Where every step I took in faith betrayed me…

I’d put a playlist on but hadn’t really been paying close attention. An old favorite from my teen years was playing, though, and the above line leaped out at me.

Every step I took in faith betrayed me.

It might be hard to find another sentence that so neatly sums up my life.

My mom couldn’t have found a religious worldview more perfectly suited to fuck me over six ways from Sunday if she’d tried.

I usually disassociate from my feelings when thinking about this, because I can sense a vast storm of tears, rage and bitterness just on the other side of that disassociation.

It was for nothing. Every step I took in faith was for nothing.

I had faith in my mom and I had faith in her conservative Christian God and the former was lost in her fears and the latter was a figment of the collective imagination of people fearful they’d lose their elevated position in a hierarchy.

There’s no lesson learned here that makes it all worthwhile.

There’s no greater good that happened because of it.

I made choices based on sincere faith and those choices fucked me up. I may have to spend the last half of my life recovering from the first half. I may never recover.

People like to ascribe some greater plan to this kind of situation. Some unforeseen good that can only happen because of the bad.

I take no comfort in platitudes like that. There’s no evidence they’re true.

I’m just not inclined to take that kind of thing on faith any more.

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