Apostata

Being religious without knowing. Living your whole life thinking those values overflowing all around you are not a part of who you are.

Realizing you were as religious as everybody else. That fear and guilt were the power tools that ruled your life. That love and pain were the same thing.

Going through life with that realization. Not caring. Breaking out not being worthwhile. Just do your time.

And then not being able to endure it anymore. Becoming an apostata of a religion you never professed. Forced into you since before you were conceived. That you never acknowledged. That was always a part of you.

Becoming an apostata: a freed slave.

Breaking out of imposed duties. Of mindlessly wandering about. Of only answering to fear and guilt. And in the process, breaking yourself apart. Broken, to begin with, but the amalgam that precariously kept you together couldn’t hold it any longer.

After so long, being able to pick up the pieces. To put yourself together again. To love yourself, maybe for the first time. Owning your values. By decision.

Choosing to leave some pieces on the floor so they are not a part of you anymore. Fear. Guilt. And their minions, manipulation, victimization, disrespect.

The process is long and maybe never-ending, but the process is the point.

Leaving open wounds. Hurting and bleeding. But also healing and scarring. The wounds finally clean. Not infected anymore.