Escaping God- part 3

    When I was 11 years old, a new church planted their roots in our hometown. They were part of the Assemblies of the Lord Jesus Christ (ALJC), which teaches the same core doctrines of the UPCI. My mother had grown discouraged at our old church, mainly because her fervent attempts at outreach were not matched by any other members. We were the sole bearers of the good news to our community, and to my mother this was an atrocity. And so we packed up our spiritual belongings and moved to Christ Apostolic Church, which consisted of 6 adults and 2 children who had moved from Columbus Ohio to start their ministry in a town that "didn't have a light" (never mind the fact that there are churches of other denominations on every corner.) 

    This was a turning point in my ever-changing relationship with religion. I was getting older and this church didn't have any other kids my age. I attended public school where I had many friends, as I am quite the extrovert. The older I became, the more transparent my differences were to other kids. Most of my friends were outcasts and weirdos like me. I have to interject the fact that I am actually very grateful for this. I learned to be friends with those who needed friends, a character trait that I still hold today. Nevertheless, my friends were becoming more "sinful" by the day, as was I. In hindsight I was just being a normal kid trying to fit in. My crimes included using profanity, wearing jewelry when my parents weren't around, and, after puberty, exploring my own sexuality. I remember the first time my mother searched my bedroom. I was in the 7th grade and my mother found several folded up notes to and from friends. When she read the profanity, she was distraught to the point of writing me a 2-page chastisement in the back of my Bible. I don't remember anything the note said, but what I do remember is being incredibly angry and feeling violated. I never remember my parents having reasonable conversations with me when I transgressed, only of them becoming infuriated and doling out punishment. 

    My mother would frequently tell me she was disappointed in me, that I needed to repent and be a soldier for Christ. This was something that puzzled me even as a child. Adult church members would constantly tell kids that they were ambassadors for Christ and could win their whole school to God if only they had faith and determination.  They encouraged us to create after-school Bible studies and to organize student prayer meetings. I found this hypocritical because I never saw any adults winning their entire workforce to God. I never heard of adults organizing office prayer meetings or after-work Bible studies. In hindsight I realize that this is because children are easily manipulated and are not secure in their world-views yet. Children are easy targets for the church because they believe what adults tell them, and because they don't realize the sacrifices that the church asks of them. 

    From the beginning, I had other questions as well. I wondered why God didn't answer my prayers. I had faith ,and the Bible clearly states that God answers prayers (Matthew 17:20). The pastor would give some confusing reason why prayers are not answered and anyone who further questioned was made to feel like a blasphemous sinner. For those who may be assuming that I didn't know the Bible, I assure you, I was well educated on the texts. Pentecostals, specifically oneness pentecostals, place knowledge of the word of God above everything. I spent several years on a kid's Bible quizzing team and had endured countless hours of Bible-based sunday school classes and Wednesday night Bible studies. It still didn't make sense, and doesn't to this day. Although I had so many doubts, my immaturity and the psychological aspect of being in a religious community made it hard to outright reject God. I spent the next 19 years on a religious roller coaster, at times so zealous for God that I cast all doubts aside, other times so ashamed and dejected that I tossed it all aside and tried to forget.

    When I was 14 I personally experienced speaking in tongues for the first time. I was at the altar begging God to forgive me for all my transgressions when suddenly an unknown language started flowing freely from my mouth. I do not pretend to understand why this happened, but I didn't attribute it to God because I no longer believe in God yet can still easily do it. I cried and spoke in tongues for what felt like hours, after which I felt euphoric, like a new person. I truly did feel "born again," like I had a fresh start. However, it was only a matter of days before things went back to normal and I was swearing and sinning again, per usual. This on-again off-again behavior was very destructive to my mental health. Every time I would "fail God," I would become deeply ashamed and even self-loathing. I was depressed for most of my teenage years and the only advice I ever got was "pray about it, take it to the Lord." It is worthwhile to note that I was not the only teenager with these issues. Almost every other pentecostal kid I knew experienced the same sin/repent/repeat cycle as me. I was chronically sick and in need of constant repair.

 Fast forward a few years to 2004. I was graduating high school with a scholarship and high GPA, despite the fact that my parents and I were in constant dispute because of my refusal to follow church commands. By this point, I had completely rejected the church although I still believed in God. I didn't necessarily find the church to be false, I only knew that I wanted to "be normal" and have fun. I had gone completely off the deep end and was willing to experience anything that life had to offer. I attended College of Charleston the following Autumn where I quickly settled into a very chaotic, volatile lifestyle. One day I would feel totally great and happy, I would go to class and then end the night partying with my friends. Other days I would be hopelessly depressed and sit alone cutting myself and drinking to the point of blacking-out. I was binge-drinking every day and would even become so reckless as to engage in dangerous activities like smoking crack or having unprotected sex with strangers. I was completely unhinged and had nowhere to turn. I never thought about bringing any of these issues to my parents. I knew what their response would be and I didn't want to hear it. I wasn't ready to settle down. It is important to note my reasons for being so transparent about things I've done in my past. As a child I was not psychically abused, my parents were not addicts, and we were not poor. My parents loved me and did what they thought was right. Religion, especially fundamental religion, can create an environment that is hostile to prevention or treatment of mental health. If any of my children were displaying behavior similar to what I experienced as a child and teen, I would swiftly consult doctors and go through great lengths to resolve the problem. Religion has a tendency to blind people and cause them to assume religion is the answer and not the problem.

    Spring break in 2005 changed everything for me. I was 18 years old and my roommate and I decided to take a bus to San Antonio where we would stay with her parents and party in the city. The very first night we were there, I got so drunk that I started a fight and left her house alone to wander the streets. I don't remember anything except being lost and intoxicated. The next morning I woke up half drunk in a bank parking lot with a police officer standing above me. He knew I was intoxicated and he spotted the fresh cuts that painted my arms. The officer placed me in handcuffs and took me to the local hospital where I was admitted to the psych ward. I was not allowed to leave and I stayed in the hospital for 14 days until I agreed to call my parents, at which point they released me. 

    During my time in San Antonio, the college had performed a random room check and found contraband in my room. I was terminated as a student and knew I had to return back to my parent's house. I felt desperate and trapped. I didn't want the religion but it was all I knew. I felt like it was the only thing that could make me a better person. It promised healing and redemption, things I badly wanted. So, the last night of my hospital stay I did what I knew how to do best, I repented and became more determined than ever to live for God. This time I had skin in the game. I had to do something or else my life was over. (To be cont.)