After my father passed away, I asked alot of questions about life and death. The only answers I got were different versions of “pray about it” or “go to church.” So I did that - very intensely for about seven years. I was baptized in a few different churches that year. I went shopping for a church and spent time in each one, with the people there, trying each one on for size. 

I landed on an Evangelical church, the most fanatic youth group I could find in town. We spoke in tongues, talked to strangers in public about Jesus and had warfare prayer weekly, where we prayed for our fellow heathen students. If the doors were open, I was there. I spoke in tongues, read my bible daily and never once drank, smoke, cussed or fucked for seven years.

It took me two years of traveling on my own to really start questioning my faith. I remember the moment those questions tipped the scale and I couldn’t continue to believe. I was watching a woman in Nepal do a very beautiful puja (religious ceremony). I thought about how my religion says she will burn in hell and I couldn’t do it anymore. I closed the bible that day and haven't opened it since.

Walking away from Christianity was extremely complicated and liberating at the same time. I lost friends, understanding, reality and a pervasive happiness. A good friend told me that eventually I’d find my happy again, but I'd be happy for me instead of for God. He was right. The years that followed were the most thrilling and exciting. I was like a caged bird set free.