I left the fanatical evagelical church in Ohio 1997. I was 18 years old.

Our minister said everybody outside of our faith was going to hell. His sermons were terrorizing, and quoted many things from the bible. There were many nights I couldn't sleep becase the fear of going to hell. The things I was taught never focused on the positive of having a belief in a god.

My family originally went to a Lutherine Church, the LDS, and finally the Evangelical Church. I was much too young to remember the other first two. I was also the disfavored child of the family. Nobody understood me, for they never listened.

Around 16 I began to suffer from major depression. I had lost a friend in an accident that I was also in. I knew it wasn't my fault, but still I felt horrible. Every time I tried to talk to someone they would rebuke and criticize what I would say. I felt I couldn't trust anyone, I felt unworthy. Everyone at the church would say, "Pray about it." I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. None of my prayers were answered. After a while my sadness became bitterness.

I began argueing with my family, they all suddenly seemed to be afraid of me. However my mother would beat me to the point where I was crying. I was never the smily girl the family knew from then on. I seldomly woke up happy.

My few good moments were with an elderly lady named Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Jones was a widow with the sweetest desposition. She always made me happy. I would frequently do work at her house for extra money.

One morning, I woke in the worst of moods. I treated my mother with disgust, about me treating the pastor with disrespect. I then and went over to Mrs. Jones to rake her leaves. Mrs. Jones invited me in, I was aggrevated by her usual grandmother like questions. She seemed hurt after I said I had no wish of going to the Festival with her. I pulled ou the rake and started with the leaves. After about an hour and a half I felt much better and I was smiling. I figured I could go in and use the restroom. I wanted to apologize to her about my behavior and tell her I would do anything to go with her to the festival.

I went in and called her name. There was a dreadful silence. I knew then something was wrong. Mrs. Jones was dead on the dining room floor. I mechnically called 911 the hole time staring at the body not aware of my surroundings.

The police and ambulance came. She had died from a stroke. At that moment I knew I was responsible for what happen's in my life. I changed suddenly. As soon as I turned 18 I moved out. I renounced my beliefs and since the relationship with my family has been strained.

I do feel much free.

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