Dear Childhood Friend,
I’ve been better off since I’ve cut you out. Granted, life hasn’t has been easy, but I prefer when you’re not breathing down my neck and watching over my shoulder. Hell, you taught me to do the same to myself. But you know what I see now? The hard parts I’ve faced are all part of your design. I’ve figured out the game. And I’m about to rat you out.
You get what you want by creating two places and saying everyone is going to one or the other. Forever. One is torment and the other paradise. Can you show any of it? You reward those who trust blindly because with you, there’s nothing to see.
That’s how you get what you want. They don’t need proof when you’ve made them fear, and you’ve taught your followers some flimsy excuses of why wanting proof is weak. “It wouldn’t mean as much to you if you made it obvious.” “Faith is the evidence of things unseen.” Please. You have nothing to show. You’re the man behind the curtain, hoping no one pulls it back or that your smooth talking will work when they do.
You say to obey, and we did. Because you threatened eternal damnation and scrutiny of community if we didn’t. You tricked me to hate myself before I could even get to know me. As a toddler even, you told me to hate my flesh, distrust my heart, and turn against my instincts. Why? You wouldn’t have stood a chance controlling me if I hadn’t.
You take over and control with every sign of a abusive relationship. I see your eternal death threats, your inability to show proof of your words, demands for all control, unquenchable jealousy (hell, you’ve convinced your people it’s a virtue for you), impossible expectations (keeping your people ashamed keeps them malleable), telling your people to have more faith to buy you time, and with all that you demand, you can’t show your face. Not even once.
You don’t seem to feel bad about what you do. In fact, you told us that you were the only measure of morality. Except I see now that better ones proceeded and came after you. You don’t even denounce rape, you just put a price on it. Consent never touched your lips as you smirk and look away. Women are property in your book. Slavery is okay according to you. And I see how your people look at people like me.
You made it personal when I walked away to be myself. You won my loved ones, telling them to choose you over me or there would be a price a pay. You play dirty. I hold my head high.
I’m better off without you, old friend. I’ll be waiting here to embrace the others who see that too.
Founder of The *Life After
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