I don’t like thinking. I hate it because I cannot control what I think about. Every time, no matter how hard I try I always end up thinking about him. That man. He’s evil. How can someone so devoted to God be so cruel? I just don’t understand so I try not to think about it. He tells me to shut up, that no one can hear me screaming…He’s probably right. If there is a God he doesn’t like me…he can’t like me. Not after all the hell he’s put me through. And I can’t tell my mother. She would never believe me. Pastor Jackson was like a father to her but only if she knew the horrors. Most times after he’s finished with me I start to cry and he calls me a pussy when I do. He calls me a little girl and tells me that I deserved it. But listen to me if you’re a boy and you cry it is not dumb or sissy like, you’re just being a human being. I wish he would just leave me alone. Nobody knows and no one would care anyway. It hurts that I’m trapped in these thoughts and I can’t get out.