Journal

That Time I Joined a Cult

It started innocently enough.

A friend was going through something rough. She assembled a handful of people who were individually supportive of her but largely didn’t know each other. (Some of them did. I didn’t. I didn’t know anyone but the one forming this rag-tag group.)

We started a group chat and I swear to you, we didn’t make it one fucking day before someone said, “Is this a cult? Are we starting a cult? I think we’re starting a cult.”

And we did. And it’s a good cult. Nay, the best cult I’ve ever been in, and it’s not the first.

It’s a damn fine cult. Let me explain the damn-fine-ness.

Everyone was, of course, supportive of our leader and founder. She formed the cult, so we’re obligated. Also, she’s is a fantastic cook. (I almost wrote “fuck-tastic,” but that sounds sexual. Like, sexual, but in a weirdly aggressive way. Pervy aggressive. I feel a little ashamed even sharing that I almost wrote it because that required writing it, but seeing it there on the page, I have to admit it’s fuck-tastic.)

We love her, our cult leader. We all love her. So OF COURSE we were all supportive of her. But then something I never expected happened.

I had a shitty week. SUPER shitty. I’m really not at liberty to describe the shittiness, but you’ve experienced shit. Use your imagination.

And they gathered, this cult. My first ever group of female friends. They descended on my apartment (or sent their best regards, in the case of those who couldn’t) to support me, too.

And the group chat kept going and now we all kind of support each other, and tonight those bitches made me cry. They were making plans to have a gender reveal party for me at the fucking DMV the day I go to have my license updated after my gender marker has been corrected. Our cult leader is planning to bake a cake and some of the others are planning to bring “It’s a girl!” balloons.

And here’s the thing. Are you ready for the thing? I’m gonna lay it on you. THE. THING.

It doesn’t even matter to me if they follow through with any of those plans. (Okay. I think it would be fun and very memorable, so yes, it matters a little. I’d like all of that. But that’s not what matters most.) What matters even more is that there are people in my life now who see me, love me, support me and make me smile on days (like today) when I desperately need to smile.

I really didn’t know if I’d ever have a group of girlfriends. But I lucked out. I got something better.

I got a fucking cult.

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