How could I love someone who acted so broken all the time, who demanded my sympathy with each scar, each confession, who I didn’t really know? It seemed pathetic, and a little selfish, to mark oneself out for love. To think that God and the people around you would suddenly recognize your worth if you were seen as damaged and admitted it. This was LIA’s currency, the trading of literal and proverbial scars, and I hated
forced indoctrination into the ridiculous realm of religion
