My mother was mentally ill and abusive. Also a crazy Catholic. I remember when I was 3, we had this kind of special edition of Sunday school at our house – the other kids in the class were there, with my mother and a Sunday school teacher. We read some of those Bible stories, and I can still remember how I thought (at 3), “They’re nice stories.” But I never, not ever, for one second believed them. Also because by that time, I probably couldn’t have articulated it at that age, but I had realized that literally everything my mother said was a lie.
I never believed, not ever, not for one moment.
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