My marriage wasn’t arranged. It was a sinful marriage, but also a practical one.

Thomas’ car had stopped working and he was taking the bus to work and church. I had a new car and wanted to help him. I wanted him to be able to use my car.

Let the vile continue to be vile, the missionary had told me, quoting the Bible. He meant that Thomas and I would continue seeing each other no matter what we were told, and that that was a sin we’d go to hell for.

Marriage was more acceptable than dating. I felt like we had no choice.

We can help each other, I told my mom when she asked why we were getting married so suddenly.

That’s not a good reason to get married, my mom answered, but I stubbornly ignored her words of caution. She didn’t understand what it was like at the church.

Once we were married, Thomas and I moved to an apartment close to the church. We shared the rent and he could use my car. Perfect solution.

Nonetheless, because our marriage had not been sanctioned by the church, I constantly felt like I had done something wrong. We never said I love you. We always fought. It’s because our marriage is cursed, I thought. Let the vile continue to be vile.

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Thinking back to other things that were happening in my life around the same time, I was probably manic or hypomanic when I got married too. It was a year after I joined the church. I was 23 and definitely not ready to get married.

Although my marriage wasn’t arranged, I was essentially marrying someone I didn’t know since all contact had been cut off between Thomas and me for almost a year by that time, and we had just met when I joined the church. If we had been allowed to date and talk to each other like normal people, I’m sure we would’ve figured out that we shouldn’t get married. But we didn’t have that opportunity.