Don't Tell me God is There

Dear diary, 

I hate this. I hate my life. For some reason, my dad is desperate to marry an ableist, crazy religious, ignorant piece of shit. She’s not a piece of shit because she’s religious. Hell, my dad still is. I used to be before my diagnosis and mom dying. But he just got married to Rose Weltze, now Rose Carson. She’s a bitch. I hate her. She’s one of those crazy religious fools that thinks autism is a disease, like cancer, and needs to be cured like we’re all sick. I say we because I need validation to believe I’m still autistic sometimes. Rose forced my dad to pull me out of therapy, and despite a diagnosis, she refuses to believe I’m actually autistic. It’s currently the night of Christmas Eve, and I have a feeling she’s got one more thing to use in order to piss me off before my favorite (well, not now) holiday. She’s already forcing us, and her annoying daughters to come to this church with her tomorrow. I hate church. It’s the church that’s a part of my Christian Academy. Somehow, after Mom died, Dad would let me skip Sunday church. It’s bad enough I get the spiritual brainwashing down my throat every day at school, and Wednesday night church. Now Rose is making us all go. 

“Get down here, Taylor!” My dad called me. I trudged downstairs, awaiting whatever lecture I was about to get. Dad’s been completely different, only caring about me getting along with my new family. These girls will never be my family. 

“Hey, bitch.” Ella nudged me into the table. Ella and Lucy were like mini reincarnations of the devil himself. If they weren’t making fun of me for “acting white”, then they were making fun of me for being “too skinny” and “looking anorexic”. 

Yeah, cause it’s not like I get that same shit at school or anything. 

Oh wait - yes the fuck I do! 

My dad doesn’t seem to notice, and Rose could care less. 

Fan - fucking - tastic. 

“Hey, Taylor, how’s your evening?” Rose strode into the kitchen, smirking. 

“Fine. You?” Pretend to be nice. Pretend to be nice. 

“Good. What are you wearing to church tomorrow?”

I showed her a picture of this dres my mom got me a few years back, it was a little shorter on me now, but it was blue, and beautiful. Our favorite color was blue. 

“You’re wearing that? Don’t you think it’s a little…” Her voice trailed off, the judgment in her eyes. 

“It’s church appropriate. Besides, my mom got it for me.” She looked up, like I just cursed at her. 

“It makes you look slutty. I got you girls new dresses, you can wear that.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Are you excited?” Lucy was trying to look over my shoulder at my phone. 

“Who are you texting?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Taylor…” Rose’s voice startled me. It’s like she’s always looking for something to yell at me about. 

“I won’t have you behaving inappropriately. I’ve already set up a meeting for you after service, remember?” 

Meeting? 

“No, what are you talking about?” I shoved my phone into my pocket. 

“To cure you, of course. Darell, you didn’t tell her?” She snapped at my dad.

“Cured?” I was livid. More livid then when I found out they were engaged.

“We’re just trying to help you, dear,” Dad came over to me. “We want you to be happier.”

“I’m perfectly happy, at least I was.” I turned to Rose. 

“For crying out loud, we just want you to be normal!” She screamed. Even my step sisters moved away. 

“Fuck both of you!” I pushed them away and stormed upstairs. 

The old version of my dad wouldn’t agree to this. He’d say I’m fine just the way I am, and just try to get me out of my shell. Rose has been trying to get all of us in beauty pageants for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

As I tried to hold back my tears, I thought of Mom. She was the only one who was actually ok with me being who I am. An emo loving, theatre nerd who likes to keep to herself. 

I knew how Christians thought about people with autism, but I didn’t think I’d see the day where my own dad would be trying it. I spent the rest of my night watching videos of Christian couples going on about vaccines and trying to “cure” their autistic kids through prayer and other random shit like that. And people wonder why I hate religion so much. 

“I miss you, Mom,” I looked at her picture, wishing I didn’t have to pretend. I was religious when I was younger, when she was here. Now? I just have to act. Pretend to care so I can get by. But this is too much. The tears streamed down my face as I changed into my pajamas, preferably something short just to spite Rose. How can someone so awful have a name so… pretty? 

I remember waking up to my parents making breakfast, and then opening presents. We’d spend the day getting ready for my other family to come over. This year? Nothing. I’m ninety percent sure everyone’s just trying to avoid Rose and friends. Do I blame them? Heck no. If I had a say in it, I wouldn’t be here either. I have contemplated living with my cousin Sherry. 

“At least you can move out for college, you’ve always wanted to get out of here.” She told me over Facetime. 

“Yeah, in two fucking years.” I groaned. 

This year would be like none other. Church, no extended family, rehearing the story of  Jesus since “that’s what the original holiday is about”. 

Christmas morning arrived, and I should’ve been excited. I’m not. 

Who would look forward to their family trying to get them to be healed like you have a fucking disease? If anyone in my family was smart enough to actually research, they’d know autism isn’t a disease. I’m not sick. Sure, my social behaviors are different from neurotypicals, but everyone’s acting like I’m a goddamn demon. 

We arrived at church in our ugly dresses, watching as crowds filed in. I recognized way too many people from school for my liking. But there was someone who actually didn’t make me want to jump off a bridge there, Tami Samuels. 

“Hey, Tam!” I hugged her. My step sisters looked like they were about to jump out of their chairs. 

“Hey, if it isn’t my favorite person!” She giggled. She and I were really the only ones we had at school. We were also the few minorities there. We were both black in a strict, religious town that hates our mere existence. 

“Are you gonna be ok, today?” She asked. Her purple hair was curled up for the occasion, drawing looks from the incoming audience. The two of us together? “Social misfits who need prayers” or “Girls who need discipline.” By discipline, we can all pretty much guess what they mean. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna be fine. Like I said, I’m not sick. I don’t need a -” I paused, remembering we’re in a ‘place of worship.’

“Cure. What about you?” She felt the same way about all this religion stuff as I did, maybe even more seeing as her parents have been trying to cure her of her ‘same sex attraction’ for two years now. These people really need a hobby that doesn’t revolve around their kids’ and their personal business. Our lives shouldn’t be a stupid debate. 

“Yeah, we just gotta play the part, right?” We laughed, taking our seats. Rose came and sat right in between us, thinking our friendship was some kind of sin. 

True, cause the worship team preying on most of the girls here, and the casual racism is just fine, right? Somehow we’re drawing the line at mental illness and dress choices? Ok then… 

Dear diary, 

I don’t even want to talk about church. The pastor kept going about Christmas’ true meaning and healing, and repenting our sins and junk. The entire thing rubbed me the wrong way. I could tell it did to Tami too. After was even worse, when the prayers began. It was so invasive, having everyone talk to me like I was five. I’m fucking sixteen, assholes. I just feel like crying, because no one’s ok with me being me. Their stupid prayers didn’t make me feel any different, but I knew I had to be different to get them off my back. Tami invited me to hang out at the skatepark, so I knew I’d have to sneak out. Apparently her family dinner was getting more awkward by the second. Whatever could give me a reason to live, I guess. The adrenaline of disobeying authority was one of the only things I enjoyed. I guess this is what I have to look forward to every Christmas. Hearing stories that don’t make sense about someone who apparently hates me for being me, and I’m going to hell for it. Yay? And my family hates me too. So every Christmas is going to be church, a crappy dinner with foods I don’t want to eat, and then sneaking out to the park to find something that makes me happy. That doesn’t sound like a holiday to me. That just sounds like any other day here. 

Merry fucking Christmas.