Hate/Anger Feels Good.
In my Catholic primary school (age 6-12) in the 80ties, in a small town, I was bullied by teachers and students. Somehow they knew they could get away with it. Or it was worth the risk. I never did figure out why I was a target. Because I was neglected, neurodivergent, stupid, ginger, weird eye contact, selective mutism,...? I think the reason I never believed in God (except when I am psychotic) was because the people preaching it didn't act like God was watching. One day another poor looking child who had the shame of living with her grandparents, peed her pants in class. I now realize she didn't ask the teacher to go pee, because she was afraid of her. The children thought it was the event of the year. During recess, they were talking about how stupid and evil the girl was. Just like Jesus intended. They tried to involve me in the celebrations, and I felt it: hate. Hate for the girl. And it feels exciting and powerful. But as the black sheep of the class, I didn't trust t...