Religion

I was raised Baptist. My parents would put me in a floral dress every Sunday and drag me to church, where I'd stare into space for two hours until we went home. I didn't mind at all when they decided to stop going to church, where most of the patrons were judgemental and uppity. Christians should know better than anyone that it isn't our place to judge each other, but God's alone. Still, every time I heard about God and Jesus and His many wonders, there was always a voice in the back of my mind trying to tell me that it was all nonsense. I was terrified of this voice, although not literally a disembodied voice saying "it's all a lie". I liked being sure of what would happen after death. Heaven or Hell, simple right? I knew I had always been a righteous little shit, and would SURELY go to Heaven. That's why I never feared death.
But the nagging questions in the back of my mind were too much. Christianity hasn't been around forever, what happened to the people who died before it was established? Did they all just go to Hell because they didn't know there was ever going to be a man named Jesus, let alone accept Him as their Lord and Savior? What about the times when there was nothing but Pagan polytheism? And I had been raised to believe that God was almighty and all knowing of everything, past present and future. If He knew that this world would be so full of pain and misery, why did He create us in the first place? Just to be able to say that he created something? Then I thought to myself, what if we're all just floating in a test tube or petri dish, some mad scientist's creation?
At the age of seventeen, I realized that the only reason I believed in God, and that the Bible was His word, was because I had been told that this is what I believed. And I knew that this was the wrong reason. I then vowed never to believe anything that didn't withstand the test of my own reason, and I renounced my faith. I was scared though. I went from being sure about everything, that I had this great and powerful entity watching over me and protecting me at all times, that I would be rewarded for a lifetime of good deeds after death, to not being sure about anything. But I knew that it had to be done. I wanted to be honest with myself, one hundred percent.
So, there I was. Agnostic. I felt exposed, like a sitting duck. The thought of Hell had never left my mind. I had always been taught that anyone who doesn't accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior goes straight to hell after death. The Lord is our shepherd, and we are His sheep, and Hell is the border collie, biting at our ankles. Hell is the electric fence that keeps us from straying. "What a tactic," I had always thought to myself. "A religion founded upon extortion!"
To this day, I can't be a hundred percent sure of what I truly believe in. I suppose that's why they call it a "faith" though. No one can be completely sure of what's true when it comes to religion. I do know that miracles happen every day, and moreso to those who deserve them. I suppose that's just Karma at work. No, I'm not religious, but I'm spiritual. I do know that there's good and there's evil, and I do have my own set of morals to which I do honestly try to adhere to the very best of my ability. And I do believe that I will be rewarded for doing so.