In the months after I got back from New York, the euphoria faded, and I was given more missions—more graphic design, admin work, a team to take care of, choir, offerings, cleaning the altar.

Within the first year of joining, I was already overloaded with missions, spending every day in the church, usually into the wee hours of the morning.

It was partly because I couldn’t say no and felt like I was morally in the wrong if I wasn’t one of the last members to leave at night.

I actually did mostly cut off contact with Thomas, and suffered because of it. But around my second Passover, we saw each other a few times outside the church.

I crashed and totaled my car due to sleep deprivation and the missionary’s wife—who pressed me until I admitted I had seen Thomas outside church—said it was a punishment for my sins.

I was removed from all of my activities and treated like I was contaminated, a black sheep.