Ever since I was young, I was never satisfied with life.

Especially as a teen, I oscillated between believing I was going to live a better and smarter life than everyone else and feeling like a misfit who didn’t belong anywhere.

The mundanity of going to school, pursuing an occupation, starting a family, retiring, growing old—it was a dreary forecast that I didn’t care for.

The church gave me an excuse to nope out of normal life, and I took it eagerly. An epic life of swashbuckling with Satan and reading the signs of the apocalypse instead of the mundane march toward death? Sign me up.

It took me a while to get over the “God exists” hurdle, but if that was a pill I had to swallow to get the rest of the package, I’d do it—and eventually, I did.