The last time I prayed was in Notre Dame.
In truth, I hadn’t prayed to God for some time before that, my compulsive habit ceasing sometime during my treatment for depression and self-harm. I ended up in therapy that time by accident; mum walked into my room, and I didn’t have time to hide the cut and burn marks tracking up my thighs. She made me dress and forced me into the car. While going sixty along the back roads of town, she told me about my father’s abuse at the hands of the church. How his behaviour wasn't my fault, that it wasn’t anything I did that caused him to start drinking and abusing. How I should stop,