So You Think You Know Atheism? (You Don’t.)

Let’s kick this off with a funeral. We’re burying the dumbest clichés ever vomited out by the pious:

“Someone in the church must’ve hurt you.”
“You’re just mad at God.”
“You just want to sin.”

If I had a nickel for every time someone used one of these limp excuses to dismiss atheism, I could buy a cathedral just to burn it down in effigy.

Here’s the unholy truth they can’t stomach:

Atheism isn’t a trauma. It’s a conclusion.

Atheism means one thing: lack of belief in gods. That’s it. Not rage. Not rebellion. Not a goth phase. Not a secret desire to join an orgy and skip church. Just a simple, clean, mental “no thanks” to divine claims.

You don’t need a manifesto. You don’t need a pulpit. You don’t even need to read Dawkins and cosplay intellectual. If you hear “There’s a god,” and your brain goes “I doubt it”—congrats, you’re in.

It’s not a club. It’s not a confession. It’s a boundary.

And boundaries make the faithful nervous.

Let’s dissect the favorite strawmen these holy apologists can’t stop building, even as they set them on fire and call it righteousness.

“You’re just angry at God.”
How the hell do you get mad at something you don’t believe in? That’s like yelling at Zeus for bad weather. You can’t be mad at a god any more than you can be disappointed in a unicorn.

“You must’ve had a bad experience at church.”
Nope. Some of us walked out after everything went fine—because we read the source material and realized it’s less “holy scripture” and more Bronze Age fan fiction. A list of ancient tantrums stapled to threats of eternal punishment isn’t a belief system—it’s emotional blackmail.

“You just want to sin.”
Define sin. Masturbation? Saying “fuck”? Eating shrimp? Christianity’s got more rules than a prison yard and most of them revolve around controlling bodies, thoughts, and pleasure. Wanting to live freely isn’t sinful—it’s sane.

“You never truly believed.”
Tell that to the kid who memorized verses, sang hymns, and begged a silent sky for answers that never came. Some of us did believe—until we grew the hell up and realized no invisible sky-king was coming to save us from our humanity.

There’s no divine betrayal here. Just a quiet awakening. You saw the cracks in the stained glass, followed them all the way down to the foundation, and found it was built on fear, not fact.

You stopped pretending. You stopped needing. You stopped kneeling.

And in that moment, you didn’t become broken. You became free.

So light the match again. Burn what's left. They can keep their gods, their guilt, their hollow threats. You’ve got something sharper:

Embrace the truth they fear. Live without apology. Tear down their illusion and build your own world..