I still get those songs stuck in my head

I was raised to be a follower, a believer, but maybe it was my fucked up experiences that kept me from trusting that.

Isn't it a little sick to be grateful?

I was lead to believe that I would be entrusted a holy conscious, a little spirit cricket to guide my decisions with me.

And I wanted it so badly.

I guess I didn't really know how it was supposed to work.

After I got dunked people always asked me how it felt.

How was I supposed to be different. I'd gone swimming a million times. Maybe I was really a mermaid. (You can't baptize a mermaid. I'm sure of it.) I asked my shoulder angel to tell me which way to go home. I didn't want a tree to fall on me or to run into the wrong people. I asked that little voice if I should stay at the park before I went home. No answer? That must mean yes!

I became scared. I was scared of everything it seemed. Easily frightened. The trees were so tall and intimidating. If I ran or rode my bike faster, they couldn't fall on me. There were always teenagers in the park I had to walk through, what if they were going to be mean? How would I know... I'd never gotten a response from the helper I was given from the water when I was 8.

Maybe I'm not like everyone else. Maybe I don't deserve one.

As I grew older and learned more about the gospel, I learned that I should be modest. I followed. It wasn't like my parents were going to buy me anything 'inappropriate' anyway. I had to learn to hide my body. Someone might see it and think I was showing it off. Like he said once, "Girls shouldn't show anything they don't want a guy to touch." I learned t hide really well. Never shorts, even. Only skirts and dresses when I had to for church. I only have the freckles I do because I was a mer-child in the summer time. Almost none on my legs, still.

It was a fight. Everything apart from the supposed strong moral compass I'd learned, I had to unlearn to be comfortable with who I really am, and who I wanted to be. Finding the world out as I started to grow into myself was a harsh and exciting and terrifying experience. Didn't listen to rock until middle school, didn't even get comfortable in tank tops until after high school. Working on accepting my body with all the brainwash of modesty being attractive and anything else being wrong, it was killer.

And as I finally reached my rebellion peak, (yeah, that's right: No church, no before-school seminary, no mid-weekly church activities, and hiking off into the wilderness on my own at church camp) Prop8 came to the voting booths. The church I was raised in donated, openly supported, and preached out against marriage equality.

Last straw.

I didn't go to church after that except for major holidays to respect my parents.

But what did that church do for me?

As a child, It kept me fed, It kept my family together, even if a monster was in it, It kept a roof over our heads, It helped me learn to make friends. And it provided a shortboard to hijack and decorate. And pokemon blankets I found in a storage room. And lots of good rooms for hiding and tag games. And even still, a group of people that will, to this day, always invite me back in, with this crazy hair and these big-ass holes in my ears. And chide me.

I believe that we should make the difference for each other, not for a placement in a space that may never exist. I admire the efforts that religion makes, but it's so much better if we choose it for ourselves because it's the fair, just and caring thing to do. So if someone asks me if I believe in a higher power, my answer is: Who cares. I'm going to make this the best damned world I can, because people don't always hear the word of God, but they will hear someone they trust to talk to.