Let me get what I want...(ON GOING)

In this stupid camp (bradley)

Am I supposed to be happy? They never tell us.

I read my chapters to myself, tearing up.
"Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman: that is detestable. - Leviticus 18:22."
"So let's purify ourselves from everything that makes the body or soul unclean. - Corinthians, chapter 7."

I write them down in a journal...repeating, repeating, repeating. I take a deep breath

"When will I be normal?" I whisper, I go back to my bed sitting down with my knees up to my chest and holding my arms. My head lowers on my knees.

I've had a couple of friends in this camp, well not really. We just talk from time to time, though the only thing we say is Bible verses. Unfortunately, I've never had a real conversation with someone before. One day, someday I'll find the woman of my.... Nevermind.

I've seen kids hang themselves in this camp. Sometimes, I think. Maybe I'll meet them, their free, or burning in hell. It's not like God loves me, he wouldn't love a faggot. Not even like.

I see a sharp object on the ground, no I shouldn't. God would be angry. But it's not like he cares... I hate being like this, trapped, forced, confused. It's annoying.
I hate myself. I wish I could change the time when I didn't say anything.

I hate myself so much, I hate the way I feel. If I could just be happy if I could just see the way God wants me to be.

Oh.

Blood spills down to my fingers, I didn't even notice. The sharp object in my right hand.

What is wrong with me?

My furiousness turned into regret, miserable guilt. Does God know how many times I've cried for him?

It hurts, but you have to feel pain to evolve right? It's the pain that makes you stronger. But I feel so weak, maybe the more I do it the less pathetic I'll be.

After some time I have 6 lines across my upper arm. I'd never let them see it on my forearm.

It stings

I hide to bloody blade under my bed and rush towards the bathroom. I wash off the scarlet-colored pain, the weakness falls down the drain.

Grabbing a paper towel and wiping off the excess guilt. Walking back to my room I felt a sense of longing, not knowing what it is. As I grab a bandaid and place it over my cuts I think to myself is anything real?
am I real?
God please, help me.

It's 12 everyone is either crying, asleep, about to hang themselves, cutting, or running away.

It's the same, and at this point I'm unfazed. My dreams are the only thing that makes me happy. I don't think anybody is going to save me, not even God.

I fall asleep, peacefully dreaming. In an open flower field with a guy holding me close. If only I could just, have what I want.

I hate being confused.

-501