I’m not religious at all. I had gone to a Catholic school for elementary school and half of my middle school life till I finally transferred to a public school. At the Catholic schools I learned a lot about the religion, memorized almost every part of the bible, sang psalms of praise in church, read in church, prayed every day, got confirmed, and promptly came to the realization that all of it was complete bullshit.
At first I prayed. I prayed every day to Mary, Joseph, God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, hell even St. Francis, but no one answered. And at every mass I clung to every word the pastor would say at the sermon and heard some things that blew my mind with how ridiculous it was and other’s that didn’t help me in the least. Every mass was the same: “Be a follower of Jesus and you will find eternal happiness.” Well all of elementary school I tried to be a faithful follower of Jesus. Of course that was a bit hard considering my circumstances (if you have not read my story it is the first blog post on this blog). I prayed every day for my father to get better and go back to the good father he used to be, or for someone to please get me out of there, but nothing ever happened. I had to stay there and take every blow so my little brother wouldn’t have to and where was my God? No where.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t have hope. Yes, I lost it along it the way to healing from the experiences I’d been through. I had cut, tried committing suicide multiple times, got into some bad situations, my grades plummeted, and in high school I thought I was getting better. But no. After my first love and I broke up I went right back down hill. I stayed single, but I went to the kinds of parties you only see in those crappy stripper club types of movies where drugs were being passed around, couples were making out, and loud music was everywhere. Yeah, that was my scene Junior year.
Senior year I started smoking cigarettes, but I found the love of my life. God I adore him to this day. I was able to talk to him about everything that had happened with my father, every fight my mother and I had, when the rest of the family discovered who my father really was my fiancé was there and listened to me blubber the entire time. He held me when I cried, laughed when I laughed, and understood when I needed him to understand. He’s tried multiple times to get me off cigarettes and it’s worked, but I always went back to them, and he never stopped trying. He never gave up on me.
Which is why I believe in hope. Because of him I was able to get better in less than a year verses the many trained therapists I’d had in the past. If you ever find someone who will never give up on you, don’t ever EVER give up on them.