I was just watching another short documentary about the residential schools. There was a vivid description of a catechism class, where the nuns were describing purgatory to frighten children. This reminded me of a time, when someone in my protestant pentecostal church gave me a tape with a weird testimony of a person who supposedly went to hell (either in a dream or a vision or some kind near-death experience, I don’t remember). I remember that I really believed the authenticity of that tape (I must have been around 14) and the story about that person actually seeing what hell was like. I remember being terrified. When I think about it, I remember being terrified for most of my teens. Of course, there was my family situation, my dad being in a hospital and my mom, thin with worry, working 12-14 hours a day and chain-smoking in the kitchen the rest of the time. But the main source of my terror was the belief that the people I love will go to hell, unless I save them and convince them to join the church. I haven’t thought about it for a very long time, but tonight it dawned on me, what a terrible, traumatic burden was placed on me back then. I was a child, a teenager, I was lacking confidence and role models, I was lacking care, not because my parents were uncaring, but because they tried to survive in their own ways. And here I was tasked with saving everyone I knew, lest they burn in hell. Not scared for myself, scared for them. Here I was, frantically praying every night, unsure if God hears, always trying harder. Here I was, overcompensating for everything I believed was wrong with the world. I am still overcompensating. I can’t heal myself without healing that terrified 14-year old, who just listened to that terrible tape. I need to find words to reach her. I still want to save the world, save everyone I love, I just don’t think I want to carry the responsibility for it any longer.