Sometimes I look back and think I was the only one who actually believed the Bible.

My parents didn't drill it all into me. I read the scripture and I took it seriously. I believed that slipping up and winding up in eternal torment was something that could happen to me. I believed that lusting after someone else without marrying them was a sin like adultery. I believed with every fiber of my being, that everyone who rejected the word of God would never see the kingdom of Heaven. And that knowledge drove me insane. If I could have, I would have forced my religion onto everyone and under the descriptive framework of viewing the world that I was taught, it would have been to their own benefit.

I put myself through years and years of shame and guilt because all the adults were telling me that Jesus died for my sins, that he bled on a cross over me fighting with the other kids or whatever. They were omnipotent from my point of view as a child, they provided everything that sustained me and could do whatever they wanted. I have not learned how to stop feeling so guilty at the time. I can't forgive myself for anything, even things I would forgive someone else for in a second. I hate myself more than anything else in the world.