I want to tell you to go to hell for what you’ve done. I want you to feel just an inkling of the pain you’ve caused countless men and women. The lives you’ve destroyed. The motherhood you’ve pressed on women who weren’t ready. The trauma that no one should have to experience. You are the reason I’m afraid to leave the house. Afraid to wear leggings. Afraid to wear makeup. Afraid to be nice to boys, to take compliments with a smile, to tell people that I believe in myself and to not be ashamed of that! I want to have a window into hell where I can see you burning.

But I can’t.

Not because you deserve redemption. Not because I think she asked for it. Not because what you did was right or good in any way.

But because that kind of hatred makes me like you, and I can’t do that.

I want you to repress those feelings until they’re squashed. I want you to recognize that your desires are evil and disgusting, and you need to seek professional help. That’s not a joke, therapy works wonders and I support you. I want you to get better. I want to see you weeping at the feet of your victims in honest regret. I want you to fall on your face in front of the Lord and beg for forgiveness.

I want him to give it to you.

I want you to walk the earth a changed man. I want you to leave your past behind. I want you to recognize these women, these men, these children, do not deserve yours or anyone else’s hands on them. That’s their decision. Never anyone else’s. I want you to defend those in need. Walk girls to their cars, stand up to the douche harassing that girl. Tell the people who talk down on themselves how beautiful and loved they are. Be an emblem of redemption. Be better than what the devil wants you to become. I believe in you.