My father's parents were fundamentalist protestants, my mother's father an extremist catholic (my mother's mother died long before I was born). I wish I'd never met them. But I did. I loved them. I've watched them destroy themselves, living lives of agony in the name of Christ. Instead of sleeping, reading the Bible crying and self-reproaching early in the morning. Every morning, for decades. Or condemning whatever the catholic church disliked as sin. Obeying whatever some cleric bastard told them. Believing that any joy would make them go to hell.
They taught me to believe. Thinking they were doing it for my soul. Taught me about all this crap about guilt and all that shit. I loved them, and they loved me. But their greatest belief was Christ, and so they believed their love required making sure I believed the same. Making sure I felt guilt about anything I did.
Their love meant passing over the self-destruction and misery to me. I love them for wanting the best for me, but I hate them for trying to infect me with this sickness. I can't blame them, they were indoctrinated. But it's not easy to accept.
I cannot rest until this pestilence is purged. But I know it won't. Thankfully there's one way to get rid of this horrible disease once and for all. Thank God for that.