Stolen Youth : My Escape from Evangelical Christianity – Introduction

How do you begin a book you never thought you’d write? Once the thought of leaving my religion, of rejecting my god, would cause extreme physical and mental pain. I’d feel nauseated and anxious: how could I desert the one who had saved me from eternal death and despair? Could satan ever grab hold of me through my persistent sin and entice me to depart from the christian faith? Had I already been influenced by the devil? My initial thought that morning had centered on the possibility of one day being secular and sinful. Was that thought itself a sign that I had begun to slip into darkness? The alarm clock rang. It was 6:30am and time to get ready for another day of high school.

Few expect the above profoundly theological thoughts from a high schooler, even in the religious community. High schoolers are considered emotionally and intellectually inferior, easily seduced by the party scene, and uninterested in anything beyond the physical realm. I was no such high schooler nor do I look so unfavorably on teenagers. They understand far better than we assume, and maybe far better than we do sometimes. As a teenager, religion consumed my every thought to the point of obsession; I could not think of god enough. A thought not spent on god or his kingdom was a thought wasted or even worse, a thought influenced by the devil. I’d spend hours after school reading the bible, listening to christian music, watching sermons online, and thinking about how I could be a better christian girl. Some days I felt the need to break apart my wardrobe and analyze each piece to ascertain which was least likely to cause my brother in christ to stumble. Anything that fit my already large breasts too tightly was pushed to the back of the closet, saved for a day when I may lose weight and my body wouldn’t be such a problem. On other occasions I took stock of the music, movies, TV, and books I consumed. Anything that could be considered too worldly and secular was deleted from my iPod or tossed in the trash. I would not read smut like Cosmopolitan magazine or listen to the Pussycat Dolls sing graphic sexual lyrics. I would conform myself to the likeness of a good, godly, christian girl.

As I reflect on my life during high school, I lament the sadness I once felt and the utter worthlessness that seemed to come from deep within me. Although I tried my hardest and consistently searched for ways to be better so that god would love and help me, I continued to fail. I failed myself and I failed god. Why else would I have these repetitive thoughts about worshipping satan or cursing god? Clearly there was something severely wrong with me; I was disturbed beyond redemption. These thoughts ran so frequently through my mind that there was hardly a moment I did not focus on reasserting control over my thinking. Yet no one knew that these painful thoughts kept me awake at night and tricked me into believing that I was inherently bad. It would take ten years before I would learn there is a name for this: Scrupulosity or Religious OCD. OCD is a brain disorder that is treated with medicine and therapy. What I once saw as proof of my wickedness was simply a problem with the chemicals in my brain. While others have intrusive disturbing thoughts pop in their minds, they can allow the thoughts to pass, not considering them worth noting. Someone with OCD is unable to do so; the thoughts become stuck on a loop that plays so frequently and with such severity that the OCD-diagnosed person begins to question which thoughts are truly theirs and which belong to the disorder. OCD is a terrifying brain disorder, and the depths of its insidious nature are hardly describable to someone not living with or familiar with the disorder. I will always be grateful for the invention of anti-depressants and the miraculous way they calm my brain, allowing me to think of nothing if I wish, and to watch intrusive thoughts float by when they do appear.

Seventeen-year-old Gabrielle did not know she had Scrupulosity, or that OCD would manifest in various ways for her. She could not know that obsessive and unwanted thoughts about hurting herself or others is also a form of OCD. She thought she was crazy and evil at her core. These thoughts haunted her for years, tugging more and more at her sense of self and stripping away her resilience through their constant torture. I am amazed that I did not kill myself. Considering the depth of my pain and fear as well as the limited understanding I had of my brain and its neurodivergence, I can hardly picture a reason for continuing to live. This is where my story turns and begins to spiral into a stolen youth of extreme religiosity, untreated OCD, severe religious abuse, sexual assault, and the deprivation of my natural human desires.