#something about associating emotions and safety with religion and then being unable to unwrap the two concepts from each other.

[southernroach]

^^ the og tags for context

holy fuck. you put it into words. this is beautiful, i don't think i've ever cried so hard to something before. i'm struggling to say something back but all i want to say is thank you for your amazing writing.

it's so raw, there's so much anger and desperation in this piece. to have loved something and to watch it get corrupted in that way, i imagine it as a childhood pet that starts to froth at the mouth with sickness.

the image of him struggling to pray and ending up in more of a conversation is devastating to me. it's so much more intimate that way. without all the rules and structures of prayer, it's just roach and everything he left behind. every part of him probably aches to do what he was taught: get on your knees, clasp your hands together, and press your lips to your knuckles like it's a kiss.

he doesn't though. he just lays there till that fight against muscle memory hurts too much and curls into himself. whispering an amalgamation of all the prayers he used to have memorized because he doesn't know any other way. he can't stop himself from flinching when he starts to remember how they go.

at what point does a prayer become him begging? has he ever known how to pray? is it okay to do it, even now that he hates the way god's name tastes in his mouth? the idea of praying to a god that used to be yours is so painful.

and the shame of it all. that bit of fear that prickles the back of his neck everytime there's something vaguely religious. a shadow of a cross, the smell of the incense, the taste of the MRE bread that breaks like chalk in his mouth that reminds him of the ones he used to eat in church. it's a reflex to hide his eyes, it's instinct to turn away. but it's not fair. how can his love be a sin but the church's hatred be gospel?

he refuses the shame. he refuses the guilt. sins don't matter when there isn't a hell to condemn you to anymore. it gets easier.

the bit about the actual buildings of a church are so heartbreaking. it's not the ones that stick out from the other buildings around it, all grandiose like the amount of money they put in is a testament to their faith in god. those he ignores.

but the smaller ones, with creaking steps and small stained glass windows? the kind where the book's spines are all cracked and the corners are either torn or folded? he waits outside.

his god, the one he used to know, lingers in every aspect of his life. and it's because he can't truly let go. he doesn't know how to have faith without the idea of god sneaking in. doesn't know how to pull from the deepest part of himself without using religion as a vessel for it.

he isn't religious anymore but what else carries the same weight?

every time he goes back, it feels like some type of self-flagellation. and hell, isn't that an act for god too?

what’s it called when you grew up religious and then lost your faith but when you or someone close to you is faced with something devastating, the deepest way you try to convey your feelings is through religious acts