The church referred to members who had left as having “died.”

It also taught that if you left, your life and mental health would go to shit, ending in physical death.

The people who stayed in the church and had good faith weren’t supposed to die at all, physically or spiritually.

I didn’t want to die.

Years down the line, when I was suffering and wanted to leave, I got in my car, ready to drive the five hours to my parents’ house to escape it all.

I parked at a Walmart and thought about the often-taught verses promising plagues to anyone who didn’t keep the Feast of Tabernacles. I thought about burning in hell for eternity.

My vision started to swirl and I cried, fear sinking its poison fangs deep into my heart. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to die. Not in such a gruesome and painful way.

I drove back and stayed for another year.