it that way. This, like many other steps, isn’t just for my healing. It’s so I can show that naming your demons is healing, even when it’s terrifying, even when you can’t predict the outcome. Revealing the church’s darkness, within this tiny town, is for my younger self. The child who screams and cries in my head so many nights, that crushing sound that has to be hushed in the middle of the day, in the middle of a conversation that’s completely unrelated. They’re screams from a past that I’m tormented by, the ones where I learned I couldn’t even safely release at a certain age. Even if it was one less win they could claim.
I’m writing this for the possibility that there is someone else who was treated so wrong under the guise of “holy and just.” I’m writing for the people who knew themselves before so many others and were constantly forced to see the world in the same light the ignorant did. I’m writing this for the people who had to find the truth, yet were shamed and dismantled from the overwhelming fear of the church.
I remember when I was a child, there was this minuscule moment where I was being myself and I revealed that I didn’t see people as “boys” and “girls.” I saw humans, people capable of love, kindness, and darkness. I saw people who were different in details, but eerily similar, the patterns of personalities that can unfold when you look. I didn’t care if I was a girl who was supposed to like a boy, I thought boys and girls could be cute, sweet, or be down right terrible. That perspective, this minute moment, was one of the biggest mistakes in my life. I opened up to who I was; I thought it could be downplayed as open-minded. Apparently, I was diseased and needed to be cured by Jesus. Of course at the time, I wasn’t going to let anything take me down, I couldn’t let them have that glory or reprieve. It began at home, like all the shades of the abuse, but Jimmy quickly sought out the additional help of God. I know there are too many people, from adults to children still, that have been faced with the grueling reality of not only being shamed out as the outcast, but used as an example for others. Being gay in any variety seems to bring up this unknown terror for a lot of people who are “God-fearing.”
Yes, I’m traumatized now. But they never cured the gay out of me, they just left me wondering if I’ll ever love my whole self, if I can ever put myself, my health first. If you were once a child or an adult that was a victim of the silent crimes that transpired in this church, or any church for that matter: I’m so sorry for what you experienced, but you’re not alone. That fact doesn’t always feel better, but if it’s too difficult to put into words, then I hope I can help you tell a story that you can’t speak about yourself. If you fear for your safety as naturally as sleep, then I hope this can help you find some corner to feel safer in. If you fear for your soul that doesn’t seem to be yours to claim, then let me give you a hand to know that you can. If you want to love God and accept yourself wholly, then let me give you the permission for yourself; you can love yourself for who you are and God will love you still, regardless.
If you think this is a lie, then I recommend you pose your questions in the direction of those who were involved during that time. I expect no one will say yes, but I rather you ask them with the fury from your soul. One of the greatest achievements was when I finally had enough and walked away from the church, even Jimmy couldn’t drag me anymore. It just took me until I was old, strong, and tall enough to fight him―and them―off.
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