I don't want to blog, but it's better than screaming.

I'm a self-proclaimed Christian. Which means I go to church, I lead bible studies, I pray with my kid brother at night. It's great. Love it. Or at least I did, until I came to grips with the fact that it makes me hate myself.

I'm not knocking Christianity. The idea that God--that anyone for that matter--would love a group of unabashed sinners enough much to sacrifice himself is beyond me. It's a beautiful concept: he sacs himself, we sac ourselves for him, everyone gets pie. But it's just that that's the problem: You can't make a perfect whole out of imperfect parts. No matter how much I try, I will always be not at the standard that I should be. I will never walk as I talk. I will never be true to my word. So long as I am Christian. And that thought is stifling. STIFLING. To the point that I want to deny a large part of my life as just some sick delusion of grandeur.

I mean, I guess that's how it is. But there's a part of me that is clinging to it like a lifesaver. Part of that is that I want to be good, healthy role-model for my younger brother, as well as for all the lil guys at church. Part of it is that I have never felt a high like the one I have shouting His name in triumph. But the other half screams at me that any mentoring I will do will be false, that any triumph is not mine to take.

With all of the voices, it's so hard to find my own.