pg 28

Once it's past midnight, I sit in silence and stare at my ceiling. I think of praying, I think to pray for good things. I contemplate prayer, yet rarely do. I wishfully think for others, yet cannot bring myself to call out to the universe or heavenly powers. I lay in bed, frozen in a sort of anxiety, a weight in my chest that feels too heavy to bear. I cannot call out. What reason have I to call out to a god I've ignored for so long? 
I cannot count the number of days and nights I've spent in fear, not daring to speak. Not even with my break from Catholicism can I break away from the guilt and shame that's draped over your shoulders upon introduction to the religion. There are times when I think of it less, but there is always a hesitation, a reservation I have with myself - I am a fraud. I cannot look into the eyes of another - I am a fraud. I cross the street on my walk home to avoid the church because I dare not even come near to such a place. I stop and I stare at it and I stand there thoughtlessly. I stand in a sort of awe, like that you might have upon seeing a falling star, and I quicken my pace and run away. 
There is safety in running. I never wish to confront anything directly. I know too much fear. I fear for outcomes both positive and negative - I fear being alive. There is an inherent shame to life itself, and I hide myself in embarrassment for the act of breathing. I hide myself away and hope for god to ignore me. I couldn't take his judgement - whether it was good or bad.