My parents found God (He’s lost a lot for an omnipresent being, wouldn’t you say?) when I was around 14. Seeing how important this was for them, I tried to foster that “perfect” family image by taking God into my life. For 8-and-some years I was part of youth group, and later baptized (by choice) as an Evangelical Christian. I did all of this with a deluded belief (not only the God one) that being part of this would bring my family closer. Only a teenager could think that healthy relationships could be built on lies…

In that time I never stopped asking questions; enough questions to attract the attention of the Youth Group Leader, a minister’s wife with a touch for making delicious chocolate-chip cookies. I think she always knew I’d end up on the dark side, far from her cookies. She was determined on showing me the life stories of men and women, atheists them all, that had found (again, His Almighty Ass is lost) God and repented from their sinful ways. I thank God (figure of speech, people) for attending this group though. Out of the 13 teens that attended, 7 are now strong atheists. I’m pretty sure our conversations led to this in one way or another.

My parents have become more and more involved with church, and I’ve grown farther apart from it. They hold prayers before every event, church group on Thursdays at home; my dad has even been invited to give sermons at church. It’s not that sweet a deal for me, you’d say. We grow further apart in our ideologies, but thankfully our relationship as a family has grown somewhat stronger. I’ve yet to tell them my (dis)belief because it’s what they stand for. God easily makes up for half of what they do on a daily basis. My brothers and I have had talks, but not blunt ones. Little by little I do away with their blind faith, in a soft-spoken manner, like when the dentist tells you gently that something’s not going to hurt. They look up to my parents a lot, so confrontation is in my interest, just not at this stage in their lives. But it’s coming quite soon.

My country’s another obstacle for free thought. There are some small communities that foster this kind of thinking, but as a whole the Dominican Republic is made of devout Catholics. You might not be a church-goer, and there’d be nothing wrong with that, but as soon as you express your atheism clearly, you’re an outcast of the (theoretically) healthy community.

I could give a hundred reasons for my atheism, but they’d all boil down to basic curiosity. Asking enough of the right questions will, in my opinion, eventually lead you down to atheism’s (or at the very least, agnosticism’s) door. Why do the good die young? Why is there poverty? How does Fox News still continue to exist? 42?

I wish, from the bottom of my heart that this war, one of attrition, between rationality and irrationality (and not that good vs evil crap) would be over. My atheism is one part of me and it doesn’t entirely define who I am; my way of thinking brought me to atheism, not the other way around.

Thing is, I hate being angry because some loud-mouthed evangelical is riding a 60-feet-tall “high horse” and judging people as if they were God. I hate being angry at basic civil and human rights being discarded for groups that are object of God’s wrath in the years before electricity. I hate listening to religious folk forgive, in theory, those who cross them, but then turning around and siccing God upon their enemies as if He were their very own, private avenger. I hate being angry at the stupidity that surrounds me, but until it’s dealt with I don’t think I’ve got much of a choice.

And these people are sometimes funny to watch (in a Crocodile-Dundee-wild-animals-let-loose kind of way).

Elias Ahmed Serulle
Dominican Republic

I am an atheist because I cannot see any logical reason to be otherwise.

I was raised new age/pagan and used karma to explain why my life was such a mess as I became a heavy drug user and drinker.

I always enjoyed laughing at silly Christian beliefs, but once I gave up drugs and cleared my mind I started to turn that same skeptical eye on to my own beliefs, and found them just as laughable, if not more so.

Despite the 12 step program telling the world the only way to get clean is through god, I found that without drugs clouding my senses god became irrelevant.

Leela Moses
New Zealand

I finally stopped praying, begging and pleading and said, “Fuck you God!” and it literally saved my life.

Growing up, I was subtly aware the way in which I observed the world was somehow off. Everything was just too loud or frightening or difficult. My daily life was filled with intangible despair and angst and the most mundane activities became an existential nightmare: Keirkegaard for kids. I was often too intimidated or lethargic to go outside, the thought of tomorrow was unnerving enough to deprive me of meaningful sleep, and what should have been good times were filled with internalized anguish that often brought me to tears. Looking back I can say that it felt like I was living in a dank subterranean realm looking up at the world, slowly being buried alive and dismembered while everyone else managed their lives and left me behind. But this was alright because I was praying to “God” and asking for “His” help and I knew eventually if I kept at it, I’d be saved.

Begging for help is a more apt description; day after day, year after year. I thought if I went to church I would be saved or at least not be punished more. I sought help from a truly compassionate, yet misguided priest and counselor who indicated I should seek solace in faith. Years went by and my symptoms ebbed and flowed. My high school years of debilitating apathy and fear were spent with very high doses self-medication (i.e., vodka for breakfast). My feigned attempt at college was met with truancy, very real suicide attempts and hospitalizations. And yet, I prayed.

At this point however, the cognitive dissonance was becoming all too apparent. So much of my life had been spent seeking help in this invisible being, yet to no avail and to the persistence of very tangible pain. Finally, after years of delusion, something clicked and I punched myself with some brutal honesty and the fear turned into anger. A subservient to this “God” is what I had been, begging and fearing for a life that was barely worth living. That night, the “Fuck you God!” night, shed my life of the false safety net that was actually enslaving me. It was perhaps the most liberating experience of my life. While still trepidatious, it gave me the kick in the ass necessary to save me. I sought professionals who based their conclusions on the rigors of scientific process. Meeting the criteria for multiple, severe mental illnesses and after years of fine-tuning management techniques, my life is virtually asymptomatic.

Even though it took me seven tumultuous years to finish my Bachelor’s, I have worked four years professionally with success I never thought possible. I’ve even started a part-time Master’s in Earth Science due to my unbounded love for anything scientific; a direct result of my deconversion and the inspiration instilled from the science-based doctors who helped save my life. When I think of the countless, cumulative, backbreaking hours spent in labs and pouring over data, hours that define entire lives that were only seeking the truth, truth that ultimately saved my life… I cry… I am so grateful. I am not of great mind and I’m not going to be known in the scientific community, but in some form, no matter how small, I’d like to contribute to the science that saved me.

I no longer direct my anger toward God because 1) I’m no longer angry and 2) there is no God. I am an atheist because in one sense it was my only choice, but it goes much deeper than that. I am an atheist because I am a truth seeker. I am an atheist because living a finite life allows me to create motivation, meaning and love – through the help of my amazing wife and family – in such a way that isn’t constrained by a “safety net.” At any rate, for old times’ sake, “Fuck you God!”

Jake
United States