I don’t have the answers. I never will. Perhaps there are no answers. Perhaps that is what we are supposed to learn in life, if we are wise.

Those who treat leaving one’s former faith as shallowness, cowardice, or a desire to live lasciviously simply do not understand what it is like. They can only see that you “gave up.” They were not there to feel what it was like to be adrift with no rudder, no sails, and no anchor, having lost all that you thought was real, to be left hopelessly without answers.

Losing faith was never carnal for me; it was intellectual. It violently robbed me of all I thought was real and all that I thought gave me meaning. To then by family dear be told that what happened in me was simply weakness is cruelly callous to the despair that nearly ended my life.

What I have survived, whether you disagree with my beliefs, is of the hardest of things. You should understand, not judge. I have to live with the fact that I don’t know when I will die and what will become of my existence when I do. Even more so, I have to live with knowing that I will die never knowing why I or anything else exists. And I consciously shoulder this burden every day.