I’ve struggled to be a good girl because I don’t wanna end up in hell. I struggled because I don’t wanna be good to start with. I feared all the monsters and raging flames they described hell to be. It was fear instead of sanctity most of the time and it still is. Now, I don’t even know if the existence of hell is plausible. I’d rather fear the pitfalls of being alive. There is this thin line between fearing death and being ecstatic of finally knowing what’s there after the last bubble of consciousness bursts. And when I’m at peace with myself, I gracefully embrace the truth that I can be dead now- and that it’s completely okay.