A Letter

Dear religious people,
Standing outside the Humanities building with giant signs saying "GOD HATES SIN" and a giant picture of an aborted fetus isn't making you seem tolerant. It's definitely not making me like you any better.

I have a plan though. I stumbled across a picture of Freddie Mercury with a unicorn a few weeks ago. I'm going to make that into a giant sign (because seriously, who doesn't like Freddie Mercury and unicorns?) and then go stand in Library Mall holding that sign and yell about how if you have an abortion it's no biggie or if you're gay it's all good. You're not going to hell for making a mistake or being yourself. I'll yell that everyone can believe whatever they want and I won't hold it against you. I may want to have intelligent conversations about it, but I definitely won't call you stupid or evil or any other nonsense.

I'm sick of the churches and religions making everyone so afraid. It's why I left that life. Most of my childhood, I only pretended to believe in the Lutheran teachings because I was terrified of spending an eternity burning. Who thinks it's a good idea to scare children into mindlessly believing something with the threat of SUFFERING FOR ETERNITY?! How does anyone raised in that mindset come out normal? I'm so glad I made it out alive.

I'm not saying it's a bad thing to believe all that stuff. Each person deserves to do whatever makes him or her happiest. But raising your children like that isn't letting them decide what will make them happy. It's telling them that this one thing should make them happy and if it doesn't, there's something wrong with them.

That's what I thought. I thought there was something wrong with me because I never really felt that connection that everyone else seemed to feel. I never had those instances when I knew God was watching over me. And as I grew up and went through being mercilessly teased by everyone in my class throughout grade school, becoming depressed, talking about suicide with the only person in the school that would talk to me, and then going to high school and becoming even more depressed and alone and helpless, my lack of connection with God became even less. When I reached out for help, do you know what they told me? They didn't tell me there was something wrong with the chemicals in my brain. They didn't tell me that I needed to see a professional for help.

They told me to pray.

So I did. Every. Single. Night.

I sat on my floor in my room. I cried. I begged. And you know what I got in return? Nothing. No one ever helped me. No benevolent being saw my suffering and decided it was enough, decided that he should reach out to a helpless little kid. I had to get myself out of that alone. I was all on my own.

So before you invade my campus with disgusting signs and call me a heathen, maybe you should try to think about my perspective. I know I'm not the only one who has a story like that. And it makes me dislike you even more when you judge me without even thinking about where I've been.

With love,
Syd