5/03/2004 | Share this article:sent in by Marie
I grew up believing I was cursed because I didn't have faith. No matter how hard I tried to believe, no matter what I tried, my situation never improved. I envied those around me who could blindly put their faith in god. I wanted and needed someone or something to help me deal with my life.
My father, raised in a devout Catholic family, was a pedophile who made my life a living hell. I would tell people later that my father did not believe in god, he believed in hell. While he was engaged in his abuse he would often say he was going to hell anyhow, so he might as well have fun. My mother was not much better. British, and raised in the pseudo-catholic ambiance of the Anglican church, she was violent and given to jealous rages and psychotic breaks.
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