You Might Call Me an Atheist

Growing up in a Christian church, I became good at following the rules and going through the motions. Nobody would have thought I wasn't a true believer—not even me.

The churches I frequented in my youth were highly homophobic and prejudiced in all sorts of other ways. Everyone had to believe what they believed and live the way they lived, or burn in Hell for an eternity. As an impressionable child—as children tend to be—I did my best to prove I was a good Christian. It was hard not to when anxiety and nightmares were constantly reminding me of the vivid explanations I was given for what Hell would be like.

When I was older, I decided to read the Bible front to back. What I found was a long list of acts that an omnipotent, omniscient, and benevolent creator couldn't logically do. God could logically do anything he wanted, so long as he only had two of those three traits.

Imagine my surprise when I read about the genocide he commanded his people to commit, about flooding the entire world because he didn't know how to create humans he wouldn't feel like killing. There are too many of these atrocities to list, but the worst part was how I found a way to explain away most of them, though it started to become much harder after reading the entire Bible.

The one thing that kept nagging at me was the homophobia, mostly because the Christians around me constantly talked about how homosexuals would surely burn in Hell. They were fixated on it—the worst sin in their minds. I couldn't make sense of why it mattered so much to them when it's not mentioned in the Bible nearly as much as the sins they needed to be forgiven for. Though where it is mentioned, it's hard to deny that the Bible paints it as a terrible sin.

After I was finally out of the church for good, it took me about five more years to realize that I'm a bit gay myself—what I'm currently calling pansexual. This was an important step in finally starting to love myself, but I couldn't do it alone. It took a really good friend, some less-than-ideal medications, and therapy before I was comfortable opening up to anyone about it, including myself.

But that doesn't tell you why you might call me an atheist.

When I left the church, I jumped onto the atheist train and blew off a lot of steam as a new non-believer who had a bone to pick with God. After I cooled off, I stopped being so sure about atheism. I started to think I could believe in a god, just not the one I was taught about as a kid.

I went on a search to find a god I could believe in throughout a multitude of religions and spiritual paths: Eastern religions, Paganism, Greek mythology, Pantheism. Those are just a few of the ones I spent the most time with. When none of them were the right fit, I started borrowing from all of them to build my own system. That too failed.

So, where did I end up?

Well, I don't believe in any gods, which is why you might call me an atheist, but I still pray almost every night. I still address my prayers to god—sometimes the universe, but I don't believe the "god" I pray to or the universe is sentient. I guess I'm really just praying to myself.

I don't pray to receive anything except comfort or relaxation, but it's really just a mantra to calm myself. The most important prayers to me are the ones of gratitude. My mother always told me to count my blessings, and it turned out to be solid advice. The only difference is that I don't believe my blessings are from God—but I appreciate them just the same.

I won't commit to the atheist label because it doesn't really explain how I feel, but I also won't take offense at being called one.